Inspiration
from Shaun Hoyt

I had had troubling dreams. Nothing really frightening. Nothing that made me wake with a start in a cold sweat. No. These were dreams of my past. Dreams of all the mistakes I had made over the years, or really the past five years. It felt like I really hadn't started living until after the divorce. In my marriage I was just existing. When you live, you make mistakes. You have regrets. I had made many mistakes in my short little life and I have even more regrets. In my dreams I heard the people I loved and respected judge me from those secret mistakes. I felt their eyes watching me, not trusting me, making me feel like the hypocrite I am. In these dreams I relived the persecution that never happened. The alienation that never was. They all discovered my deepest secrets that they have always known, but never spoke of.

I woke feeling uneasy.

“Get up,” I told my self aloud. “Get out of bed, you have to go to work.”

I closed my eyes and tried to think of an excuse not to go. I felt a little more depressed and laughed when I realized that I had nothing better to do and no place better to go.

I looked at the clock. The red numbers glowed bright making my head hurt. The clock red six thirty with the little red dot in the corner telling me its in the PM. Without looking I knew the sun was setting. I knew that when I went outside the fading light would be replaced by headlights and street lamps. Nothing would seem real. Everything would seem artificial under the florescent lights. I would live in a dream that I could never wake up from.

I spent too much time in the shower and had to hurry through shaving. I had cut myself twice. Blood flowed from six little cuts. One red line from each blade of my razor. I put on my shirt and tie and pressed slacks. I wiped the blood from my face on a bright yellow towel that my ex-wife was so proud of when we bought them a lifetime ago. I hoped the blood wouldn't drip on my shirt on the drive to work. I went through my equipment checklist. Handcuff? Check. Radio? Check. OC-10? Check. Black jacket with “Security” embroidered on the back and fake badge on the front? Check. Feeling of total anonymity? Check.

When I finally climbed up into my battered pickup, the dirt from th windshield was thick and made be drive in a perpetual fog. I glanced at the rear view mirror. I saw my own eyes in the reflection and only my eyes. I didn't see behind me. I saw through me. I saw what I really was. I saw in my own eyes the nothing that I never wanted to be. I wanted to hurt. I wanted to push my fist through the windshield and feel the blood flow down my arm. I wanted to marvel at the jagged bits of glass that would pierce my knuckles. I wanted the pain to wash away my loneliness. I wanted blood. I wanted to break. Instead I started my truck's engine and quietly drove to work.

It was a relatively slow night for a casino. When I say slow I mean busy by other casinos standards. When I say casino I don't work in a real casino. Not the flashy Vegas casino with the show girls and Elvis impersonator and a Wayne Newton around every corner. No I don't work there. I work in a Native Casino. We have cocktail waitresses and special wanna-be-Vegas shows, but we're not Vegas. We're a Tribal Casino, the generic casino. Its kinda like masturbation, good enough for now but no comparison to the real thing.

I hear a voice in my ear. Muffled and distorted I hear the voice say, “Adam Three, could you respond to pit five for a P.R.”

P.R. doesn't mean public relations like we've been taught. It means Patron Removal, which means I got to kick someone out. I quicken my stride as I head to pit five. Tuesdays in here suck. It eleven o'clock and there's only about a hundred people in here, hundred and fifty tops. It sounds like a lot until you make them spread out inside a building the size of a football field. I walk past the our “valued” customers. At this time of night they all look pale. Like they haven't seen the light of day in years. When the neon lights reflect off their faces they look dead. Casino Zombies no expressions on their blank faces, just a vacant stares at a slot machine.

I get to pit five and talk to the Casino Manager. He points at a man playing blackjack and says, “The bald guy there on BJ-15 needs to go. He keeps keeps calling Suzie a 'bitch'...yeah he needs to go.” The casino manager talks with a thick Jersey accent which makes me wonder if the old stories about the mob and casino are all true.

I walk up and place my hand on the guy I'm supposed to remove's back. The guy looks like what Friar Tuck would look like if he got dressed up to go golfing. Polo shirt and kacky shorts dropping hundred dollar chips that he stole from the collection plate or Prince John's pantry. I see him motion for a hit on when he has sixteen showing and the dealer has five. He busts. “You fucking cunt” he spits as he looks down. I see the froth from his mouth drop into his lap.

In a half whisper, half order I say my standard speech that works for these situations, “Hello, my name is (insert my name here) I'm with the security department. I'm afraid its time to call it a night. I need you to pick up your chips and cash them in. I'll explain everything when we get outside.” I keep my voice firm but polite. Mean but nice. It's like second nature now. By the time I realized that I've started talking I'm already half way through. Friar Tuck turns to me and glares and demands, “Why? I ain't done nothing wrong. This fucking bitch,” he points to the dealer, “is loosing. Whenever I start winning you kick me out.”

I assure him this was not the case and move my hand with the palm up in the “welcome to the exit” motion towards the cashier. Friar Tuck grunts and mumbles, calls the dealer a bitch on more time and heads towards the door. “I don't need cash out, I want to hear what you have to say you sonuvabitch.”

As he walks Friar Tuck's got his arms above his head, like an ex con at gunpoint. “These assholes are kicking me out cuz I'm winning.” He's not drunk he's just a jackass.

When we get outside I start to talk about how the casino treats everyone with respect and we expect the same, but he waves me off. “I don't give a shit what you say, Asshole, wheres the fucking Valet?” who was standing right beside him. Friar Tuck moves across Valet's driveway still screaming at me. Still calling me all the names I've heard a thousand times before. When you've done my job as long as I have; getting called a dirty name doesn't seem to faze you. You just keep an ear out for something original so you can laugh about it with your friends.

Half listening at the steady stream of insults I glance out into the night. There, silhouetted in the darkness, I see the shape of a woman walking towards me. I could tell, even though I couldn't see her features that she was beautiful. Each step she took was strong. Each stride was powerful. It seemed as if she knew how attractive she was but that it didn't matter. Like no one's opinion mattered, save her own unbreakable confidence. She's walking alone and it somehow seemed odd that a woman that attractive was walking alone.

I gaged the woman's pace and teared myself away from the beautiful walking silhouette. It seemed such a pity that I had to then look at Friar Tuck, still yelling at me with his vulgar suggestions about me and my mother.

Without looking I knew that the silhouette was getting close. Smirking at myself I opened the door for her, hoping to appear the gentleman in my pressed suit and tie. I looked over at my silhouette just as she took her first step into the light. The florescent lights from above made a sharp line separating the dark from the light. The light traveled up her dark bluejeans and black blouse leaving her face hidden in the dark to be revealed like a dust cloth covering an ancient painting. When the cloth finally dropped away I heard nothing but her. I heard each step she took. Her black boots would strike against the pavement like a thunderclap in my ears. I heard the the wind rustle her blouse. Her breath flowed through her leaving a faint smell of violets. I looked down in embarrassment. Afraid to look upon the goddess walking towards me. On their own volition my eye move upward. Drinking deep the sounds and images of the woman before me. It was her face that captivated me. Her light brown hair in such exotic contrast to her dark skin. A slight smirk crossed her full and moistened lips. Her eyes were so dark that I saw my soul in them and saw that I could be more than I was. She walked though the opened door looking up at me. I couldn't look away from her eyes but knew I should. I stared deep into her dark knowing eyes. I was embarrassed, but I didn't care. The only thing that mattered was the woman in front of me. The only thing that mattered was the chance to look at her and not look away. “Having fun?” she asked as she past. My mind empty, words lost, I looked into her eyes I tried to muster up the courage to say something, anything that would make her stay. I missed my chance. She walked away.

As I watched her walk away my chest began to burn. My lungs ached. From the moment she stepped into the light I had not taken a breath. I couldn't take a breath. Then she was gone and I breathed. The image of her rushed back into my mind so clear that I had to remind myself to breath. Silence was the only sound. The seconds stretched out to minutes and time stood still. I stared off into the nothingness of where she had been and wondered if she had been a dream. If she was, i decided, I'd never want to wake. Then the sounds of the world came crashing back to life. “I'll never come back to this fucking casino again you can go fuck yourself asshole!” Friar Tuck yelled as he entered his car. He drove away squealing the tires on his '83 Honda Civic as he left.

Depressed from the glorious image I had seen; I did my job dispassionate. Each moment that passed I wanted to go in search of her. Breath, I reminded myself. I found her in the bar. Her eyes followed me as I paced. I tried look at her but not look at her. I had to concentrate to breath. The neon didn't seem so bright. Breath. I passed her wanting to talk but I had no breath. Breath. I watched her walk out the door an hour later. She went out alone and with the same confidence as when she first stepped through that door. I wished I could be by her side, just once just of a moment I wished I could know what it would be like to walk beside a silhouette and be no longer shrouded in the dark. I remind myself to breath and she was gone.

Shaun Hoyt