Spinning Against the Wheel
A man attempts to change his fortunes with the spin of a wheel
“Place your bets.” The croupier announces to the table.
I wait. I keep my hands busy by ruffling and stacking my casino chips. The other players stretch across the table in a blur of hands and arms. Scattering their plastic seeds of hope. I ignore the chaos and scan the numbers printed on the wheel, searching through the red and black for something to jump out at me. For one of the numbers to mean something.
11. 32. 5. 24. 8…
That’s it. Eight. Ava was born on the eighth. The familiar rush thumps into me and my mouth dries up. I slide my entire stack across the table.
38 to 1, all in. Number eight.
“No more bets.”
The croupier flicks the ball, spinning it against the motion of the roulette wheel and I hear it circle once. Twice. Three times. Four.
I have a ‘thing’ whenever I bet, like knocking on wood or crossing my fingers, where I never look at the ball until it stops. Instead, I follow the croupier’s eyes as they track its path around the wheel. As the roulette wheel spins, I’m held in limbo by the whirring of the ball against mahogany. With each new pass the sound stretches, dragging me along with it.
And then silence. But just a beat. I hold my breath.
The ball drops and begins tumbling against the brass-lined pockets, rattling towards a conclusion.
Click-clack.
I just need this one win. I’ll pay off everything.
Click. Click. Clack.
I’ll clear the loans, the credit cards, and money I’ve begged from family and friends.
Click-click.
I’ll put back what I’ve taken from Ava’s inheritance fund.
Clack. Clack.
I keep my eyes fixed on the croupier as the ball tumbles to a halt. The next time he speaks it will be to announce the winning number. My winning number. The number that will fix everything.
Clunk…
