28 Black | Solo
LOCATION: Caesar’s Palace, Las Vegas
DATE & TIME: 4/1, Evening
TAGGED: Sam Evans
NOTES: For the record, there was an attempt to be responsible. WC: 1102
For the record, there was an attempt to be responsible.
The high-end Wacom tablet, he considered an investment and hopefully motivation to create new things instead of simply lamenting the work he’d left behind in Texas. The brand-new Nikon camera rounded out the purchases that could be reasoned away as early birthday presents and necessary for work…at least in the camera’s case.
It left him with a still-large sum and little idea of what to do with it. Saving was the most obvious choice. The wise one, too. He was very familiar with the panic of needing money in a hurry and being out of options or going without simply because he was too broke to do much but wait for the next paycheck. And yet, even after depositing most of it in his practically parched savings account, it just felt…underwhelming.
Maybe he’d put too much expectation on ten thousand dollars. It was a major sum of money, the most he’d ever gotten in one time that he didn’t have to immediately turn around and hand over to a university tuition office or some bill collector. And it was a reward, some recognition thanks to the hard work he’d been putting in for the company and his channel. And though his viewership had grown considerably along with the interests of fellow content creators, he didn’t realize he’d been on radar enough to warrant a bonus, let alone one of this size.
And to avoid the rising panic at the idea of just the hint of success in a job that was only ever meant to be a distraction (or a hiding place, really), Sam knew he had to do…something else. It was his money, but after buying what he could think of and banking some more…it still didn’t feel like his. To spend, to save…and really, to keep.
The rush of being reckless never got old. Leaving baseball behind. Choosing art. Leaving Texas. Fucking on film. And now this, buying a dirt-cheap plane ticket to Las Vegas, with nothing more than his phone and wallet in hand.
And $2000.
Sam reasoned that it since it hadn’t felt like his money, losing it wouldn’t technically be a loss. It was only when he was standing in the lobby of Caesar’s Palace, taking in the over the top aesthetics and design of the massive space did he note the Easter baskets in the clutches of the younger patrons.
The holiday had completely escaped him, and there’d been a small pinprick of guilt, knowing he should have probably contacted Harley, maybe invited him along and turn it into a real brothers’ adventure. Shaking off those thoughts, Sam set his sights on the casinos. Anything he won, he was sharing with Harley anyway; if he scrubbed out, at least there’d be no witnesses to the downside of his destructive decision making.
He felt like a fish out of water at the blackjack game in Caesars Palace, among the obvious high rollers, squat guys in suits with stunning women looking bored at their side, both there for the chance of a big payout. Or the business men, the regular card sharks, and then…Sam. He’d never been one for serious gambling. His grandfather had taught him and Harley a few card games, the boys placing bets and calls with candy and cookies, but this was a different ball game.
The roulette table had a different kind of energy. The amount of people crowded around was a little intimidating but after a few rounds of losses, many moved on in search of something else to whet their appetites. Sam was fine with observing at first, nursing the Jameson and ginger ale the pretty cocktail waitress had handed to him more than hour ago, though it seemed like far longer. Time moved differently inside the casino; lights and sounds, the constant throb of activity and bodies everywhere. He supposed it was the lack of windows.
But he hadn’t come to Vegas to think about that, or much of anything. Not when he’d already exchanged the cash he’d retrieved from the hotel’s ATM (so handy) for chips. He debated the idea of how to bet. Little by little was the obvious choice. The wise one too.
Naturally, he bet it all.
Well, he kept $500 in chips.
If anything, it would be enough to get back to California and chalk the experience up to a learning one. He had a lot of those. And lately, he wasn’t sure what exactly he was learning from them, except that he’d long grown comfortable in the fine art of fucking up.
The straight bet was the hardest, with the highest odds but the biggest payout.
A fool’s bet. Fitting, considering the day.
One number, one color, with $1500 on the line. Back in the day, 28 meant something. The jersey number he wore for baseball, from middle school through high school. The one he should have worn professionally. Perhaps there was a bigger meaning in it all, being in this casino, a few weeks shy of his 28th birthday, once again counting on 28 to matter again.
But there was little time to think about that. It was all on 28 black now, olive-eyes focusing so hard on the spinning wheel and the ball rattling inside the blur of black and red the table lost all shape, fading into the foreground with nothing more than the repetitive clack of the ball spinning with the wheel.
Later, when he would recall the night on the plane ride home he’d be unable to pinpoint the shift in him that normally accompanied his snap decisions. It was always the same start: the thrill of doing whatever he wanted on a whim, riding the high of being carefree with just the barest hint of regret slipping through but would eventually wash over him; an overwhelming wave of shame, of wanting to do better, of maybe slowing down and considering, of just for once, actually caring about himself beyond the basics. About his future.
And maybe, just maybe whether it worked, he could be better. He could. He could change.
He could.
But then there was a cheer, and palms slapping him on the back, and the dealer pushing a mountain of chips in his direction and he’s grinning because thrill, the goddamn thrill is far too addicting to give up.
Because once again, 28 came through.
And $1500 is bossed up to a cool $40,000.
And once again, the universe is so generous to reward him for these snap decisions.
And really, who was he to deny such a blessing?