sauce (I’m getting hungry just thinking about it), whole wheat pasta primavera, salad, and steamed vegetables. The evening snack consists of popcorn and (here’s the best part) up to one ounce of chocolate. And on all the diets, I can have all the water I can (and can’t) stand to drink.
So here I stand in front of this preacher with dreadlocks feeling drawn to bring my true burdens to the Lord and leave them. That’s one of the reasons I grabbed my husband, Edwin’s, hand and dragged him to the altar along with me. Cause and effect.
My husband (the cause) actually drives me to smoke or overeat (the effect).
I know you think I’m playing the blame game here, but it was Edwin’s actions that caused me to start smoking in the first place. Okay. See, he’s an obsessive gambler, bets on everything from the office pool to the lottery (there’s no lottery in Alabama but that doesn’t stop him and a slew of others from crossing the state lines to get tickets).
We’ve been married for twelve years, and of those twelve years, he’s left me almost every night, including our honeymoon night on the cruise, for some kind of gambling event. No, I am not exaggerating: every night. Mondays through Thursdays, he goes to the dog track; then on Friday nights, he catches a bus down to Mississippi to the bright lights casino and stays until Sunday afternoon. Most of the weekend, you can find him at either the blackjack table or pulling on some lady luck’s steel black arm trying to get three things to come up a match so he can win some money—big or small.
“You don’t have to pull an arm on a machine anymore, Baby-cakes,” Edwin said one day when we were discussing this. “Now you can push a button on the front of the machine and it does the same thing.”
“Whatever, Edwin! Pull, push, it’s still gambling, and it’s still a sin,” I said.
“That’s commandment number what?” he said, folding his arms across his chest as he smiled. “Show me chapter and verse where it says gambling is a sin. Show me.”
I stood with both hands on my hips and just stared at him. He knew he had me; we had been around this mountain several times before. I’d searched the Bible and even posed the question to several preachers for some biblical assistance, to no avail. There was one preacher who took a scripture out of context and tried to make it work for gambling. That dog wouldn’t hunt in my sight, and I was an easy mark. Another preacher talked about how the Roman soldiers gambled (cast lots) for Jesus’s robe. That was his feeble attempt to make it fit the bill. And yet another preacher pointed to a scripture, making the claim that we’re not supposed to receive something for practically nothing.
O-k-a-ay.
“You can’t, can you? You can’t show me anywhere in the Bible where it specifically states that gambling is a sin,” Edwin said as he smirked. “Now, smoking on the other hand, which literally destroys the temple—your body—and gluttony of food, again which can destroy the temple—your body—are different matters. I can prove those.”
“I’ve quit smoking and you know that,” I said, letting my hands hang limp by my side, a clear admission of defeat.
“Yeah, and when you finally did stop, you seemed determined to eat us out of house and home, as if—no matter how hard—it would be the last thing you’d do.”
“Edwin, don’t you dare harp on my weight! I declare, I’m not in the mood today.”
“So I guess that means you’ve either started another grand diet or just finished one?” He opened the refrigerator door. “What’s the name of this one, Baby-cakes?”
“Edwin, don’t try to change the subject. We were talking about your gambling problem.” I watched him as he took out the strawberry cheesecake I’d pushed all the way to the back of the refrigerator so I wouldn’t be tempted. He took it out and practically whizzed it around the room like it was his dancing partner, making sure he passed my way twice before he did a dip with it. “Besides,” I said, “you drive me to do what I do.”
“Oh, so now it’s my fault?” He sliced the cheesecake and placed it in a saucer. When he placed it in his mouth, he made a moaning sound. “Baby-cakes, you know you can outdo yourself. This has got to be the best strawberry cheesecake you’ve ever made.”
“And you have the nerve to ask how it’s your fault?” I walked over to the refrigerator, opened it, took out some prepackaged carrots and broccoli florets, and proceeded to chomp unenthusiastically on them.
“Yes, how is it my fault? I don’t force you to smoke or to overeat. You just need a little willpower, that’s all. You can’t blame me because you don’t have any.”
“Willpower, huh? You mean like you don’t have the willpower to stop gambling?” I said. “That’s how you force me to smoke and eat. You’re gone practically every night, Edwin, and most of the weekend. I’m here all alone with nothing to do but watch television and think. My nerves are practically shot from worrying about bills that keep piling up and seemingly getting further and further behind.”
He placed another fork full of cheesecake in his mouth and closed his eyes as he shook his head and smiled. “Well, I bet you I can stop gambling anytime I choose to. I just have never chosen to.”
“Yeah, well, I can stop smoking and bingeing whenever I choose to, but I-I-I…”
“I what, Desiree?” He looked up at me and grinned.
“I guess, I guess…” I felt a tear stinging my eyes. “I guess—you know what, Edwin? I don’t care anymore! Keep gambling! Forget the fact that you’re taking money out of our home and losing it or that you’re leaving me home all alone. You don’t care? Fine, I’m through talking to you about it! You’ve never won any great amount of money, yet you keep thinking and believing you’re going to hit that ‘big one’ because you were ‘so close’ the last time. But you never do! Okay, fine. Have it your way!” I looked at the remaining carrots and broccoli, threw them in the garbage can, and stormed out of the kitchen.
So here at the altar, Edwin and I now stand, holding hands like everything is peachy-keen between us. Suddenly, I realize his hand is clammy, and it’s at this precise moment that he gently squeezes my hand with three gentle pumps. And I, understanding this unspoken message, can’t help but to smile.
Edwin
Desiree grabbed my hand and started for the front of the church before I could protest. I might have put up a better fight, but she caught me totally off guard. Although in truth, I was already debating whether or not I should go up there. Normally, I wouldn’t have even been at church, but my money was acting funny for the bus trip down to Mississippi this weekend. I hung around Birmingham and went to the dog track instead of my usual three-hour ride to the bright lights of the casino.
Don’t get me wrong; I don’t have anything against the dog track. In fact, I’m pretty much a regular Monday through Thursday. But I love being able to feel like I have more control over whether I win or not. Holding those cards and making the decision to stay with what I have or letting the dealer hit me again can be such a rush. Or being able to wrap my hand around that black stick on the slot machine and pull it just right, or push the button with precision as I wait for those blessed three symbols to stop one at a time; that’s pure skill with just a tad of luck. That’s me being the captain of my destiny.
With the dogs and the horses, I’m left trying to figure out which animal is going to do its job on that day or other factors I have no control over. Like that time that one crazy
