A Story I wrote based on a real life experience

 
Circular Logic
 By Me.
Dedicated to Mom & Dad
 
Christmas season. Not that that mattered much nor truly factored into my conscious/unconscious decision to cross a line that previously appeared more as a flaming, napalm filled trench. An ominous fixed barrier. In the past, had I noticed it – I hadn't - the mere fact that it was close enough to notice would have served as warning enough that I was on the brink of an abyss. Would have had me questioning no less than my near and dear personal code of morals and ethics which made me me.
 
But on this day, flat broke and entrusted with my father's credit cards while he rested in a rehab facility recovering from a broken shoulder, so powerful had my addiction become that it took me about as long as it is taking me to write this one word: help, as I sit here now before I crossed the flaming firewall.
My big brain just wanted to check the balance. To ensure that I would have enough to purchase the box of training pads I needed to deliver to the lady watching dad's dog while he was laid up. A legitimate expense – and one of the main reasons he gave me the cards in the first place.
Tapping in his pin number. Account balance. Checking. $640.00
“Oh really?” Was all that my little brain could manage as it began to plot its hostile takeover. Stoked on by this sudden access to 'found' or 'unexpected' money, it stayed focused on one singular thought - A ride to the casino. And no more than an instant after the instant those numbers flashed on the screen, I too became a little dog – as I dutifully followed my master, Pavlov through & over the fiery trench.
I resisted initially. Bared my teeth. Bit him on the hand, as at this point, I was still somewhat in touch with the 'real' non-canine me. I realized that what I was about to do was wrong & felt guilty for even thinking about it – while simultaneously embracing the thought.
Embracing it because the thought triggered a feeling. An old familiar feeling - a literal physical feeling.
A feeling that at the same time was both pleasant and unpleasant. Pinpointed, yet all-encompassing. Reminiscent of the first step in undergoing an MRI. The warm, flooding, shot-of-whiskey-on-a-cold-day feeling the dye imparts as it begins to flow through your veins and becomes the focus of your entire consciousness. Impossible to ignore.
This was that. A feeling no less real nor intense than that imparted by any other chemical infusion: be it dye; hydrocodone; cocaine or any other mind-altering substance.
Bizarrely, as all this is taking place at synapse to synapse speed – thinking these thoughts; feeling these feelings - car door open, leaning out to reach the ATM, snow dilating & distorting its glowing readout - my mind dredges up Fast Eddie Felson in The Color of Money. Hearing him say how 'Money won is twice as sweet as money earned.'
Its so true. Winning $100.00 on a lottery ticket provides a massive high. Walking into the store and cashing the ticket feels more like having won some sort of double barreled bonanza or buried treasure. 'Extra' money, it feels like. And way more than $100.00.
Same with found money: isn't it always a gas to find a forgotten $20 in your suit coat? Pant's pocket? Anywhere? It appears somehow worth more than face value when found … like it had been marinating all the time it had been tucked away in the darkness of its pocket cave. When finally unearthed, in its founder's eyes it has matured into a $50. For no other reason than it was unexpected. That alone makes it special. More valuable. Like an old friend who suddenly appears at your door.
My old friends: twenties, in particular, just arrived. And ring the bell especially hard & loud. Addiction Anonymous groups call that one thing that pulls especially hard on an addict their 'drug of choice'. Adopting that; I would call twenties my denomination of choice.
They were the juice that powered the machine; the juice that powered my machine. It's a strong bond we've forged. Have shaken hands many thousands of times. In one hand, out the other. And just about that fast. Tired = Bed. Hungry = Eat. Cash = Gambling. Pretty much as simple as that.
Any denomination would work but twenties stoke the desire fire like none other.
The placebo thought of getting high at the casino kicking in as I counted the 8 twenties now sitting in my hand. Even began half-thinking about which machine I would play first. A thought I rarely followed through on; another pitiful instance of anything resembling rational thought being checked at the door. I mean, really. Here I was, aching to play so badly that that feeling overshadowed even the tiniest remaining rational thought of choosing which machine I wanted to play first. 'Surrender, Dorothy,' as the wicked witch once wrote in smoke.
I tapped out. And began tapping away at max bet. Visions of sugarplums and other Christmas accoutrements replaced instead with visions of winning hundreds upon hundreds of dollars. Capital, in other words. As it would be re-invested to fund the winning of multiples of more hundreds upon hundreds – because one round of winning hundreds upon hundreds is never enough. Nor is the next nor the next.
Because the goal of this game – unlike any other game in the history of games – is not about winning.
It is simply about keeping the game going. Kind of like the game played by kids you see on the corner kicking a little ball to each other in a semi-circle: the goal is to simply keep the ball aloft. To keep the game alive.
But even that game has a clear, definitive end: the game is over when the ball hits the ground. Which appears to be the objective of the Gambling Game (TGG): the game is over when I hit the ground after exhausting my last available money generating scheme to fund TGG - In the delusional pursuit of trying to impose my own ending on a game which by design is as open ended yet interconnected as is a circle.
It's as if I were challenging the fundamental rules of geometry: If I threw enough funding at it; played it long enough; let it cycle through all its possible algorithms & programming permutations that I could somehow force this circle – this perfectly designed and engineered black hole of a circle – to break at it's weakest point, elongate, lay itself out flat and conform itself into the shape of my choosing: a straight line, in particular, would be preferable: a linear shape that has a beginning (entering the casino) a middle (the act of actively playing) and an ending (having my funding the game result in a significant return on investment (ROI) – which I would then cash out and exit the casino).
That was the plan.
Logical, yes? Play the game. Beat the odds by winning money. Hurray. Game over. Time to leave. Why hang around – the goal has been achieved: The circle has transformed into a straight line. The Game has ended.
Ahh, but look closely … the line isn't as straight and rigid as it first appeared. The end is fraying. Dangling – as if the line is a piece of yarn stretched out on a table … with barely an inch or two hanging off the edge. A gentle breeze enters the room through an open window. A tiny puff of wind lessens the yarn's hold on the slick table top. Pushes another few inches off the edge. 5, 6 inches now dangle in space – threatening to pull the rest of the line down with it.
Being bombarded with neon promises screaming out as if etched in stone instead of the ephemeral flickering of a deviously programmed LCD readout: Progressive Jackpot: $2,222.00; Win (up to) 100 free spins; All winnings quadrupled in bonus round …
7, 8, now 9 inches of the yarn dangle off the table's edge. Threatening to pull the remaining length off its slick top. The tiniest little puff of an errant smoke ring enough to cause it to reach critical mass and send it sliding off the table, the end pulling the beginning along with it, free falling until it hits the floor, where it smugly lay after invariably reverting back to its true shape: a circle – a shape whose beginning and ending is no less mysterious than that of the universe. Where was the beginning? What was before that? Where's the end?
The casino is its own galaxy. With its own rules. Where the hard and fast rules of geometry itself don't apply. 'Circles Only. All Other Shapes Keep Out.'
And so it is. Infused with an element of Catch-22, the entire ambiance of the place is that of a circle within a circle. Where, once entered is nearly impossible to escape.
The galaxy knows what I am thinking. 'Play. Win. Leave.'
It laughs at my conviction. It knows how to tease me. To get in my head. It lets me win only so it can then let me lose. Giving me insight into what a manic-depressive must feel. It sometimes yields the experience of a substantial win & exaggerates and embellishes its heroics to the point of ridiculousness: 'Big. Super. Mega Win' the machine lights up. Congratulating itself. Congratulating me. As if we're partners of sorts, conspiring against the casino. Partners, you say. So, what – do we share the profits?
Yeah, well – my friends have gotten their share. No doubt there. But they've also fulfilled their come ons now and then too. Yep. I've seen it. Experienced it plenty, really. And, at times, even when I've most needed it.
But, as I once said to the guy standing behind me after I cashed out an $800.00 ticket: “I still hate this place.” “Say what?” he says. “You just cashed out a ticket for $800.00.” “Yeah, but I'm still here,” I said.
Impossible to fathom, sitting here once removed. That one hour I had been holding 8 hundred dollar bills I had just won. And before another 2 hours passed; nothing. Odd: how in the casino, magic cannot be re-created, but history is quite capable of repeating itself:
Down to literally my last $5.00. Scraped together 4 ones and change to launch a last ditch attempt to win back some of my initial investment.
Played one machine. Won $50.00 something. Cool.
Took the $50.00 for a walk around. See what we would see.
A few familiar faces to be sure. Feeding another face gave
me another $200.00 something.
On a roll. No, serious.
Another $300.00 something from another.
$500.00 something. Off of $5.00. An unheard of ROI by any measure.
Unheard of, but still not quite enough. Another friendly face. Another $200.00 plus.
I cashed out the ticket. Some $762.00 if I remember correctly. From my initial last $5.00 in my possession.
Another friendly (or so I thought) face beckoned. One on which I remember lighting up for nearly the same amount: $750.00, a week or so ago, just a moment or two after having sat down.
Convinced it would do the same again, I shared $100.00 of my winnings with my old friend.
Ah, it's getting warmed up now. Alright. Fine. But only 1 more. I can't leave here broken again. Can't. Won't. Would be beyond comprehension to disrespect my good fortune by losing it. Besides, the $762.00 – now $562.00 - is already spoken for in the real world. Budgeted. Allocated. I had to have it.
$300.00 of which was to replace the 'found' $300.00 on Dad's card. I had needed to at least try to win that back. I did. With my last remaining scraped together $5.00, I did win in back. And over $400.00 more. Huge money for me at that time. Perfect timing. Thanks, Dad. Sorry, Dad. Here you go, Dad.
Catch-22. I come to a place that offers the possibility of magically, against-all-odds turning my $5.00 into something more substantial. But gives zero indication when nor even if this phenomenon will occur. What to do? Why … stick around. And wait for the moment to materialize. Better yet, maybe I could coax it into existence. Bribe into existence, in actuality.
So, basically I come to this place. With the intent of paying for the opportunity to gamble money I already have to … maybe; possibly win back an equal sum after having exhausted and gambled the original sum in said pursuit.
But even if it does – and it does – it doesn't matter.
I fantasized something like $300.00 or so. Whoo-ee, if I could do that …
More than double my fantasy. It would be monumental. And make a great gambling story.
There must exist only a certain finite bubble of pure luck allotted per trip to the casino.
Because, either my friends collectively decided to turn on me all at once or maybe they were just tired and didn't feel like playing anymore. I'd been smoking the bubble all night long, inhaling hit upon hit of its innate magic. Eventually and inevitably, I suck the life out of it. It pops and shrivels and falls to the floor – an empty shell of the proud circle it once was.
I can't say I truly saw nor heard nor smelled the instant the bubble bursts.
But I felt it. Tasted it, even.
It's a too-fast elevator ride down from the top floor to the basement.
A taste like re-heated, stale coffee and cheap cigarettes.
And too much of both. A war is breaking out in my insides.
A war pitting leaving with what I still have and desperately need against staying and consciously trying to re-create the magic that had visited me just a scant few hundred dollars ago.
And even though I know magic either is or isn't; that it's a phenomenon that cannot be re-created; and even though I know the war should never be waged, because it's a war than can never be won, I stay.
But, the casino doesn't care about the war. Nor is it intimidated by what I know. It's not even interested in my winning or losing in particular, just that I stay.
It's only interest is in keeping the game going. Keeping the circle revolving. Keeping me chasing money that, just moments ago, was mine. Or, my father's.
I left the casino that night not with the $762.00 I had won.
I left the casino that night not with the $300.00 I owed my Dad.
I left the casino that night not even with the original $5.00 I scraped together.
 
When I lose, I lose. When I win, I lose.
By circular logic, when I play, I lose.
I left the casino that night.
I win.
 
The End