Legacy

I have 20 dollars in my pocket, but I am only going to spend 10. I have all night, but I am only going to stay one hour. I am going to be reasonable and I am going to know when to quit.

Even as I tried to build my defenses against spending every last dollar I had, a huge sign flashing “WINNERS” in bright lights captured my attention. Underneath, a mosaic of smiling faces covered the wall, accompanied by the amounts they had won: $90,000, $140,000, $200,000. Despite my determination to avoid getting sucked in, I couldn’t help but think, That could be me up there!

After the security guard scrutinized my ID, I walked across the bridge over the Mississippi River and onto the first floor of the Belle of Baton Rouge Casino. Multicolored lights flashed chaotically. Cigarette smoke enveloped me. Slot machines added their various sound bytes to the overall cacophony. A dealer passed out cards in rapid fire. Numbers spun, symbols flew, chips clinked.

Overcoming the initial shock of what must have been equivalent to an acid trip, I decided to try Texas Hold ’Em. I stood at the edge of the table, stopping to observe the players before I bought in. After one hand of excruciating tension and dead silence, I realized this poker game was not quite like the ones I played with my brother and sister using kitchen matches. I mentioned this to another bystander, a tall man with gray hair and deep wrinkles. He just stared at me, nodded his head slightly, and returned his gaze to the poker table. Two more hands were played before I moved to the slot machines — games I thought I could play without my nerves sabotaging my chances.

I passed over machines adorned with animated mermaids, frogs and devils. I finally chose the machine covered with cartoon Mardi Gras beads. I put my 20-dollar bill into the machine and tried to decipher the buttons to place my first bet.

From the corner of my eye, I saw the woman at the next machine studying me. I looked up and her entire body shook with laughter.

“I don’t really know what I’m doing here,” I admitted. “Have any tips?”

“If you don’t want to lose money,” she responded, “Don’t put your money in that slot.”

We laughed and she introduced herself as Helen. She picked up her drink and sipped from the straw. Her chair squeaked as she adjusted her body. Something told me that she hadn’t left the machine in years. I peeked at her winnings, 13,000 credits which, on a penny machine, translated to 130 dollars.

She offered bits of advice as I randomly selected buttons.

“You need to be consistent,” she coached. “Always go with the same bet. If you keep moving up and down like that, you’ll never win anything.”

I selected a bet and played it three times, losing the first two spins and winning 300 credits on the third attempt.

“There you go, baby!” she cheered, while her own machine clanged out another 400 credits.

“So how long have you been playing the slots?” I asked her.

“Tonight?” she said. “For five hours. In total? About 37 years.”

She laughed at the look of shock on my face and launched into a canon of tales about gambling, including the time she walked out of a Biloxi casino with $10 thousand. The entire time she talked, I watched my number of credits gradually decrease with each spin.

“You better find another machine, baby,” she said. “You’re not doing too hot on this one.”

Figuring Helen knew better than I did about this game, I cashed out my credits and left her to her cocktail and her slot machine.

I walked down the aisles of machines, trying to find a chair next to someone who might be as much help as Helen. I passed a middle-aged man glued to his screen, a look of worry plastered on his face. I found myself in the middle of the room. I observed the people in front of their machines, anxious and hopeful every time they pressed the flashing buttons in front of them.

I looked at the ticket in my hand: $17.59. In that moment, I realized that I didn’t have what it took to keep going. I thought about the groceries I could buy with 17 dollars in the coming week, the gas I could put in my car, and the bills I could begin to pay. I cashed out my ticket and made my way to the exit.

Walking down the same bridge I had used only an hour before, I felt defeated that my picture would not be added to the “WINNERS” wall. Around me, several people were also taking their leave and I could tell by the looks on their faces that they too felt the numbness of loss, most of them anyway. One woman in a crisp purple pantsuit danced across the bridge, singing and laughing. I smiled slightly and asked her how much she had won.

“One thousand dollars!” she boasted, continuing to dance toward the parking garage.

As I took the keys from my pocket, the words my mother always used to comfort me after I lost one of our poker games at home seemed to taunt me now: “Well, son, some of the time you win, and some of the time you lose. It all depends on how well you play the game.”