The Way Things Are

Felix Ayman – his name was Felix Ayman. He was just a kid, twenty-one years old, celebrating the luckiest day of his life.

Reverse. “One more time.” Badump – badump.

From the upper level of the casino, I watched him walk in with his friends. He looked as average as could be – 5’8”, slim, brown hair, brown eyes, brown skin, and clothes just about anyone could wear. He clearly was anxious about being there, probably from fear of losing what little he had. But still, he allowed his friends to egg him on and convince him to spend the day celebrating his twenty-first birthday with gambling.

I watched him carefully swim through a sea of neon blues, pinks, and yellows, afraid of pushing a button that might lock him in, staring in amazement at the poor souls praying for lady luck to be on their side. She would never be – she doesn’t pick sides.

Forward. “One more time.” Badump – badump.

He was right to be hesitant – I wish he would’ve listened to his gut. Slot machines seem so simple, like an easy thing to walk away from – but they’re bait at the end of a line floating in a sea of mindless fools waiting to get hooked. They tease your appetite, develop it with one small victory so that even if you shake yourself free, you can’t help but come back for more.

I gripped the guard railing tightly watching him pathetically press buttons and pull levers, cluelessly sealing his fate – I wish he would’ve taken his friends and left. This isn’t a place for a kid who wants some harmless fun. This isn’t a world for a kid who's trying to figure things out. My head twinged looking at his face, the secret little curiosity that spread over it, his desire to know what he might be capable of. Ultimately, kid, you’re either a failure or a success, but most of the time you don’t get to decide that.

Reverse. “One more time.” Badump – badump.

I’m sure he felt powerful. Hearing one delightful, deceitful ding after another – anyone could be fooled into believing in themselves. I’m sure that if we had talked he would’ve told me he felt invincible, that it felt good to win. But winning is just half the battle – you’ve got to be ready for the fight that follows.

He kept winning, one game after another, with incredible luck. The look of surprise on his face made it clear this was a skill he was unaware of before today, however, the novelty of his luck did not deduct from his eagerness and willingness to wager more. His friends also pushed him to try more which frustrated me. They gathered at each shoulder, whispering in his ears, tempting him with possibilities – it was unsightly to watch.

I imagine they were jealous. Actually, I know they were – from the firm hands holding onto his shoulders that gripped firmer, heavier, after every bell and whistle that signaled another personal victory. Their faces so obviously read: Why Felix? Why not me? I need this more. But they played along with the rest of the casino, chanting “Felix! Felix! Felix!”, despite desperately wanting to step into his place.

It was a problem, you see, for my bosses to have some ordinary kid defying the odds like that – to inspire people in that way. These games weren’t designed to be won. They were created for aching people, like his friends and the strangers surrounding him, to punch the air, then the ground, then shake the machine, then scream about the system being rigged, and then give up. And because he didn’t play the games the way they were intended for people like him, my bosses came to talk with me.

Forward. “One more time.” Badump – badump.

My bosses, two tall, large, round white men, told me they admired his unusual skill but couldn’t tolerate losing anymore to a kid who should’ve never stepped foot inside their casino. There was disgust in their voices and contempt in their fists as they talked about him. It was obvious to me, from the way their eyes drooped, that they actually feared him. And that fear is what drove them to ask me to, once again, handle the situation.

It wasn’t surprising to hear this request from them – it’s my job after all. However, it was too late; his friends had already pulled him into a high stakes game of blackjack – double or nothing. It was impressive that he started with nothing and, within a few hours, racked up ten thousand dollars. It was more impressive how easily he doubled his money with a single bet. I half smiled at the frustration displayed by my bosses; he won as easily as they had their whole lives. But with his win came an unexpected thing – the addition of his name to my little black book.

Reverse. “One more time.” Badump – badump.

He had to be handled immediately according to my bosses, no matter who was around to witness. I convinced them to wait until he left the casino. It was late in the evening, around 11:32, and he was finally leaving after receiving the final congratulations for an awesome display of luck – he had spent the whole day gambling in the casino. The Nevada concrete was cool, the sky was sparkling and clear, and he decided to walk home alone – lucky me.

His friends wanted him to ride with them back to their apartment to continue celebrating, but he refused. I watched him from my car, he waved goodbye to his friends. If we had talked, he probably would’ve told me he wanted to be alone with his thoughts to reflect on his inexplicable luck, to try and make some sense of it. I tried that, too - to make sense of it. But some things just can’t be explained kid – they just are.

Like his choice to walk alone at night, down an empty, rundown street, with twenty-thousand dollars in his pocket, and me, in my car, slowly creeping behind him, keeping my distance, waiting patiently for a single step off the curb.

When he did finally step out into the street to cross to the other side, there was a gut feeling deep inside me telling me he wanted this to happen. I revved my engine loud, flashed on my headlights, and gunned for him with full power once he reached the middle of the street. His eyes were bright and reflected light back to me, his face was full of shock, and his arms held in front of his body were hopeful I’d stop.

Badump – badump.

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