Seven Stud by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview

Chapter 16

Winter had fallen particularly hard and early this year.

At noon I was looking out my kitchen window, seeing the season’s first snowfall drop from the dark invisible sky. The countless tiny projectiles quickly spread an inch deep blanket, covering everything the summer gave full bloom to, save the trees still standing out in their bald defiance. There was no wind, suggesting that the storm would be around a while, perhaps attempting to do what countless other winter storms had failed at in the past; completely covering the hundred year old earth bound trees and their branches.

Lately Acheron had been in one of her moods where she didn’t want to see anyone, at least not me. I called her about twice a week, but rather than some amusing opening line, I was greeted by the un-answering machine politely telling me to

“Leave a message at the beep.” Perhaps I was getting too commercial for her tastes. Perhaps she had already experienced every interesting thing I had in me. Or, perhaps it was winter, or perhaps it was Tuesday. Perhaps, I’ll drive right to her house when the roads are again clear.

Diane was consistent in her behavior, correctly informing me that my winnings would not last a lifetime. She kindly

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acknowledged that it would add a few years to our being together.

Butch and Alice were well ensconced in their 200 year old stone beauty. I still spent two afternoons per week with him, helping fix up the place. At last visit three of the rooms, one of them the kitchen, were in good condition. The bathrooms were the first items refurbished, leaving four more rooms of work. I was truly happy to see and hear that he and she were together as they had never been before. They were getting to re-live their aborted sweet teenage dream. But I always tended to leave shortly after her return from her now part time job at the bowling alley. Three has always been an odd number, even by a mathematician’s standards. Butch and I agreed from time to time that we had to get another project going, this time one not involving guns.

I still keep company with the plastic information boxes, but of late I was playing the radio more. There were a larger number of possible choices, though my early explorations resulted in many duplications. In the long run the only improvement is that at least I don’t have to see the perpetrator of the diatribe. The only thing permanent is indeed change, but the proportions do not impress.

I shut my friend up to watch the now two inch deep snow persisting in silence. I considered where I was and where I had

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been, at least as well as I knew. Maybe I wasn’t the greatest card player in the world and just got very lucky, recently.

Maybe Butch was the fortunate one and through partnership with him, some good tidings rubbed off on me. I could easily have been on the other side of that last hand. I tried to remember what genius first told me that if I keep playing the game long enough I’d get as many winning hands as everyone else.

I opened the kitchen door and stood on the porch feeling the twenty five degree temperature. Some snowflakes found my face and body, immediately shriveling on the warmth. I decided to go back inside lest risk the possibility of attaining the freezing level of the pure, beautiful, one of a kind visitors.

I heard a noise in the woods, looked in that direction and saw a snow covered scared Dalmatian puppy running straight at me.

The End

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