When you are a parent, life is full of teachable moments. That’s what we tell ourselves when we fuck up.
And in the Gutter, those fuck-ups are bigger, deeper, badder. Which just means more opportunities to grow. Or cut bait and get the fuck out.
And in the Gutter, those fuck-ups are bigger, deeper, badder. Which just means more opportunities to grow. Or cut bait and get the fuck out.
Father / Daughter Moment by Todd Morr
 |
 |
“We could be rich.”
“Unlikely. The chance of winning is only slightly better
than dropping a twenty in the street and having it find its way home with
friends.”
“This way is more fun.”
“The answer is still no.”
“I just want a lottery ticket.”
“Nope.”
“How about a scratcher?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“You’re too young.”
“What’s the worst that could happen?”
“You could win.”
“How is that bad?”
“You don’t win ‘buy a yacht money.’ More like, ‘buy an iPad
money.’ How much is not important. What matters is you get a taste of the
gambling rush when your mind is not ready.”
“My mind is not ready?”
“Don’t be offended; some minds are never ready, but the odds
are higher if you are younger. You get a taste of it, and you like it, no, you
love it, love it more than anything.”
“More than pizza?”
“Way more; you love it so much that if you don’t do it, you
feel like crap. At some point, you aren’t placing bets to feel good, you’re
doing it not to feel bad. It happens slow, so slow you don’t even notice. Gambling
becomes the most important thing in your life. That lacrosse scholarship you’re
planning on?”
“I don’t get a scholarship because you bought me a
scratcher?”
“No, you get it, because like I said, it happens slowly. Worse,
you end up kicked out of school because you stole something to pay a debt, and
your grades are shit because you spend too much time playing online poker. You
realize you screwed up, but it is too late. You take up drinking, not
frat-house look-how-crazy-I-am binge drinking, but real, I-need-something-to-forget-how-fucked-up-my-life-is
drinking.”
“OK, but. . . . ”
“But nothing. This is just the start. You drop out of
school. You get a job, but you are still drinking and placing bets. In fact,
having a job makes it worse; you think you can afford to spread a little cash
around, and for a while, you can. There comes a time though when you get
behind, and like all degenerate gamblers—”
“I’m a degenerate now?”
“Yes, and because you are, you start betting more, figuring
you can gamble your way out of debt, which has worked exactly never times. Soon
enough you owe some money to some shady motherfuckers—”
“Didn’t Mom tell you to stop cursing around me?”
“Yeah, but one, you’re in high school, so you’ve heard
worse, and second, she’s not here, and third, I’m trying to make a point. These
aren’t shady gentlemen, these are shady motherfuckers.”
“So if you buy me a scratcher I’m going to be in debt to the
mob?”
“Russians instead of Italians, but yeah. Pretty soon you are
back living with me to hide out.”
“Don’t worry, they will find you soon enough. And they will offer
you a way out. All you have to do is provide them a kidney.”
“Well, I have two of them. So you should let me get a lotto ticket;
it’s at like twenty million.”
“Sure, but they aren’t doing the removal in a hospital. You’re
going to be lucky if it’s a decent hotel. It’s not like the top surgeons are
helping gangsters harvest organs. Even if it does go well, what is going to stop
them from taking both?”
“You telling me criminals can’t be trusted?”
“You can trust them more than gamblers, I guess. But never
mind. You figure this out. They want a kidney, but it doesn’t have to be yours.
You have this friend, who you figure, correctly, would do this to you if she
were in your shoes. You spike her drink, only instead of hitting her with a
roofie, you hit her with that liquid sweetener your mom uses, since the bottles
kind of look the same. Instead of knocking her out you make her crown and cola
a little sweeter.”
“How do you know what roofies look like?”
“That’s beside the point. There’s some junkie surgeon
assisted by some guy who just finished a stretch in a Siberian Gulag waiting at
the Motel 6, so even though you lost your tennis scholarship—”
“Tennis was your game, at least until you somehow managed to
lose your racquet; mine’s lacrosse.”
“Even better, you lost your scholarship, but kept your
stick, which you use to bash Gertrude’s head in.”
“Gertrude?”
“Named after her great grandmother. You take Gertrude to the
hotel and let the gangsters take her kidney.”
“Bummer for Gertrude, but sounds like I come out okay.”
“No, you got a little carried away with the stick. Gertrude
was pretty dead by the time you made it to the hotel, too dead. Her organs were
rotten by the time the surgeon got them. You still owe these assholes a kidney.
You’re at my place, and the only other kidneys around are mine.”
“You wouldn’t give me a kidney?”
His ringtone interrupted before she could reply.
He cupped his hand over the mouthpiece. “Let me take this
outside.”
Out on the sidewalk, he craned back at his daughter. “Look.
. .” he began.
“Don’t tell me to fucking look, you look. You were supposed
to be here a half hour ago. I’m paying for the goddamn room, and the surgeon,
and I’m not doing that shit for nothing twice.”
“I’m right across the street. I’ll be there in a second.” He
slid the phone off and stepped back inside.
“Are you going to tell me what we are doing here?” his
daughter asked as he sat back down.
“Don’t worry, it will be fine.”
