The Luck of the Draw
The Luck of the Draw
He sat in a desk next to the classroom’s only window, through which stolen glances of the world outside tantalized his curiosity and drove him further and further toward thinking it was all just a waste of time.
The day he finally left it all behind was the rainiest day that winter, confining most activity indoors and leaving little life outside the classroom window. That day’s lecture was about physics, more specifically the motion of falling objects.
He noted the irony as he effectively dropped out of high school. No one stopped him when he walked out the door. “It’s his future,” would be their reasoning. “Let him.” Coincidentally, it was his reasoning as well.
At first, he didn’t know where to go. His habitual inclination was to walk home, so he did. His parents, away at their jobs, would not know he had left until he was far enough away that he was safe from being dragged home. He briefly considered leaving a note, but he did not know what to write, so he didn’t. He simply grabbed his backpack, into which he stoically placed a few essentials like clothing, a bottle of water, a couple of granola bars, and the few days worth of pills he had left on his counter. He left out the back door, with only his backpack and the fatal retrovirus which he acquired from a blood transfusion some years before.
With the sun behind the clouds and the rain beating down hard on his back, it seemed a dismal setting in which to begin the rest of his life. He knew he couldn’t change the weather, so he forgot about it, and as he did the rain began to subside and the clouds parted to let out the first rays of sunshine that day.
Though the rain had stopped, the wetness of the day left the suburban streets of his neighborhood hauntingly deserted as he made his way toward no where in particular. Empty cars sat along curbs where water was busily flowing into storm drains like a crowd running from a burning building. Swing sets sat unoccupied on the front lawns of houses where children lived, no doubt at that moment ready to get outside now that the rain had stopped.
Eventually, he found himself downtown, a typically bustling hub of goings-on which was curiously absent of any such activity. A few cars drove by - their headlamps cast light on the dampness which hovered like a cloud above the black pavement - but for the most part people had seemingly come to terms with being stuck indoors that day.
One man hadn’t, however: a bum, who, noticing that the weather had finally calmed down, took the opportunity to set up shop on the sidewalk.
His game was poker, which he played for money. A sign on the table he used to play cards on proclaimed him the best poker player in the world, and that he had yet to be beat. He eyed the high school dropout, trying to decide whether or not he had any money on him. He called the boy over.
“Hey, sonny,” he rasped in a voice clearly the result of some considerable amount of smoking. “Come ova’ here.”
The boy walked over. “Yeah?”
“You feel like tryin’ your luck today?” The boy pondered this a moment.
“I guess you could say that.”
“So, hows about a quick game of poker? You up to it?” The boy had played poker a few times, enough to know the basics but not enough to know the game as well as some.
“Sure,” the boy said calmly, already practicing his bluff. “Why not?”
“For sure why not. Let’s play. How much you got on you?” The boy checked his pockets. He had no money.
“I don’t have anything, actually.” The bum looked annoyed. Surely if anyone had any pocket money it would be a teenager. He eyed the boy’s backpack.
“What’s in the book bag?” he coughed.
“Just some clothes and other stuff I need,” replied the boy. “Nothing you’d be interested in.”
“Clothes, eh? You runnin’ away from home?” He asked his question with an air of nostalgia that made the boy question his decision to leave school and home behind.
“Yeah, I think I am,” the boy answered. He patted his backpack. “Just brought the essentials.”
“What’s the ‘sentials, ‘sides the clothes?” the bum asked.
“A little bit of food and a bottle of water. Nothing special.”
“That’s all?” The boy thought a moment.
“I’ve got these HIV pills. You probably wouldn’t need those.” The bum seemed to disagree.
“Actually,” he coughed, “I would.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” The bum seemed unmoved.
“Yeah, well. What’re you gonna do. Life’s unfair.”
“I suppose that’s true. So, I take it you could use the pills?” The bum nodded. “Then let’s play.”
They began the game. The bum dealt out the cards while the boy looked around. No one had come outside yet. The streets were as deserted as they’d ever be. The boy looked at the five cards he’d been given and knew immediately that he had already won. Somehow he’d managed to draw the luckiest hand in poker.
“You putting anything back?” the bum asked. The boy looked at his hand for a few moments.
“Yeah. These three.” He put the cards down and drew three more. The bum did the same with two of his cards.
“All right. What’a ya got?” The two put down their cards. The bum had won. “Well, I’ll be damned, kid. It’s like I said. Life’s unfair. Can’t have all the luck in the world.” The boy smiled and handed the bum the last of his medicine.
“Good game,” he said. He turned his back and continued his aimless walk from the life he knew, sans the medicine he’d need to survive.
The bum laughed as he held the pills in his hand. “Today must be my lucky day,” he remarked to himself as he looked at his winnings and watched the boy wander off into the distance. He pulled back his head and tossed the pills into his mouth.
He began to cough violently. The pills were lodged in his throat, preventing him from breathing. The bum was choking.
Trying to call the boy back, he managed nothing but a stuttered cough and a dry heave which caused more damage than anything else. His face began to turn blue as his consciousness faded.
“Oh well,’ the bum thought as he died. “What’re you gonna do.”
Another short story. I apologize if the formatting is messed up, this box doesn't seem to want to eat my text properly.