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The Gambler

Prologue II

As a teenager, Louis always cursed his parents for not giving birth to him at the proper time for him to live as a teenager in the 80s. They argued that they themselves were only teenagers at the time, which prompted a groan from the boy, followed by a dramatic stomping up to his room to pout and stare at his Breakfast Club poster, as he wondered what absolute Satanic force was preventing him from becoming the modern day embodiment of Judd Nelson.

And not much had changed since then. Louis was bopping around to Cindy Lauper in his family’s flower shop as he transferred freshly picked chrysanthemums from the greenhouse out back to the front of the shop. The Tomlinsons’ flower shop was a cheerful splash of color and light on an otherwise bleak and dreary street corner. Vibrant yellows, reds, and pinks continued to glow under overcast skies that appeared like clockwork, and so did Louis. His little corner of the world was warm and happy and alive, whereas the rest was cigar smoke and adulthood and impossibly, impossibly grey.

His mother had always recalled that he was a people person, ever since he was young. And that remained true, although over the years he grew to love the flowers just a bit more. Louis treated the flowers like little potted people who required love and immense amounts of attention to grow, feeling an ache in his heart every time one of his precious daisies would wilt. They were his favorite. He seldom ever left the shop after a day of work without one tucked behind his ear; soft and white against his sunkissed skin. The simplicity of the daisies was what Louis liked the most. They were low-maintenance plants, asking only for water and a place to grow in exchange for their beauty. And their beauty wasn’t the kind of beauty that made a big deal about itself; it was the kind of beauty that one would have to look for; to appreciate and love on their own terms. Those were also the kind of people Louis liked. He didn’t particularly like people who came at face-value and wore their heart on their sleeve- even though one would argue that he himself was one of those people. He liked people with quirks and deep dark secrets and layers to peel away to get to them. Like the daisies. Most would walk past the daisies to find a much more aesthetically pleasing flower; one that would wow an offended girlfriend or momentarily distract from the sorrow of a funeral. Not Louis.

Daisies always seemed to work their way into Louis’ arrangements, accenting the roses and marigolds in a subtle way that one wouldn’t necessarily pick up on unless they were looking for it. It was as if they cheered the other, prettier flowers along from the sidelines as they went to score the winning goal in a football match, happy to watch from the bench and just as happily share in their victory, even though very few would give them credit just for being on the team.

Louis was a daisy in that sense. He was never good at sports or art or academics. But he remained cheerful throughout his awkward attempts at finding himself back at school, before he realized that he kind of already had. He belonged behind the scenes, out of the limelight, arranging flowers and forging his own little path in the world.

Visiting the elderly was a habit Louis had picked up at a young age from his mother, who went weekly to the local nursing home to deliver flowers to patients. Rather than choosing to reflect on how depressing it was that these people there were lonely and dying, Louis chose to instead focus on making them feel less lonely. He found that the elderly had stories to tell. And Louis in turn had stories to listen to. As he got older, he found out that he could get paid for visiting and taking care of these people. Even if he weren’t getting paid for it, he would still do it; it was just an added bonus. Sometimes his job was less than glamorous- emptying bedpans and cleaning houses weren’t exactly Louis’ favorite pastimes -but Louis knew that someone had to do it. He knew how awful it must be for the people he takes care of, losing their independence, having some kid assigned by the state to help you manage your life.

Louis’ patients died on him a few times. The first time, he was nearly inconsolable, completely consumed by guilt. Then he learned how to become less emotionally attatched to them. It was a tricky balance, but Louis soon found that he was able to focus on the patients’ comfort rather than his own.

Louis’ last patient had fallen in her home and it had become clear that she could no longer live there alone. Louis had tried during their time together to educate her about how to be safe around her home and delay having to move into a nursing home, but she had become weak, gradually, over the few months Louis had known her. That was how long they usually lasted- a few months; from the first time they fall and are discharged from the hospital with Louis in tow, to the second, when they bang themselves up even worse and everyone loses hope. Inherently, Louis doesn’t. He fights for their independence from the confinement of white walls and sheets that smell like menthol. But then he realizes that it’s for the best, and lets them go with a hug and a kiss on the cheek before their place is filled by another person within the next few weeks.

However, Louis’ newest patient was young. Younger than Louis, in fact. Louis knew nothing about him other than that he was (newly) deaf and without any family at all. He was to be picked up at a mortuary- one whose title bears the same last name as he -and Louis would have to help him learn how to cope with life without his sense of sound. It was a different sort of assignment for him, but Louis knew sign language. He literally and figuratively knew it like the back of his hand. His eldest sister was born deaf and Louis had learned sign language for her, and in having to teach it to the rest of his sisters, he figured it would not be so hard to teach another bloke. Maybe easier, since he’s an adult. Either way, Louis figured he would be quick to get this kid back on his feet, so he wouldn’t worry.

Louis plucked a daisy from the display inside of the shop and stuck it behind his ear as he went out to catch his bus across town to the mortuary, the outro of “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun” wafting from the speakers of the shop, fading away as Louis pulled his jacket close to him and headed down the street, humming to himself long after the music had fallen out of ear shot.

Comments

@robbyraystewart
Please update! This story is amazing and you are a brilliant writer! :)

Evey482 Evey482
3/13/14

You are fucking brilliant. Like. Damn.

Carrie Carrie
3/3/14
Uppppppddddaaattteeeee!
Clastilie Clastilie
10/28/13
Uppppppddddaaattteeeee!
Clastilie Clastilie
10/28/13
Love it! Keep up the good work!
Clastilie Clastilie
10/10/13