Our next door neighbor Jose built us this little box from a scrap piece of plywood and a two-by-four, and lined the bottom with a layer of black felt. In that box, Erik has probably secured a thousand dollars worth of money and semi-valuable possessions through games of cee-lo. No doubt, that box has fueled our hunger to gamble for petty cash. O, the enticing sounds of the rolling dice, rattling softly on the felt and into the staccato of the wooden walls, followed by either an exclamatory celebration, or a frustrated curse.
I said to him, “There are greater forces at work.” Not every time, but most times as he’s about to roll, gingerly mixing the three dice in his palm, he takes a healthy drink from his beer. He’ll hold it up for an extra second if there’s potential for him to roll out, or if he needs some extra power. I don’t believe that taking a drink before rolling is good luck for him. I believe that Erik simply has the upper hand no matter what. During other peoples’ rolls, he’ll give a tauntingly sarcastic wish of good luck, as if he were the reaper and their soul the wager. I think of the final putt in Happy Gilmore, when the TV tower has crashed on to the green of the eighteenth hole, and Shooter McGavin confidently jests, “Good Luck.” In New Orleans, he got a tattoo of a skull smoking a cigarette and his trusty “Good Luck” underneath. Last night he rolled a one, hexed me with good luck, and I rolled a one-two-three first try. G rolled triple threes, then Erik took down half of his beer and threw triple sixes. I don’t believe in luck. I don’t. Things will happen no matter what dead animal foot your carry, or how much salt you wasted while seasoning your spuds.
That being said, Erik is good at rolling dice. He is not lucky, he is skilled. In his mind, he knows when to play, when to stay, when to pause, when to up the anty, and when to pull out. He plays the odds and he plays them at the right times. Aside from that probability junk, he too says that when he picks up the dice he summons some kind of power, like he’s sold his soul to win all those games of dice rolling. I’ve never seen anybody win with such slim odds on so many occasions. I’ve never lost so many trivial possessions to someone, just because I knew they’d roll against me. And it’s not God. God wouldn’t back someone who’s made such grotesque and sacrilegious artwork. God isn’t on his side. Satan might be, but I think there are even greater forces in motion which allow Erik to take money from others. It’s like the forces of life are in sync with his hands.
