Wild Card
She liked Pimms and lemonade, served in a tall glass, without ice. She refused to admit that she loved the roll and clip of the one-arm bandit, but the cascade of matching images often made her day. Wins were not the issue, of course, they only confirmed what she believed, that lady-luck was her mascot, and she was its muse.
She’d always preferred fresh air and beaches, but there was no luck to cast there; So she’d stumbled into gambling and had more successes to share. The luck of the draw is an enchanting thing, it made her feel special, it simply became her number one thing.
She used to do yoga and care for her skin, now it seemed that her fate was concealer to smother the dark smudges; she’d become waif-like and painfully thin. Sagging joggers replaced her satin and lace, they were comfortable and easy and allowed her to be seated in swivel chairs with grace.
Tinsel lit up the dim interiors of the avenues she stalked, row upon row of glittering screens in the dark. Every walkway led, with precision, it seemed, to a table with cards and dealers screaming or barking, “evens or odds.”
In the days when she’d still had a family to welcome her home, her wins had been momentous occasions to feast. She’d hidden the losses and fed her addiction with champagne and truffles, and shopping and visits to expensive hotels and spas.
The grim reaper is not a spectre of death, it's a credit card statement that’s deep in the red. There’d been blackjack and poker, high stakes and low; she cupped her head in her hands at the size and weight of the blow.
She dissolved in a heap of abject regret on the green, green card table’s long affluent mat. All eyes were on her, but she no longer cared. The audience gestured and offered her water and the path to the door. Not much sympathy from the hardened gambling core.
But she stumbled and crawled to the glass sliding yawn and belched and sat up to the sparkle of dawn. There, on the horizon in the splutter of morning she witnessed her truth. It was sublimely simple, a swift arrow of to the heart that hit home and made her queasy with longing; it made her mourn.
She gathered herself and collected her wits. She followed her instinct and found her way to the tarmac that led to her daughter’s dorm; in the middle of the campus’s wild cluttered, jostling swarm. She sat on a bench next to the library and waited her turn; when it came, lady-luck’s smile was a beautiful thing that highlighted her child’s face in a halo of hope that made her own face, finally, light up in a grin.
Images in collage
https://pixabay.com/photos/king-playing-card-glass-casino-689730/
https://pixabay.com/photos/game-poker-pleasure-happiness-3116751/
https://pixabay.com/photos/woman-face-portrait-model-skin-2303361/