Matt & Amy
Matt & Amy-
Matt and I go way back. We’ve been acquaintances ever since Awana’s Club in Escondido. We were just a couple of tykes trying to balance bean bags on our heads while running in circles. Those relays were a brilliant remedy for sugared up hyperactive kids such as ourselves.
Even though our circles collided as youngsters, I can’t say that we were truly friends till we found ourselves in the same Friday night poker game. The way that I remember it goes like this:
Matt was wearing a 5 gallon cowboy hat and chewing on the end of an old stogie. I had on my good suit and my pocket watch. He lifted his head just enough for the light to catch his eyes as he growled out the words, “All in!” through the teeth that clenched his ratty cigar.
I stared him down for a good 20 seconds and watched as he sat head down and motionless. Suddenly, his thumb twitched.
“I CALL!” I said with conviction… having yet to even look at my cards.
His head came up and he peered at me with wide eyed disbelief. “You’re such an idiot!” he spit at me as he flipped over aces.
“Damn! I muttered quietly as I turned up my cards to find a 2 of clubs and a 4 of diamonds.
To make matters worse, the flop came out 8, 9, Ace, giving Matt a set of Aces and all but sealing my fate. The turn wasn’t much better, just a 5 of hearts.
Matt reached forward and started to scoop the mountainous pile of chips his way. But the dealer, Josh, halted him and said, “Hang on there buddy, wait for the river.”
He quickly burned the top card and flipped up the river slowly with purposeful antagonism. And as he saw what was about to hit the board he compulsively laughed to himself.
The 3 of spades.
Dan burst out laughing like a hyena and Father Paul tilted back in his chair and whispered the 6th letter of the alphabet while his smile gave way to more laughter. Meanwhile, Jeff crinkled up his face and dryly studied the card as if he didn’t understand what had happened. A second later he blithely pointed out, “Hey, Scott made a straight!”
Matt! Stunned and humiliated, soaked in the laughter of his table mates and the bitter disappointment till he was drunk with rage.
“You son of a…” his words trailed off as he pulled out his revolver and shot me square in the chest.
Everyone went silent. He stood up, still seething and stared down at my lifeless body. “Looks like Scott folded” he sneered.
“Oh, and by the way,” he added, “Can you shoot my wedding?”
Life is pretty funny. You never know when you’ll run into some work.
(Portions of the story may or may not be true.)
As it is, I’m honored to have shot the Thompson’s wedding. Watch for a follow up interview with them. It’ll be much more authentic. They have an amazing history and its worth hearing about.
Swan
