The Gambler's Child

Chapter One

It is ironic how things can be so two- faced. They can seem like great ideas at the time, but then send the next eleven years of your life down the drain. It's in moments like these that we question our judgment and think we are complete and utter idiots. And then to prove ourselves, we never learn from those mistakes but instead end up doing it all over again in one way or another. I, Maddie Jay Kenneth, am a perfect example of never learning from your mistakes and doing the same thing over, and over again, no matter how many times you say you can't take it anymore, no matter how many times you say you won't do it.
If I said I was a strong person, I'd be lying. I've said "this is the last time I'll do this" more times than I can count on one hand, and yet still I sit at the poker table, getting my Dad enough money to get him out of his depth. I collect the money and passed it on directly to my father, keeping to myself only enough to pay this month's rent. It's funny, I get thousands of millions of dollars each night by gambling or pickpocketing, and yet we still aren't able to move out of the run- down, rotten smelling one bedroom apartment that we live in above a bar. No doubt, Dad will spend the money on hard core liquor and all the money would be gone by tomorrow, and I will be lugging his drunk self up the stairs from the bar to our apartment- AGAIN. " Congrats sweetheart!" He exclaimed like it was a surprise I won, even though we both knew that I couldn't lose. It was physically impossible. Ever since I sat at Dad's poker table when mom left and played instead of him to make sure he didn't do anything stupid, he has made me play poker every night since. Like I said, it seemed like a good idea at the time to protect Dad, but instead Dad made me his money machine because I won every time. I don't know how I do it, I just get this tingling feeling whenever my hand is above the right card, or in some cases, pockets with overflowing wallets. And unlike my Dad, no matter how much I gambled, I never got addicted, never once lost. Never once got caught when I was stealing from innocent people.

My Mom left us when I was 5, since she never really wanted me. She had me when she was seventeen and my dad was twenty, and after she left, I had (and still have) Dad as my only family member, other than some crazy Uncle Sam I have never even met. I was the result of my parent's carelessness, even though my Dad did love me. It's not his fault his life is a screwup, and that he's addicted to gambling. Before every poker game or slot machine event, my Dad gives me a pep talk like some Dads give their daughter before a spelling bee or dance competition. He hugs me and tells me that he loves me, even though the whole thing feels like he's somewhere else. Even as he kisses my forehead, I can feel his fingers twitch with the need to gamble, his forehead lined with beads of sweat from being away from the poker table.
My Dad has a lucky deck, but I don't believe in those things- I know I am going to win either way. It's both a curse and a blessing, though lately it has been one bad thing after another lately. "You want to play the next round?", asks Jacob, pulling me from my thoughts. I realize I am still sitting at the poker table, the chips in a pile in front of me, my Dad heading over to the bar. " No Jacob, I've still got homework. And besides tomorrow is a school day. Make sure Dad doesn't drink too much, ok? I really don't feel like dragging him up the stairs today." I say with a sad smile. Jacob is one of my Dad's friends; he is just way more responsible and thankfully not addicted. He and his wife Rochelle are from Poland and can't have any kids, so I sometimes crashed at their place and they were one of the few people in my life who are always there for me. " Ok, I'll bring him upstairs, you have a good nights sleep." he said in return, and with that I turned around and headed for the stairs that would lead to our apartment.
. . .
As I settled into bed with my hair still wet from the shower, I blasted music into my headphones to block out the chatter from the bar below. Nicely snuggled under the covers, I took out my English assignment and tried to concentrate. Sometimes I wish I could be like the regular kids I saw at school; their biggest dilemma was what to wear to the school dance, and they never had to worry about paying the rent on time or stopping their father from drinking himself to death. I would always be the weird kid on the sidelines just watching life go by. But then I'd realize that if I had their all too perfect life, I probably wouldn't be who I was right now. It was how we reacted when life was tough on us that shaped who we are today. It is then that the person's character is measured- if we are cowards or if we face our fears and wipe our tears.

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