The Gambler
Amber was a math major at community college. While studying probabilities, she realized that counting cards would give her a slight advantage over the house in blackjack. She could make a lot of money. So she went to Eyeball Eddie's casino to try her luck.
It was Amber's first time in a casino, and she was impressed. Glittering lights shone through thick clouds of cigar smoke. Poker chips clacked together in neat piles on tables covered with green felt. The roulette wheel spun, and card-shuffling machines shuffled. Amber sat at the blackjack table and smiled at the dealer. He gazed back at her with a poker face.
Amber soon discovered that she loved blackjack. When the dealer hit her, sliding a card out of the dealing shoe, Amber's heart leaped off the edge of a cliff. If she won, her heart flew, soaring above the abyss, a thrill charging her body. If she lost, her heart plummeted down like Wile E. Coyote falling into a canyon. But, like the cartoon coyote, Amber always got up, wheezing like an accordion, and played another hand. She needed the flying feeling of winning, or her hands would start to twitch. She came back night after night.
Unfortunately, it turned out that Amber couldn't count cards. If given enough time, she could figure the probabilities with pencil and paper, but her mind worked too slowly to perform on the spot at the blackjack table. Amber realized, however, that there was more to blackjack than skill with numbers. There was luck. And Amber could feel when her luck ran hot: there was a subtle updraft and a calm certainty that her heart would stay airborne. When her luck ran cold, she felt heavy as an anvil, certain to fall. She had to take advantage of a hot streak when it came, or the moment of luck would pass. So she wouldn't have to leave the table when she felt lucky, she wore an adult diaper under her clothes.
Tonight, she felt the subtle drafts lifting her up, but, by some fluke, she kept losing. Her good luck was bottling up, ready to burst free. With every loss, her chance of winning the next hand increased, so she kept doubling her bets. But, before her good luck burst forth, she ran out of chips. Her money was gone.
She walked to the exit, but Eyeball Eddie, the owner of the casino, stopped her. He was a big gorilla of a man, with a lazy eyeball. Despite Eddie's nonchalance about his eye (he named the casino “Eyeball Eddie's”), people were afraid to look him in the eye, lest their gazes follow its wandering.
“You seem like a good kid,” Eddie said. “We can spot you some cash. You're good for it.”
So Amber took chips on credit from the casino, and returned to the blackjack table. The lucky streak burned to burst forth. But against all odds, she kept losing. She continued to raise her bets to recoup her losses, continued to lose, and continued to borrow more and more money from Eyeball Eddie. Soon Eddie said he wouldn't lend her any more money. She owed him over 5,000 dollars.
Eddie brought her back to his seedy office, opened the squeaky drawer of his desk, and pulled out a rusty hammer.
“This is what I break legs with,” he said kindly. “Get me the money.”
Amber had only one place to turn. Early the next morning, Amber's mother, Joan (Amber called her by her first name), returned home from the night shift at the factory where she assembled cellular phones. Amber waited until Joan got a couple drinks in her. Amber wanted Joan to be mellow: loose from the tension of the factory floor, but not slurring her speech. After Joan consumed exactly two and a half cans of Bud Lite, Amber sat at the kitchen table with her and, using a sheet of graph paper, diagrammed the exponential improbability of her losing so many blackjack hands in a row.
“Like being struck by lightning,” she said.
“I thought addicts were supposed to be charming,” Joan said. “Your father certainly was. But not for dice. His drug was women.”
“I'm not an addict. Look at the graph.”
Joan glanced down at the paper. “What's that?” She pointed at a strange-looking number.
Amber had hoped that writing the number in scientific notation would make it look smaller. “Five thousand dollars,” she admitted.
Joan choked on her beer. “Where are you gonna get that kind of money?” she asked, wiping her mouth.
Amber looked at the floor.
Joan sighed. “I was saving up to buy this trash heap. I was gonna be a homeowner.”
“I won't gamble any more,” Amber said. “I promise.”
Joan shook her head and set her jaw rigid. “I'm gonna use tough love,” she said. “You'll have to deal with the consequences.”
“Tough love? Eyeball Eddie the loan shark is going to break my legs! You'll have to push me around in a wheelchair!”
“Why would you borrow money from somebody named Eyeball Eddie?”
Amber pleaded. She even cried. Eventually she wore Joan down.
“Alright, Amber. I'll go pay this eyeball fellow his five-thousand dollars, but you have to go to Gamblers Anonymous meetings. You are an addict.”
Amber knew she wasn't an addict, but she didn't want her legs broken, so she pressed her lips together, nodded her head, and didn't argue.
The Gamblers Anonymous meetings were held on Tuesday evenings in a church. Inveterate gamblers sat around bemoaning their losses. After sitting through a few weeks of boring meetings, Amber went across the street to another church, where it was Bingo night. The Bingo whet her appetite. She needed the main course: blackjack.
An hour later, she was at Eyeball Eddie's Casino. She went straight to Eddie and, avoiding direct eye contact, asked him to give her credit.
He furrowed his wide brow. “I'm not supposed to.”
“You're just saying that because you know I'll win.”
Eddie shrugged and smiled, his tiny teeth glinting at her. He gave her some chips.
After a few hours of blackjack, Amber owed Eyeball Eddie over 10,000 dollars. He didn't say anything. He just fingered the claw of the rusty hammer.
Amber had no choice but to ask Joan for money again. After Joan consumed two and a half beers, Amber sat down at the kitchen table and told her that she owed money to Eyeball Eddie again. It was a fluke, Amber said. The odds that this could happen were impossible—like getting struck by lightning.
“Lightning doesn't strike the same place twice,” Joan said.
“Exactly!” Amber said. “It's impossible that this could happen. The odds are astronomical. Microscopic.”
“You're a lightning rod, Amber. A lightning rod for trouble.” She clutched Amber's head by the sides and kissed her on the forehead. “You're getting tough love this time.”
“Couldn't you just spank me?”
“You have your father's bow legs. Maybe breaking will straighten them.”
Amber begged her to help her and save her legs.
Joan sighed. “I can't believe I have to go see that degenerate eyeball fellow again.”
“I'll do it,” Amber offered.
“No,” Joan said. “I'll do it. You'd probably gamble it away.” She glared at Amber. “This is strike two, young lady. Three strikes and you lose.”
But Joan's help came with a condition: Amber had to get help for her gambling problem. Real help this time; not weekly Gamblers Anonymous meetings.
The next morning, Joan drove Amber to a treatment center for gambling addicts. It was inpatient, so Amber would be living there. It cost 200 dollars per day, Joan reminded her, so she should hurry up and get cured.
The Branchwood Rehabilitation Center wasn't a hospital; it was a series of cabins out in the woods. It was autumn and the leaves were brightly colored. A smoky maple syrup smell filled the air. Amber and Joan went into the cabin used by the director of the rehab center as an office. Dr. Makovi was a short, squat woman with graying, tangled hair.
“This isn't Gamblers Anonymous,” Dr. Makovi said. “They think an addictive personality will always be an addictive personality. Well, I'm going to give you a new personality.” She leaned back in her chair and cracked her knuckles. “Games of chance are not allowed here, but don't worry—if you like games, you still get to play games. In fact, all we do here is play games. But we play cooperative games, not competitive ones. Right now your brain is wired to get a thrill from winning when someone else loses. Doing nothing but non-competitive games will completely rewire your brain. It purges out the neurological pathways that give you a thrill from winning when someone else loses, and creates new, healthy neurological pathways that get a thrill when everyone wins.”
After Joan left, Dr. Makovi brought Amber to a grassy field to meet the others. A dozen gamblers stood around. Aside from Amber, only 2 were female. Most gambling addicts were male, Dr. Makovi explained. All of them introduced themselves.
The men looked as Amber expected: greasy and obese; they looked like they sat in basements, playing Internet poker. They looked out of place in the outdoors. But one of them was different. Dan was a hunk: Native American, tall and lithe, with long black hair that hung down past his broad shoulders. He was about Amber's age—maybe a year or two older. A strong jaw pressed out of his dimpled cheeks. His dark eyes made Amber's heart pound.
Amber realized that her jaw hung slack, so she clenched her molars to prevent drooling. Drooling would make a bad first impression. She wished she had washed her hair. Dan was looking away from her—she probably disgusted him. Or maybe he was just shy.
The first non-competitive game was “the human knot.” Amber remembered it as the ubiquitous icebreaker from camp. Dr. Makovi explained the rules. They would stand shoulder-to-shoulder in a circle. They would reach out and grasp random hands. Then without releasing hands they had to untangle their bodies. This would build neurological pathways that got a thrill from winning together, rather than at someone else's expense.
Amber glanced at Dan's dark hands. They looked strong. She imagined his hands caressing her body. She hoped she'd grab his hand.
But her losing streak continued. When she reached into the confusing shuffle of hands, she grabbed 2 pale hands, neither of which belonged to Dan. One was sweaty as an eel. The other was fat and hairy with green fungus on the fingernails.
Dan took charge. With his strong, smooth voice, he told the others where to move. The men rubbed against Amber more than necessary. She held her breath, so as not to let in the sharp body odors. But when the untangling pressed her against Dan, she breathed deep, savoring his musky scent. While inhaling him through her nostrils, she accidentally snorted, but he didn't seem to notice; he was focused on the task at hand.
After 5 minutes, they untangled the human knot. Amber pulled her hands free and wiped them on her jeans.
“Let's do it again,” she said. She felt lucky. This time she'd grab Dan's hand.
“No,” Dr. Makovi said. “We're going on to something else.”
“That's because you know I'll win,” Amber said.
“Everyone's a winner,” Dr. Makovi said. “You all got out of the knot.”
Amber didn't argue. She was too busy looking at Dan.
They walked down the hill into the woods, crunched through the autumn leaves, and approached the first obstacle: a wooden wall about 3 times Amber's height. Everyone had to get over it. On the other side was a rope ladder they could climb down. They must have done this many times before, Amber decided. They seemed to know what to do. Dan held his hair in a ponytail, so it wouldn't get stepped on. A tall man climbed up on Dan's back and stood on his shoulders. The tall man jumped up, grasped the edge of the wall, and pulled himself up. Then the next man got on Dan's shoulders, lifted his arms, and the man at the top pulled him up.
When it was Amber's turn, she took her time climbing up on Dan's shoulders, brushing her fingertips through his thick black hair. Tingles shot up her arms. She stood on his strong shoulders, reached up, and grabbed onto the man's hands. It was the man with the sweaty hands from the human knot. His hands still poured like faucets. Gripping his wet palms, Amber walked sideways up the wall. When she was almost at the top, her hands slipped out of his, and she fell. She grasped with her arms and legs, but caught only air.
Amber landed on her right foot and heard a loud crack. She slammed onto her back and got the wind knocked out of her. Extreme pain tore at her lower right leg. She grabbed where it hurt, and felt something pointy poking out the side of her jeans. That's when she started screaming. If she had known how much a broken leg hurt, she never would have gambled. It wasn't worth the risk, even if the chance of Eddie breaking her legs was only the chance of getting struck by lightning. This had to hurt more than a lightning strike.
“Don't crowd!” Dan shouted. “Give her room to breathe!”
Through the excruciating pain, Amber enjoyed Dan hovering over her. His long hair tickled her face. Dan gripped Amber's hand and squeezed it. Dan's hand was as strong as Amber had hoped. She was dismayed to feel her own hand start to sweat. She tried to will the sweat glands in her hand to stop, but they didn't.
“I think it's broken,” Amber said.
“I know,” Dan said. “I heard.”
“Dan, can you carry her to my car?” said Dr. Makovi. “We need to get her to the emergency room.”
“Yeah.” Dan picked Amber up, cradling her legs in his arms. Amber clenched her jaw. The pain was excruciating, but she enjoyed him carrying her. Dan started to follow Dr. Makovi, but a fat man with red hair and a pointy face blocked their way.
“What about the wall?” the fat man said. “We still need to get her over the wall.”
“Her leg is broken,” Dan said.
“Big deal,” said the fat man. “They broke my thumbs a dozen times. It never slowed me down.” He gripped his thumb and mashed it flat against the back of his wrist. The thumb seemed to be made of silly putty.
“Get out of the way,” Dan said coldly.
The fat man's face crumbled. He let go of his thumb and stepped out of the way. The thumb hung limply at the side of his hand.
Dan carried Amber to Dr. Makovi's car.
In the emergency room, the attendants cut off Amber's jeans with scissors. They stuck her feet first in a giant X-ray machine, and told her not to move. The orthopedic surgeon spoke in incomprehensible medical jargon, but the X-ray was clear enough: both bones in Amber's lower leg were broken. The surgeon injected Amber with a powerful pain-killer, set the bone, and put her in a cast. She would have to stay overnight in the hospital, her leg in traction. She couldn't get up; they'd bring her a bedpan.
Amber lay in the recovery room, a sling elevating her cast above the bed. The painkillers were wearing off. She heard Dr. Makovi's voice in the hallway, talking with the nurses. Dan came into Amber's room and stood at the foot of her bed. He smiled, his perfect white teeth glittering under the fluorescent lights. Amber felt nervous. Her toes poked out of the end of the white cast, and she didn't want Dan to see them. Her index toes were 2 millimeters longer than her big toes. (That was why she never wore sandals.) She couldn't move her leg to hide it, and throwing the sheet over it would be conspicuous. So she clenched her toes to hide the length difference. A sharp pain shot through her broken leg, but she made herself hold the clench.
“You look like you're in pain,” Dan said.
“I broke my leg,” Amber said through gritted teeth.
It was too painful to clench her toes. She released them and relief flooded her leg under the cast.
Dan clicked open a blue ballpoint pen. “I wanted to be the first to sign your cast.”
Amber closed her eyes and nodded. There was no way to hide her toes now.
The tip of the pen pressed on Amber's big toe and tickled her. Her foot tried to yank away, but the sling held it in place. Pain shot through the broken bones.
“What are you doing?” Amber said.
“It's henna—Indian toe art,” Dan said. “The other Indians, I mean. In India.”
“But why?”
Dan grasped her toe with his free hand and began to draw. “It looks cool. And it's good for your health, I think. Hold still.”
It tickled, and Amber couldn't stop giggling.
Dan held the pen up and narrowed his eyes at it. He shook the pen and tried to draw with it on her toe. Then he sucked on the end of the pen. He tried to write again.
“Sorry,” he said. “It's out of ink. And I didn't get to sign the cast.”
He pocketed the pen, walked around the bed, and sat down at her side. The weight of his body on the bed sent warm tingles through Amber's body. Her heart sped up. She wanted to kiss him, but she was flat on her back and he was sitting upright. There was no way for their mouths to come together naturally.
“So...” Dan said, “first time in rehab?”
“Yeah. I was in Gamblers Anonymous though.”
“It didn't work for you, I guess.”
“Bingo.”
“They do the twelve steps, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Dr. Makovi doesn't believe in the twelve steps.”
“I know.”
“What step did you get to?”
“Step zero,” Amber said. “I never admitted I have a problem, because I don't. And even if I did the first step, I couldn't do the second. I'm an atheist.”
“I thought it just had to be a higher power,” Dan said. “It doesn't have to be God.”
“I told them I believe in luck, but they said that didn't count.”
“What about gravity?”
“What about it?”
“Do you believe gravity is a power greater than yourself? I mean, it put you in this cast. If it wasn't more powerful than you, you'd be able to fly.”
“I guess that's hard to argue with.”
Dan's head started to slump towards Amber. He held his hair back with one hand as his face approached hers.
“What are you doing?” Amber said.
“Gravity,” Dan said.
Their lips met. He stuck his tongue in her mouth and she licked it. She forgot about the pain in her leg as she ran her fingers through his thick hair. His hands slid up her hospital gown. Her stomach burned with pleasure. Her toes clenched involuntarily, and sharp pain seized her broken bones.
“Yeoww!”
Dan sat up. “What's wrong?”
“My toes curled.”
Later, Joan rushed into the hospital room, still in her factory uniform. She examined Amber's cast, then sat on the bed where Dan had been, and clutched her daughter's hand. Amber hoped that Joan didn't notice any love stains on the sheets.
“I don't want you going back to that rehab,” Joan said. “I don't trust that Dr. Makovi—letting you break your leg! You learned your lesson. Now you know what a broken leg feels like, so you won't ever gamble again. Right?”
Amber realized that if she left the rehab, she wouldn't see Dan anymore.
“I'm fine, Joan. It was an accident. It wasn't Dr. Makovi's fault. I want to stay and get better.”
Joan frowned. “You think they're helping you?”
“Sure. I can feel my neurons changing.”
Joan sighed and nodded. “Alright. Just don't take too long. Remember this is costing me two hundred bucks a day.”
Amber winced with guilt. Then she glanced at her leg so Joan would think it was a wince of pain.
“Does it hurt?” Joan asked, looking at Amber's cast.
“The most excruciating,” Amber said.
“I can relate.”
“I doubt it.”
“I know what pain is. I gave birth to you.”
Amber was unexpectedly hurt by this and she started to cry.
“I meant the labor pains,” Joan said, handing Amber a tissue from her purse. “You had such broad shoulders. You got that from your father.”
“I got my toes from you,” Amber sniffled.
The next day, Amber returned to the rehab, walking on crutches. The other gamblers signed her cast, and covered it with doodles. Because of her broken leg, Amber couldn't take part in wall-climbing or other outdoor activities. But that didn't effect her “rewiring.” Many people showed up to the rehab center with broken limbs after missing payments to loan sharks, so this wasn't an extraordinary situation. There was an indoor rewiring method. There were indoor non-competitive games—mostly jigsaw puzzles. While the others were outside climbing walls and other obstacles, Dan stayed inside with Amber, the two of them putting puzzles together. Their fingers touched as they reached for puzzle pieces. They kissed when no one was looking. At night, he would sneak into her room, into her bed. Amber felt lighter—maybe it was Dan, maybe it was the codeine, or maybe gravity removed some of its weight from off her.
As they put together 1000-piece jigsaw puzzles, Amber learned more about Dan. His parents owned a casino on their reservation. Dan worked as a poker dealer, but would sneak away from the table to play roulette. Soon he was hooked. He went on roulette binges, not eating or sleeping for days. He stole from his parents to play. If he won, he'd pay them back. If he lost, the money went to his parents through the casino. The house always won.
“My dad said that if I didn't stop roulette, he'd break my horse's legs.”
“You have a horse?”
“Sure. I drew henna on her hooves.”
Amber figured that if she had a horse, she probably would never go near a blackjack table.
Amber told Dan about losing thousands of dollars at Eyeball Eddie's casino. Dan laughed. He said he knew Eddie well. When Dan's parents forbid him to play roulette in the reservation's casino, he played at Eyeball Eddie's. He started to lose, went on credit, and lost some more. Eddie showed him the rusty hammer. Not wanting to have to get a tetanus shot, Dan asked his parents for the money, and they made him go to Dr. Makovi's rehab.
After a few weeks of Amber and Dan putting together jigsaw puzzles, Dr. Makovi declared that Dan was no longer a gambling addict. He was rewired and ready to go home.
Dan tongue-kissed Amber goodbye. “When you get out, call me,” he said. “You'll come to my reservation. I'll take you horse riding.”
With Dan gone, Amber felt no reason to stay in the rehab. She called Joan and asked her to pick her up. “I'm afraid they'll break my other leg,” Amber said.
Joan picked her up from rehab. Dr. Makovi protested that Amber wasn't ready.
“She still has gambling wired in the brain.”
Joan took her home anyway. She seemed glad to have Amber back and Amber was glad to be home. But there as no time to celebrate Amber's homecoming. Joan had to work the late shift. She rushed off, leaving Amber home alone.
Amber called Dan from the phone in the kitchen.
“Hello,” Dan said. There was wind in the background. Amber supposed he was outside—perhaps on his horse.
“Hi,” Amber said.
“Who is this?” Dan said.
Amber was hurt that he didn't recognize her voice, although all she had said was “hi.”
“It's me. It's Amber.”
“Oh, hi,” he said, his voice sounding upbeat. “Are you out?”
“Yeah.”
“That was fast.”
“I have great news,” Amber said. “Tomorrow I'm getting the cast off. So I'll be able to do anything. You know. Horse riding or whatever. So when can I come out to your reservation?”
There was silence on the line.
“Hello?” Amber said.
“I'm still here,” Dan said. “Listen. About that. I have a few reservations.”
Dan chuckled. Amber thought he meant that his family owned a lot of land. She didn't see the humor.
“I know—you're rich,” she said. “From the casino.”
“No. It's...sorry. Indian joke. I guess it's not funny under the circumstances. Listen...I don't think we should see each other again.”
Now it was Amber's turn to be silent.
“Hello?” Dan said.
“I'm here,” Amber wheezed. There was a heavy weight in her chest. She grabbed onto the kitchen table to steady herself. “What...what do you mean?”
“I think it was great being with you and I had a great time at rehab. But things are different now.”
Amber stared down at the toes peeking out of her cast.
“It's my toes—isn't it?” she said, her voice cracking. Her eyes glazed with tears and her vision blurred.
“It isn't you,” Dan said. “I'm trying to stay away from gambling and I want to succeed this time, so I have to stay away from everyone who has anything to do with gambling.”
“You live in a casino.”
“Okay, fine. It's not because of that. Look...I just don't want to see you anymore. Let's just leave it at that. I don't owe you any explanation.”
“What did I do wrong?”
“I have to go,” Dan said. “I'm sorry you can't be more mature about this.”
There was a click.
“Hello?” Amber said.
No answer. He had hung up.
Amber dropped the phone into the receiver. She sank down into a chair, feeling gravity crush down on her. Dan just used her to pass the time in rehab. He was always planning to dump her as soon as he got out. It was slim pickings in the rehab. He picked her over fat Jane and pimply Rebecca. Not much competition. But out in the real world, Amber didn't have a chance with him.
Amber felt a physical pain in her chest, and understood why it was called a broken heart, even though the heart just pumped blood, and the feelings were chemicals in the brain. This hurt more than when she broke her leg. And there was no cast to put on a broken heart. Sadness crawled up her throat. She tried not to think of Dan. Every thought of him made something clench in her and seized her broken heart with pain. She needed something to take her mind off this, something to make her feel better—she needed to win.
She picked up her crutches, left the house, and got on the bus to Eddie's back-alley casino. Inside the casino, the thick cloud of cigar smoke embraced her like an old friend. With his good eye, Eyeball Eddie squinted at Amber's cast and crutches.
“You been playing somewhere else?” he asked.
“I fell off a wall,” Amber said. “I've come to play.”
“I promised your mom I wouldn't give you credit.”
“So we won't tell her.”
Eddie grinned, his tiny teeth shiny with spittle. “I never listened to my folks either.”
He gave her a stack of chips.
Amber hobbled on her crutches over to the blackjack table. The familiar hard seat greeted her backside. She should have worn a diaper, she thought, in case she was on a hot streak and had to pee. Oh, well, too late now.
She set her chips on the green velvet table top. The grizzled dealer grinned at her. He waited for her to place her bet.
Amber stared down at her toes sticking out of the cast: her too-long index toe dwarfed the big toe. It wasn't Dan's fault, Amber realized. It was hers. She deluded herself into thinking that he liked her, that his kisses were genuine. No one could like her. She was a despicable person. People were right to hate her. She could hear Dan's cackling laughter in her head.
Then she realized it wasn't just in her head. It was inside the casino. She looked around. The laughter was coming from over by the roulette table. Amber balanced her tray of chips on top of a crutch, and hobbled towards the sound.
Next to the roulette table stood Dan. He was laughing, his white teeth gleaming, a strand of long hair hanging over his face. Next to him was a shapely blonde girl about Amber's age. Dan turned to the girl and stuck his tongue in her mouth. The slurping of their tongues pierced the smoky air. Amber felt gravity crush down on her. Her bad luck continued. What were the chances of the man who dumped her being at Eyeball Eddie's, tongue-kissing a beautiful girl? Like getting struck by lightning.
Then Amber noticed that both of the girl's forearms were in thick white casts, covered with signatures and doodles. Her slim fingers had intricate henna designs on them.
Amber realized why Dan dumped her. It wasn't her toes. It wasn't anything wrong with her. As realization set in, a wide grin spread on Amber's face. When she first met Dan he barely paid any attention to her. In the human knot, she rubbed up against him, but he ignored her. When she climbed up on his shoulders, he just shrugged. But as soon as her leg snapped, he was all over her, asking if she was okay, picking her up, defending her from the fat red-headed man. In the hospital, he drew henna on her toes so he could be near the broken leg. He didn't come to her hospital room to visit her; he came to visit her broken leg. He didn't stay inside to put puzzles together with her, but to put them together with her broken leg. When he picked up the phone, his voice sounded excited to hear from her—Amber was sure of it. But as soon as she told him the cast was coming off, that the leg was healed, he lost all interest in her. She wasn't a freak. Dan was. He was a pervert with a thing for cripples: a cripple-o-phile. He probably stood outside emergency rooms to pick up girls.
Amber's heart soared and gravity stopped crushing her. She felt like celebrating. This called for blackjack. She hobbled back to the blackjack table, set down her crutches, and sat down. Dan's laughter faded into the other noises of the casino.
As Amber lay down her bet, a thought fluttered through her mind. It was interesting that she always wanted to play blackjack, no matter what her mood was. When she felt weighed down, she played to pick herself up. When she felt euphoric and weightless, she played to celebrate. Was that what they meant by addiction? Maybe. She decided she'd have to get some help for that. Tomorrow. For now, she had to celebrate.
“Hit me.”
It was Amber's first time in a casino, and she was impressed. Glittering lights shone through thick clouds of cigar smoke. Poker chips clacked together in neat piles on tables covered with green felt. The roulette wheel spun, and card-shuffling machines shuffled. Amber sat at the blackjack table and smiled at the dealer. He gazed back at her with a poker face.
Amber soon discovered that she loved blackjack. When the dealer hit her, sliding a card out of the dealing shoe, Amber's heart leaped off the edge of a cliff. If she won, her heart flew, soaring above the abyss, a thrill charging her body. If she lost, her heart plummeted down like Wile E. Coyote falling into a canyon. But, like the cartoon coyote, Amber always got up, wheezing like an accordion, and played another hand. She needed the flying feeling of winning, or her hands would start to twitch. She came back night after night.
Unfortunately, it turned out that Amber couldn't count cards. If given enough time, she could figure the probabilities with pencil and paper, but her mind worked too slowly to perform on the spot at the blackjack table. Amber realized, however, that there was more to blackjack than skill with numbers. There was luck. And Amber could feel when her luck ran hot: there was a subtle updraft and a calm certainty that her heart would stay airborne. When her luck ran cold, she felt heavy as an anvil, certain to fall. She had to take advantage of a hot streak when it came, or the moment of luck would pass. So she wouldn't have to leave the table when she felt lucky, she wore an adult diaper under her clothes.
Tonight, she felt the subtle drafts lifting her up, but, by some fluke, she kept losing. Her good luck was bottling up, ready to burst free. With every loss, her chance of winning the next hand increased, so she kept doubling her bets. But, before her good luck burst forth, she ran out of chips. Her money was gone.
She walked to the exit, but Eyeball Eddie, the owner of the casino, stopped her. He was a big gorilla of a man, with a lazy eyeball. Despite Eddie's nonchalance about his eye (he named the casino “Eyeball Eddie's”), people were afraid to look him in the eye, lest their gazes follow its wandering.
“You seem like a good kid,” Eddie said. “We can spot you some cash. You're good for it.”
So Amber took chips on credit from the casino, and returned to the blackjack table. The lucky streak burned to burst forth. But against all odds, she kept losing. She continued to raise her bets to recoup her losses, continued to lose, and continued to borrow more and more money from Eyeball Eddie. Soon Eddie said he wouldn't lend her any more money. She owed him over 5,000 dollars.
Eddie brought her back to his seedy office, opened the squeaky drawer of his desk, and pulled out a rusty hammer.
“This is what I break legs with,” he said kindly. “Get me the money.”
Amber had only one place to turn. Early the next morning, Amber's mother, Joan (Amber called her by her first name), returned home from the night shift at the factory where she assembled cellular phones. Amber waited until Joan got a couple drinks in her. Amber wanted Joan to be mellow: loose from the tension of the factory floor, but not slurring her speech. After Joan consumed exactly two and a half cans of Bud Lite, Amber sat at the kitchen table with her and, using a sheet of graph paper, diagrammed the exponential improbability of her losing so many blackjack hands in a row.
“Like being struck by lightning,” she said.
“I thought addicts were supposed to be charming,” Joan said. “Your father certainly was. But not for dice. His drug was women.”
“I'm not an addict. Look at the graph.”
Joan glanced down at the paper. “What's that?” She pointed at a strange-looking number.
Amber had hoped that writing the number in scientific notation would make it look smaller. “Five thousand dollars,” she admitted.
Joan choked on her beer. “Where are you gonna get that kind of money?” she asked, wiping her mouth.
Amber looked at the floor.
Joan sighed. “I was saving up to buy this trash heap. I was gonna be a homeowner.”
“I won't gamble any more,” Amber said. “I promise.”
Joan shook her head and set her jaw rigid. “I'm gonna use tough love,” she said. “You'll have to deal with the consequences.”
“Tough love? Eyeball Eddie the loan shark is going to break my legs! You'll have to push me around in a wheelchair!”
“Why would you borrow money from somebody named Eyeball Eddie?”
Amber pleaded. She even cried. Eventually she wore Joan down.
“Alright, Amber. I'll go pay this eyeball fellow his five-thousand dollars, but you have to go to Gamblers Anonymous meetings. You are an addict.”
Amber knew she wasn't an addict, but she didn't want her legs broken, so she pressed her lips together, nodded her head, and didn't argue.
The Gamblers Anonymous meetings were held on Tuesday evenings in a church. Inveterate gamblers sat around bemoaning their losses. After sitting through a few weeks of boring meetings, Amber went across the street to another church, where it was Bingo night. The Bingo whet her appetite. She needed the main course: blackjack.
An hour later, she was at Eyeball Eddie's Casino. She went straight to Eddie and, avoiding direct eye contact, asked him to give her credit.
He furrowed his wide brow. “I'm not supposed to.”
“You're just saying that because you know I'll win.”
Eddie shrugged and smiled, his tiny teeth glinting at her. He gave her some chips.
After a few hours of blackjack, Amber owed Eyeball Eddie over 10,000 dollars. He didn't say anything. He just fingered the claw of the rusty hammer.
Amber had no choice but to ask Joan for money again. After Joan consumed two and a half beers, Amber sat down at the kitchen table and told her that she owed money to Eyeball Eddie again. It was a fluke, Amber said. The odds that this could happen were impossible—like getting struck by lightning.
“Lightning doesn't strike the same place twice,” Joan said.
“Exactly!” Amber said. “It's impossible that this could happen. The odds are astronomical. Microscopic.”
“You're a lightning rod, Amber. A lightning rod for trouble.” She clutched Amber's head by the sides and kissed her on the forehead. “You're getting tough love this time.”
“Couldn't you just spank me?”
“You have your father's bow legs. Maybe breaking will straighten them.”
Amber begged her to help her and save her legs.
Joan sighed. “I can't believe I have to go see that degenerate eyeball fellow again.”
“I'll do it,” Amber offered.
“No,” Joan said. “I'll do it. You'd probably gamble it away.” She glared at Amber. “This is strike two, young lady. Three strikes and you lose.”
But Joan's help came with a condition: Amber had to get help for her gambling problem. Real help this time; not weekly Gamblers Anonymous meetings.
The next morning, Joan drove Amber to a treatment center for gambling addicts. It was inpatient, so Amber would be living there. It cost 200 dollars per day, Joan reminded her, so she should hurry up and get cured.
The Branchwood Rehabilitation Center wasn't a hospital; it was a series of cabins out in the woods. It was autumn and the leaves were brightly colored. A smoky maple syrup smell filled the air. Amber and Joan went into the cabin used by the director of the rehab center as an office. Dr. Makovi was a short, squat woman with graying, tangled hair.
“This isn't Gamblers Anonymous,” Dr. Makovi said. “They think an addictive personality will always be an addictive personality. Well, I'm going to give you a new personality.” She leaned back in her chair and cracked her knuckles. “Games of chance are not allowed here, but don't worry—if you like games, you still get to play games. In fact, all we do here is play games. But we play cooperative games, not competitive ones. Right now your brain is wired to get a thrill from winning when someone else loses. Doing nothing but non-competitive games will completely rewire your brain. It purges out the neurological pathways that give you a thrill from winning when someone else loses, and creates new, healthy neurological pathways that get a thrill when everyone wins.”
After Joan left, Dr. Makovi brought Amber to a grassy field to meet the others. A dozen gamblers stood around. Aside from Amber, only 2 were female. Most gambling addicts were male, Dr. Makovi explained. All of them introduced themselves.
The men looked as Amber expected: greasy and obese; they looked like they sat in basements, playing Internet poker. They looked out of place in the outdoors. But one of them was different. Dan was a hunk: Native American, tall and lithe, with long black hair that hung down past his broad shoulders. He was about Amber's age—maybe a year or two older. A strong jaw pressed out of his dimpled cheeks. His dark eyes made Amber's heart pound.
Amber realized that her jaw hung slack, so she clenched her molars to prevent drooling. Drooling would make a bad first impression. She wished she had washed her hair. Dan was looking away from her—she probably disgusted him. Or maybe he was just shy.
The first non-competitive game was “the human knot.” Amber remembered it as the ubiquitous icebreaker from camp. Dr. Makovi explained the rules. They would stand shoulder-to-shoulder in a circle. They would reach out and grasp random hands. Then without releasing hands they had to untangle their bodies. This would build neurological pathways that got a thrill from winning together, rather than at someone else's expense.
Amber glanced at Dan's dark hands. They looked strong. She imagined his hands caressing her body. She hoped she'd grab his hand.
But her losing streak continued. When she reached into the confusing shuffle of hands, she grabbed 2 pale hands, neither of which belonged to Dan. One was sweaty as an eel. The other was fat and hairy with green fungus on the fingernails.
Dan took charge. With his strong, smooth voice, he told the others where to move. The men rubbed against Amber more than necessary. She held her breath, so as not to let in the sharp body odors. But when the untangling pressed her against Dan, she breathed deep, savoring his musky scent. While inhaling him through her nostrils, she accidentally snorted, but he didn't seem to notice; he was focused on the task at hand.
After 5 minutes, they untangled the human knot. Amber pulled her hands free and wiped them on her jeans.
“Let's do it again,” she said. She felt lucky. This time she'd grab Dan's hand.
“No,” Dr. Makovi said. “We're going on to something else.”
“That's because you know I'll win,” Amber said.
“Everyone's a winner,” Dr. Makovi said. “You all got out of the knot.”
Amber didn't argue. She was too busy looking at Dan.
They walked down the hill into the woods, crunched through the autumn leaves, and approached the first obstacle: a wooden wall about 3 times Amber's height. Everyone had to get over it. On the other side was a rope ladder they could climb down. They must have done this many times before, Amber decided. They seemed to know what to do. Dan held his hair in a ponytail, so it wouldn't get stepped on. A tall man climbed up on Dan's back and stood on his shoulders. The tall man jumped up, grasped the edge of the wall, and pulled himself up. Then the next man got on Dan's shoulders, lifted his arms, and the man at the top pulled him up.
When it was Amber's turn, she took her time climbing up on Dan's shoulders, brushing her fingertips through his thick black hair. Tingles shot up her arms. She stood on his strong shoulders, reached up, and grabbed onto the man's hands. It was the man with the sweaty hands from the human knot. His hands still poured like faucets. Gripping his wet palms, Amber walked sideways up the wall. When she was almost at the top, her hands slipped out of his, and she fell. She grasped with her arms and legs, but caught only air.
Amber landed on her right foot and heard a loud crack. She slammed onto her back and got the wind knocked out of her. Extreme pain tore at her lower right leg. She grabbed where it hurt, and felt something pointy poking out the side of her jeans. That's when she started screaming. If she had known how much a broken leg hurt, she never would have gambled. It wasn't worth the risk, even if the chance of Eddie breaking her legs was only the chance of getting struck by lightning. This had to hurt more than a lightning strike.
“Don't crowd!” Dan shouted. “Give her room to breathe!”
Through the excruciating pain, Amber enjoyed Dan hovering over her. His long hair tickled her face. Dan gripped Amber's hand and squeezed it. Dan's hand was as strong as Amber had hoped. She was dismayed to feel her own hand start to sweat. She tried to will the sweat glands in her hand to stop, but they didn't.
“I think it's broken,” Amber said.
“I know,” Dan said. “I heard.”
“Dan, can you carry her to my car?” said Dr. Makovi. “We need to get her to the emergency room.”
“Yeah.” Dan picked Amber up, cradling her legs in his arms. Amber clenched her jaw. The pain was excruciating, but she enjoyed him carrying her. Dan started to follow Dr. Makovi, but a fat man with red hair and a pointy face blocked their way.
“What about the wall?” the fat man said. “We still need to get her over the wall.”
“Her leg is broken,” Dan said.
“Big deal,” said the fat man. “They broke my thumbs a dozen times. It never slowed me down.” He gripped his thumb and mashed it flat against the back of his wrist. The thumb seemed to be made of silly putty.
“Get out of the way,” Dan said coldly.
The fat man's face crumbled. He let go of his thumb and stepped out of the way. The thumb hung limply at the side of his hand.
Dan carried Amber to Dr. Makovi's car.
In the emergency room, the attendants cut off Amber's jeans with scissors. They stuck her feet first in a giant X-ray machine, and told her not to move. The orthopedic surgeon spoke in incomprehensible medical jargon, but the X-ray was clear enough: both bones in Amber's lower leg were broken. The surgeon injected Amber with a powerful pain-killer, set the bone, and put her in a cast. She would have to stay overnight in the hospital, her leg in traction. She couldn't get up; they'd bring her a bedpan.
Amber lay in the recovery room, a sling elevating her cast above the bed. The painkillers were wearing off. She heard Dr. Makovi's voice in the hallway, talking with the nurses. Dan came into Amber's room and stood at the foot of her bed. He smiled, his perfect white teeth glittering under the fluorescent lights. Amber felt nervous. Her toes poked out of the end of the white cast, and she didn't want Dan to see them. Her index toes were 2 millimeters longer than her big toes. (That was why she never wore sandals.) She couldn't move her leg to hide it, and throwing the sheet over it would be conspicuous. So she clenched her toes to hide the length difference. A sharp pain shot through her broken leg, but she made herself hold the clench.
“You look like you're in pain,” Dan said.
“I broke my leg,” Amber said through gritted teeth.
It was too painful to clench her toes. She released them and relief flooded her leg under the cast.
Dan clicked open a blue ballpoint pen. “I wanted to be the first to sign your cast.”
Amber closed her eyes and nodded. There was no way to hide her toes now.
The tip of the pen pressed on Amber's big toe and tickled her. Her foot tried to yank away, but the sling held it in place. Pain shot through the broken bones.
“What are you doing?” Amber said.
“It's henna—Indian toe art,” Dan said. “The other Indians, I mean. In India.”
“But why?”
Dan grasped her toe with his free hand and began to draw. “It looks cool. And it's good for your health, I think. Hold still.”
It tickled, and Amber couldn't stop giggling.
Dan held the pen up and narrowed his eyes at it. He shook the pen and tried to draw with it on her toe. Then he sucked on the end of the pen. He tried to write again.
“Sorry,” he said. “It's out of ink. And I didn't get to sign the cast.”
He pocketed the pen, walked around the bed, and sat down at her side. The weight of his body on the bed sent warm tingles through Amber's body. Her heart sped up. She wanted to kiss him, but she was flat on her back and he was sitting upright. There was no way for their mouths to come together naturally.
“So...” Dan said, “first time in rehab?”
“Yeah. I was in Gamblers Anonymous though.”
“It didn't work for you, I guess.”
“Bingo.”
“They do the twelve steps, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Dr. Makovi doesn't believe in the twelve steps.”
“I know.”
“What step did you get to?”
“Step zero,” Amber said. “I never admitted I have a problem, because I don't. And even if I did the first step, I couldn't do the second. I'm an atheist.”
“I thought it just had to be a higher power,” Dan said. “It doesn't have to be God.”
“I told them I believe in luck, but they said that didn't count.”
“What about gravity?”
“What about it?”
“Do you believe gravity is a power greater than yourself? I mean, it put you in this cast. If it wasn't more powerful than you, you'd be able to fly.”
“I guess that's hard to argue with.”
Dan's head started to slump towards Amber. He held his hair back with one hand as his face approached hers.
“What are you doing?” Amber said.
“Gravity,” Dan said.
Their lips met. He stuck his tongue in her mouth and she licked it. She forgot about the pain in her leg as she ran her fingers through his thick hair. His hands slid up her hospital gown. Her stomach burned with pleasure. Her toes clenched involuntarily, and sharp pain seized her broken bones.
“Yeoww!”
Dan sat up. “What's wrong?”
“My toes curled.”
Later, Joan rushed into the hospital room, still in her factory uniform. She examined Amber's cast, then sat on the bed where Dan had been, and clutched her daughter's hand. Amber hoped that Joan didn't notice any love stains on the sheets.
“I don't want you going back to that rehab,” Joan said. “I don't trust that Dr. Makovi—letting you break your leg! You learned your lesson. Now you know what a broken leg feels like, so you won't ever gamble again. Right?”
Amber realized that if she left the rehab, she wouldn't see Dan anymore.
“I'm fine, Joan. It was an accident. It wasn't Dr. Makovi's fault. I want to stay and get better.”
Joan frowned. “You think they're helping you?”
“Sure. I can feel my neurons changing.”
Joan sighed and nodded. “Alright. Just don't take too long. Remember this is costing me two hundred bucks a day.”
Amber winced with guilt. Then she glanced at her leg so Joan would think it was a wince of pain.
“Does it hurt?” Joan asked, looking at Amber's cast.
“The most excruciating,” Amber said.
“I can relate.”
“I doubt it.”
“I know what pain is. I gave birth to you.”
Amber was unexpectedly hurt by this and she started to cry.
“I meant the labor pains,” Joan said, handing Amber a tissue from her purse. “You had such broad shoulders. You got that from your father.”
“I got my toes from you,” Amber sniffled.
The next day, Amber returned to the rehab, walking on crutches. The other gamblers signed her cast, and covered it with doodles. Because of her broken leg, Amber couldn't take part in wall-climbing or other outdoor activities. But that didn't effect her “rewiring.” Many people showed up to the rehab center with broken limbs after missing payments to loan sharks, so this wasn't an extraordinary situation. There was an indoor rewiring method. There were indoor non-competitive games—mostly jigsaw puzzles. While the others were outside climbing walls and other obstacles, Dan stayed inside with Amber, the two of them putting puzzles together. Their fingers touched as they reached for puzzle pieces. They kissed when no one was looking. At night, he would sneak into her room, into her bed. Amber felt lighter—maybe it was Dan, maybe it was the codeine, or maybe gravity removed some of its weight from off her.
As they put together 1000-piece jigsaw puzzles, Amber learned more about Dan. His parents owned a casino on their reservation. Dan worked as a poker dealer, but would sneak away from the table to play roulette. Soon he was hooked. He went on roulette binges, not eating or sleeping for days. He stole from his parents to play. If he won, he'd pay them back. If he lost, the money went to his parents through the casino. The house always won.
“My dad said that if I didn't stop roulette, he'd break my horse's legs.”
“You have a horse?”
“Sure. I drew henna on her hooves.”
Amber figured that if she had a horse, she probably would never go near a blackjack table.
Amber told Dan about losing thousands of dollars at Eyeball Eddie's casino. Dan laughed. He said he knew Eddie well. When Dan's parents forbid him to play roulette in the reservation's casino, he played at Eyeball Eddie's. He started to lose, went on credit, and lost some more. Eddie showed him the rusty hammer. Not wanting to have to get a tetanus shot, Dan asked his parents for the money, and they made him go to Dr. Makovi's rehab.
After a few weeks of Amber and Dan putting together jigsaw puzzles, Dr. Makovi declared that Dan was no longer a gambling addict. He was rewired and ready to go home.
Dan tongue-kissed Amber goodbye. “When you get out, call me,” he said. “You'll come to my reservation. I'll take you horse riding.”
With Dan gone, Amber felt no reason to stay in the rehab. She called Joan and asked her to pick her up. “I'm afraid they'll break my other leg,” Amber said.
Joan picked her up from rehab. Dr. Makovi protested that Amber wasn't ready.
“She still has gambling wired in the brain.”
Joan took her home anyway. She seemed glad to have Amber back and Amber was glad to be home. But there as no time to celebrate Amber's homecoming. Joan had to work the late shift. She rushed off, leaving Amber home alone.
Amber called Dan from the phone in the kitchen.
“Hello,” Dan said. There was wind in the background. Amber supposed he was outside—perhaps on his horse.
“Hi,” Amber said.
“Who is this?” Dan said.
Amber was hurt that he didn't recognize her voice, although all she had said was “hi.”
“It's me. It's Amber.”
“Oh, hi,” he said, his voice sounding upbeat. “Are you out?”
“Yeah.”
“That was fast.”
“I have great news,” Amber said. “Tomorrow I'm getting the cast off. So I'll be able to do anything. You know. Horse riding or whatever. So when can I come out to your reservation?”
There was silence on the line.
“Hello?” Amber said.
“I'm still here,” Dan said. “Listen. About that. I have a few reservations.”
Dan chuckled. Amber thought he meant that his family owned a lot of land. She didn't see the humor.
“I know—you're rich,” she said. “From the casino.”
“No. It's...sorry. Indian joke. I guess it's not funny under the circumstances. Listen...I don't think we should see each other again.”
Now it was Amber's turn to be silent.
“Hello?” Dan said.
“I'm here,” Amber wheezed. There was a heavy weight in her chest. She grabbed onto the kitchen table to steady herself. “What...what do you mean?”
“I think it was great being with you and I had a great time at rehab. But things are different now.”
Amber stared down at the toes peeking out of her cast.
“It's my toes—isn't it?” she said, her voice cracking. Her eyes glazed with tears and her vision blurred.
“It isn't you,” Dan said. “I'm trying to stay away from gambling and I want to succeed this time, so I have to stay away from everyone who has anything to do with gambling.”
“You live in a casino.”
“Okay, fine. It's not because of that. Look...I just don't want to see you anymore. Let's just leave it at that. I don't owe you any explanation.”
“What did I do wrong?”
“I have to go,” Dan said. “I'm sorry you can't be more mature about this.”
There was a click.
“Hello?” Amber said.
No answer. He had hung up.
Amber dropped the phone into the receiver. She sank down into a chair, feeling gravity crush down on her. Dan just used her to pass the time in rehab. He was always planning to dump her as soon as he got out. It was slim pickings in the rehab. He picked her over fat Jane and pimply Rebecca. Not much competition. But out in the real world, Amber didn't have a chance with him.
Amber felt a physical pain in her chest, and understood why it was called a broken heart, even though the heart just pumped blood, and the feelings were chemicals in the brain. This hurt more than when she broke her leg. And there was no cast to put on a broken heart. Sadness crawled up her throat. She tried not to think of Dan. Every thought of him made something clench in her and seized her broken heart with pain. She needed something to take her mind off this, something to make her feel better—she needed to win.
She picked up her crutches, left the house, and got on the bus to Eddie's back-alley casino. Inside the casino, the thick cloud of cigar smoke embraced her like an old friend. With his good eye, Eyeball Eddie squinted at Amber's cast and crutches.
“You been playing somewhere else?” he asked.
“I fell off a wall,” Amber said. “I've come to play.”
“I promised your mom I wouldn't give you credit.”
“So we won't tell her.”
Eddie grinned, his tiny teeth shiny with spittle. “I never listened to my folks either.”
He gave her a stack of chips.
Amber hobbled on her crutches over to the blackjack table. The familiar hard seat greeted her backside. She should have worn a diaper, she thought, in case she was on a hot streak and had to pee. Oh, well, too late now.
She set her chips on the green velvet table top. The grizzled dealer grinned at her. He waited for her to place her bet.
Amber stared down at her toes sticking out of the cast: her too-long index toe dwarfed the big toe. It wasn't Dan's fault, Amber realized. It was hers. She deluded herself into thinking that he liked her, that his kisses were genuine. No one could like her. She was a despicable person. People were right to hate her. She could hear Dan's cackling laughter in her head.
Then she realized it wasn't just in her head. It was inside the casino. She looked around. The laughter was coming from over by the roulette table. Amber balanced her tray of chips on top of a crutch, and hobbled towards the sound.
Next to the roulette table stood Dan. He was laughing, his white teeth gleaming, a strand of long hair hanging over his face. Next to him was a shapely blonde girl about Amber's age. Dan turned to the girl and stuck his tongue in her mouth. The slurping of their tongues pierced the smoky air. Amber felt gravity crush down on her. Her bad luck continued. What were the chances of the man who dumped her being at Eyeball Eddie's, tongue-kissing a beautiful girl? Like getting struck by lightning.
Then Amber noticed that both of the girl's forearms were in thick white casts, covered with signatures and doodles. Her slim fingers had intricate henna designs on them.
Amber realized why Dan dumped her. It wasn't her toes. It wasn't anything wrong with her. As realization set in, a wide grin spread on Amber's face. When she first met Dan he barely paid any attention to her. In the human knot, she rubbed up against him, but he ignored her. When she climbed up on his shoulders, he just shrugged. But as soon as her leg snapped, he was all over her, asking if she was okay, picking her up, defending her from the fat red-headed man. In the hospital, he drew henna on her toes so he could be near the broken leg. He didn't come to her hospital room to visit her; he came to visit her broken leg. He didn't stay inside to put puzzles together with her, but to put them together with her broken leg. When he picked up the phone, his voice sounded excited to hear from her—Amber was sure of it. But as soon as she told him the cast was coming off, that the leg was healed, he lost all interest in her. She wasn't a freak. Dan was. He was a pervert with a thing for cripples: a cripple-o-phile. He probably stood outside emergency rooms to pick up girls.
Amber's heart soared and gravity stopped crushing her. She felt like celebrating. This called for blackjack. She hobbled back to the blackjack table, set down her crutches, and sat down. Dan's laughter faded into the other noises of the casino.
As Amber lay down her bet, a thought fluttered through her mind. It was interesting that she always wanted to play blackjack, no matter what her mood was. When she felt weighed down, she played to pick herself up. When she felt euphoric and weightless, she played to celebrate. Was that what they meant by addiction? Maybe. She decided she'd have to get some help for that. Tomorrow. For now, she had to celebrate.
“Hit me.”
posted by Benjamin Fishbein at Thursday, December 31, 2009
3 comments
