Two Friends Playing Russian Roulette

"What's your lucky number?" I asked Ricky while he held the gun to his temple.

"I don't fuckn' know," he said. "Why should I know. You've got to get lucky first, then know what number works for you."

This idiot had a point for a change.

I asked, "So how do you define luck, Ric?"

He said, "If the next CLICK doesn't blow my head off, then I'm lucky."

"That's it?" I laughed. "What about all the good stuff that happened to you?"

Ricky had this odd view on life. He never considered anything past the last five minutes.

Give him a million bucks and a night with Mariah Carey, and an hour later he acts like everything's usual.

"Good stuff? Like what, Leon?" he told me.

"You nailed the hottest girl in high school just a week ago."

"I did. So what. That was a week ago. Now I'm playing Russian roulette with someone like you. My life could end in a blink of an eye."

I told him, "You remember this gun ain't real, right? And what do you mean by 'someone like me'?"

"I mean," he said while eating the chocolate chips on the table, "You're my best friend. Don't get me wrong. But that's the problem- YOU are my best friend."

We played Russian roulette every Friday in my basement. The gun wasn't real, just a toy flair gun that made some random noise.

If it goes BANG, it's game over, and you lost $200. That's the bet.

Since that toy was old, we never knew when it'll fire. Sometimes we played for a whole day. Sometimes the game lasted a couple of minutes.

I told Ricky, "Let's do another round or two and go. We've played for an hour already. I gotta go see my mom in the hospital. Doctors say she doesn't have a lot of time."

"C'mon Leon, what's the rush? Sooner or later, we all meet in the World Of Peace."

LOL.

"You realize you need a psychiatrist, like yesterday, right Ric? Pull that trigger already."

*CLICK*

No bang. My turn.

I said, "Give me that thing."

Ric handed the gun and pulled it back right when I almost had my hand on it.

"Don't rush it," he said." Mommy will wait".

He had this crazy look in his eyes. It was like they were on fire.

Years ago, Ric was one of those kids who could bury a small kitten alive. Or tie another kid to a tree and set it on fire. Then a minute later, help an old lady cross the road.

You couldn't tell what was about to happen with the guy.

I never realized why I spent time with him. I guess he has that sort of pull on people.

That complexity in him, it does something. A ginger guy with brown eyes and curly hair.

You can expect the unexpected with Ric.

He handed me the gun. I stuck it to my forehead and looked into his eyes.

Squeeze-and— *CLICK*. No loud bang for me. Not today.

"You know I love you, right Leon?" Ricky told me.

"Yeah man, I know. I love you too," I said, "Why do you say that?"

Ric wasn't the emotional type. Caught me off-guard with that comment.

"I mean," he said, "It's been hard, you know.

That man who molested me as a kid keeps coming for me in my dreams. I can see his Joker smile and smell the alcohol he drank. I can see the tattoos on his neck.

I can't shake it. It cuts deep. I'm not happy, I don't wanna be. Life is always black and grey for me."

"It'll be OK, man. I promise," I said.

"It'll all be over soon, Leon. I'm not worried."

"How are those pills working out for you, Ric?"

"Not bad. You can never know with these things. Do you. They tell you this stuff will make you feel better. But they never tell you it lasts an hour tops."

"Fuckers," I said. "They gotta sell you. Keep you on the hook."

"Exactly. Their business is repeat customers. Gotta keep you on a short leash."

"Your turn, Ric," I said.

And Ric said, "Let's get it over with. I've had enough."

I was tired and didn't know what was happening around me.

Just wanted to get the hell out of there to see my mom.

Ric grabbed the gun, looked into my eyes again, smiled, and squeezed hard.

The room went BANG, and I went into shock as Ricky's brain was all over the table.

Everything went silent. Time slowed down. My eyes were wide open. My heartbeat raced.

Adrenaline pumped my whole body. I sat there for ten minutes and breathed heavily.

Sometimes you win in life. When you don't, you tell yourself better days will come.

It gives you something to hold on to. Even when it's hard to believe it. It gives you hope. It gives you a chance to pick yourself up and win next time.

It gives you a chance to smile at the end of all this.

Ric didn't hold on to anything, I believe. I don't think he wanted to. I once heard that girls who were part of a sex trafficking ring when they were kids, killed themselves when they're about twelve years old.

Ric survived four years longer.

When the cops came, they asked me what had happened. How come Ric switched the flare gun for a real one. And why would he do that?

I told them I didn't know. It wasn't their business.

At Ric's funeral, his parents came over and asked me what had happened.

His father was an eighty-year-old in a wheelchair. Had the same eyes as Ricky.

I told them, "I don't know. He never said anything."

His mom bought it.

His father looked right at me. His neck tattoos showed on his dying skin. The smell was strong. He looked into my eyes, turned his wheelchair around, and gave me his Joker smile.