Once a month my local writing group sets a theme for a piece of writing each member will submit. This month’s topic was “A Choice Worth Making”.
A Choice Worth Making
It was approaching midday, April 10, 1912. As our ship was not due to depart for another forty-five minutes, Olaf and I saw no harm in wetting the top lip with a stout or two. Once inside, the small port-side bar was hazy from the smoke of burning tobacco and lit dimly from the light that bounced in off the port’s waters. The room was abuzz with an obvious sense of excitement and the chatter of foreigners, Olaf and I included. Across from us sat a cocky young American and his Italian friend. They’d introduced themselves as Jack and Fabrizio, and I didn’t like the look of them one bit.
A couple of smug young lads who carried themselves as if not one ounce of their skit had ever stunk. Both were shabbily dressed in woollen tweed and corduroy leaving no doubt they’d picked their clothes up second hand just as Olaf and I had. Yet, the pair were obviously overflowing with self-admiration. The American one, Jack, reeked a kind of self-worth that scratched away at a man, me especially. Just moments earlier I’d lost my entire stout between the cracks of the hardwood floor after he crashed into me without any apparent care or apology. Instead, he offered only an ultimatum.
“Keep easy chap, next drinks on me.” Said the young yank as he collected my empty glass from the floor.
“Or, I could put up the initial stake for you and your friend in a round of five-card draw against me and my buddy here?”
“Afterall, we all look to be in a similar need of luck”
The gall, it was time to put the pair of cocky lads in their place.
Five hands and four stouts in, our concentration was broken briefly as the walls rattled from the blast of an awaiting ship’s horn. The stopwatch the young Italian had thrown down to match our raise of two boarding passes ticked away as it indicated time had flown by. Olaf and I were now due on board within a few minutes. A puzzled expression painted the young Italian’s face as he looked upon his cards, he had nothing. Surprisingly, I found the American harder to read. Peering down blank-faced he checked his cards several times over, glancing toward his pocketknife which sat amongst the kitty for the slightest moment. I could tell he wouldn’t be happy losing it. Coldly, I looked over my own hand. Two eights, two sixes and a queen to accompany them. Nothing to write home about but the American would need quite the hand to beat it.
“You stupid fish head!” cried Olaf.
The damned fool had caused me to jump, almost spilling my hand for all to see.
“I can’t believe you bet our tickets!”
“You lost our money!”
“I’m just trying to get it back!” I squashed his idiocy quickly. “Now shut up and take a card you drunken fool.”
The pair of cocky lads’ brains began ticking over as they tried to piece together what we had said, but we were sure neither of them spoke Swede. Though, they hardly needed to. Olaf the halfwit had been procrastinating for some time meaning even the most inexperienced player would have known his hand was weak. Facedown I burnt my lone queen before taking my next card and sliding it amongst my two pair. Nothing more than a lousy four. I was hoping for another eight, or a six, but I never let my disappointment show. Instead, I offered a seemingly accidental smile. Surely that’d fill the young American’s head with another unnecessary shot of confidence. Just the smallest gesture could cause a man to cock up foolishly chasing a better card than he needed.
“Hit me again, Sven,” said the American.
Perhaps it worked? I watched him closely, but I gained nothing from his actions.
“The moment of truth boys,” he announced with arrogance. “Somebody’s life’s about to change.”
I despised his commentary yet I held my nerve as he did all he could to control the situation.
“Let’s see.” He glanced around the table.
Placing his hand face-up, the Italian revealed nothing but a queen high. The kid was an easy tell and I’d read him correctly.
“Fabrizio’s got niente” said the American.
Yet he looked unphased, with no obvious dismay as if he wasn’t needing his friends’ cards to play.
“Olaf,” said the American.
Olaf revealed a pair of threes. I was also right to assume he had nothing. Neither the American nor his friend seemed surprised.
“Sven,” the American looked over toward me.
I didn’t waste a moment placing my cards down for all to see.
“Uh oh,” sang the American. “Two pair!”
Despite the story of surprise that his words had told, something seemed amiss. His sarcastic manner didn’t sit well. Up to this point, I was winning, that much I knew. I glanced over the pot once more. Despite not knowing how it was all about to play out, my mind took over. A pile of foreign coins, a stopwatch, a pocketknife, our boarding passes. How would Olaf and I get it all in our pockets if we were to win?
“mmm” murmured the American. “Sorry, Fabrizio.”
An apology? My heart began to swell. Within a few minutes, Olaf and I could be on our way to the Americas ten times better off than we were before walking in here.
“What sorry?” cried the Italian nervously. “What you got?”
“You lose my money?”
I braced Olaf’s hand awaiting the American’s reveal.
“Sorry you’re not going to see your mama again for a long time,” said the American.
“Cause you’re going to America!”
“Full house boys!”
He slapped his cards down revealing a full house, tens over aces.
I sank into my chair. Bamboozled, by a cocky young American and his Italian friend. Our money, tickets, and the chance at a new life, all gone just like that. All we had left was a few measly coins that’d no doubt be spent on another stout in an attempt to wash away our sorrows. I should have just let the lad fix me a beer and left it at that. I couldn’t stand to look at them any longer. They’d best stop prancing about like a couple of heroes, or any minute their ship would depart for its maiden journey to New York City without them.
“L’AMERICA!” the Italian boy danced with joy.
W. A. Greenly. 