Dice

My legs were stiff and stuck in that place muscles get stuck in just after sleep. I walked the tickling grip out of them on my way to the front of the bus. I’d watched night fall as we passed through New Hampshire and I’d composed a letter for my parents on my notebook. It was like Corin’s, he’d bought it for me when I graduated.

I watched the narrow strip of black carpet between the seats as I went – one foot, then the other, glancing up occassionally to be sure I wouldn’t run into Corin. He has an irregular gait, but it is something you can get used to. Corin’s hair was messed up and frizzy and it bulged out above the neck pillow he’d worn since we got on the Bart that morning.

It was cold when I stepped off the bus. The man grabbing our bags from the side hatch had a white mustache, a warm hat with ear flaps and gloves. I’d moved to Portland for Corin, but there was also some essential reason in me too. I watched the man with the white mustache; his gloves were woolen and his cheeks were red. He probably had an okay car parked in the bus station parking lot. After we all cleared out her would probably say goodbye to the clerk and help them turn off the lights and lock up. Then I believe he would get in his car and take off his gloves and drive home to a modest house where his wife, who’d knit those gloves, was keeping a fire warm. But I know better than that and I caught myself. Not every person in Maine can live in perfect simplicity – he probably gets in an Uber like the rest of us.

Percy got his bag last. He’d only brought a single black duffle bag and he hoisted it over his shoulder.

“I’ll get us an Uber,” I said.

“No no,” Corin said, “there’s a bus stop around here. I think it’s over there.”

He pointed across the dark lot and the empty street to a little bench and metal sign. We walked over and read the fine print bus times. It said the last bus was at twelve-thirty-five and would take us within six blocks of our new house. It was twelve-thirty-seven.

“We missed it,” I said.

“I don’t think we missed it,” Corin said looking up the street, “it might just be running late.”

I stood my roller bag up. “Sure, I guess we can wait five minutes to see.”

Percy had already sat down on the bench and was reading poetry – the pages all sparse with little—

“What are those segments called?” I said.

“Stanzas,” Corin replied, looking where I was looking at Percy’s book.

“Right.”

Corin sat down. I walked to the curb with my backpack and looked down the street. There were no headlights. The trees along the road were well-trimmed and the sky didn’t have many stars in it. I could make out a chunk of lights and buildings not too far off. I heard Corin’s dice hit the bench behind me.

“Come on Corin, let’s just get the Uber,” I said, “we can play when we get to the house.”

“No no, wait Sal – I have a bet with Percy. If I win he has to walk through the city with me to get to the house, and if he wins I buy the Uber.”

“Well the game takes thirty fucking minutes to play.”

Percy weighed in, his poetry face down over the bench’s metal armrail. He squinted, “Does it take thirty minutes? I don’t know Corin – I’m pretty cold. I think Sal’s right. Why don’t we – I mean it owuld be fun to play but–”

“Come on guys,” Corin’s voice got in that high place, “let’s just finish the bet. We can play to three-thousand instead. It’ll be like ten minutes tops.”

Percy smiled, “I know you love the cute – I mean I know it’s cute to play dice at night at the bus stop, but what if I told you,” his hands appeased Corin, “that I’d play tomorrow night with you?”

“How about we play to two-thousand?” Corin said, “and you can play too,” he said to me, “which means two against one and then I’ll pay for the Uber.”

“What’s that? Like ten bucks?” I said.

“Yeah,” Corin paused, “I don’t know. But we could’ve already been done with the game.”

He was stubborn. I put my backpack down and we started. Corin gave me his seat and kneeled on the sidewalk so we formed a triangle around the middle of the bench.

It takes five-hundred to get on the scoreboard. We passed the dice around two full rotations with none of our rolls – all six dice – summing up to five-hundred. On one of the rolls, Corin got six-fifty but he rerolled his last two to try for more and lost it.

I was the first to get enough to put my score on the board. I got exactly five-hundred and kept it.

“Roll it,” Corin said about my last unrolled die, but I passed them to him instead.

Percy rolled and got two fives and a one and rerolled his other three, which isn’t a good strategy because fives aren’t worth keeping. He rolled the remaining three and said “fuck!” when they came up as nothing.

Corin rolled, smiling, not even slightly inconvenienced by kneeling on the cement. He got lucky with three fives and three twos. He said “seven-hundred” and picked the dice up for his re-roll.

“Wait why are you re-rolling?” Percy said.

“They were all scorable. I can re-roll.”

“No they weren’t,” Percy said. He still hadn’t gotten on the board.

“Yeah they were,” I said, trying to move it along.

“Okay, what were they?” Percy said.

“Three fives and three twos,” Corin said.

“No, I saw three twos, two fives and a four.”

Corin smiled – a little meanly – and said “Okay, so what? Do you want me to do my roll over again? Sure, why don’t I roll again.” He didn’t wait for an answer. When he rolled he got three ones which scores to a thousand.

“Oh shit,” he said mockingly, “thanks Percy.”

Over the next few turns I racked up points slowly, building my way to a steady win over Corin; he played in a way that depends on arbitrary bursts of luck. I’d gotten a few three-hundreds and two-hundred and was at sixteen-hundred. Corin had plateaued at one-thousand after mocking Percy. Percy had gotten on the scoreboard with an eight-hundred roll and then all of the sudden, right as he was saying some B.S. about the game being rigged, he rolled all scorable for six-hundred and then on his re-roll he got four-hundred on three dice.

He was going to take the one-kay but Corin said, “Why not roll the other three? You could win right now.”

Percy furrowed his brow at the dice and breathed hot air on his hands and then looked up at Corin and smiled, “you’re so silly, you’d like me to do that so I lose my points.”

“Why not be brave?” Corin said, “This is the only place left these days where you can be brave. Think about the glory of risking it all anf fate shining favorably on you for it. Then you’ll know whether fate is on your side or not.”

“Don’t listen to Corin,” I said, “fate isn’t taking anyone’s side. It’s just dice and it’s fucking cold,” I reach my hand for the dice.

Percy scratched his chin in serious thought, “You make it sound so romantic,” he laughed, “Okay. I know you’re just telling me to do roll them so I’ll lose my points–” he waved his hands, “but its too cute with the glory to not do it.”

He rolled. He got a five and took the fifty points for ten-fifty despite Corin’s second round of bravery rhetoric.

Percy needed one-fifty to win. I needed eight-hundred and Corin needed one-thousand. We went around two more times with no one winning any points. I was cold and kept looking up the street, but no bus was coming. It had been twenty minutes already since we started playing.

“Five more minutes Corin and then I’m calling an Uber. I don’t care about the bet.”

Of course right hten Corin rolled four ones and scored two-thousand and won.

“Looks like we’re walking,” Corin said, stood up and put his dice in his pocket.