Placentia, California
Congratulations, Gayle!
Gayle’s Bio:
Gayle Carline was a software engineer for over 20 years, until she finally chewed her way out the cubicle and became a freelance writer. She quickly became a regular contributor to California Riding Magazine, and in 2005, began writing a weekly humor column, What a Day, for her local newspaper, the Placentia News-Times.
Although she came late to the writing party, Gayle is making up for lost time. Her humor essays have been recognized in contests held by both Humor Press and the Watermark Writer’s Conference, and she wrote a screenplay for the 48-Hour Film Project, an international competition. Her debut novel, Freezer Burn, will soon be published by Echelon Press.
Gayle lives with her husband, Dale, their teenage son, Marcus, and a small zoo that includes two horses. In her spare time, she likes to laugh with friends over a glass of wine. You can visit her at www.gaylecarline.com.
Quarter Life
Whoever said deserts were hot had never been to Vegas in February. Reuben shrank into his borrowed jacket, away from the morning chill. As he did, something shiny caught his attention.
He reached down to the curb, his cold, stiff fingers trying to grasp the object. Stuck to the pavement, it seemed to be glued by the flotsam and jetsam of Las Vegas, layers of dirt and grease and human bondage. His fingernails dug at the hard edge until he pried the silvery coin loose from the concrete.
A quarter, one of the new ones. Reuben flipped it over and saw horses, running from the sunrise. Nevada, the Silver State, it said.
Staccato music from the casino beckoned him frantically, urgently, atonally. He had just left Buffalo Bill's, having kissed his last dollar good-bye. From experience, he knew that he couldn't wander, penniless, through the slot machines. The employees knew him too well; they had asked him to leave.
He had spotted Carl, the night manager, walking through the poker slots. Reuben knew Carl, knew the way he'd start a friendly conversation that would end with, "Want me to call the shelter, Buddy?" As he headed toward the door, Reuben saw a windbreaker draped on a chair.
"This place owes me," he had mumbled to himself, and casually picked up the jacket as he exited.
A car horn blasted his eardrums as tires kicked up gutter water onto his stained chinos. The taxi woke Reuben from his trance, a dark-skinned driver herding him away from the well-dressed, well-drunk customers with a yell. Reuben waved his hand angrily and yelled something in return, unintelligible even to him.
He stared back down at the quarter. Three years ago, he'd come here with ten thousand dollars and a plan to turn it into more. With Vegas' help, he was going to buy back his house, buy back his family, buy back his life. Vegas was supposed to save him.
It only took a week to break him.
"How you doing tonight?" Carl asked, laying his hand on Reuben's shoulder. "You need a ride to the shelter, buddy?"
Reuben turned and stared through him. He used to be able to talk to people, but he just couldn't see anyone's face anymore.
"How about I give you a voucher for breakfast?" Carl reached into his pocket. "You look like you could use a hot meal."
Reuben continued to stare. "I got a quarter," he said, his words drifting at the manager.
"That's great, buddy. You put that in your pocket, and I'll get you some breakfast."
"I got a quarter." The sentence became a prayer.
Carl sighed. "Okay, buddy. Let's go pick a machine for you."
"I got a quarter," Reuben repeated, following the manager back into the casino. A Nevada quarter, he thought. It was karma. It was fate.
This time it would be different.
***