The Suit Jacket

Just an introductory note. The size of my page is different in my text editor than in this little box, so some of the placing is off a little. Sorry!


**********************************************************************************************
**********************************************************************************************



"Dishes on the dice, what's your call?"
"Odds, no doubt."
Evens.
Fuck.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Look, if you need them, there's plenty of warm clothes in that pile in the corner over there, I'm sure at least some of them will fit you."
Excellent. A bounty!
"Fantastic."

The house became empty soon afterwards and I set upon my feast of clothes. Hand-me-downs. I began to pick through the messy pile of greens and browns. It all looked the same. Perhaps my treasure is, in fact, just trash.
I pulled a jumper of dark-green wool from the pile and inspected it further.
"Australian Cadet Corps", it read across the shoulders. No thankyou. Not my cup of tea, no sirree.
I threw it back into the corner of the pile, and continued to dig. A couple of fruity orange numbers in there, quite out of place, the rest seemed quite drab. But this all changed. A chocolate-brown piece of material caught my eye. I was not intrigued by this colour, nor the material, but by two blackened metal buttons. I caught the sleeve and reeled it in. It was a suit jacket
I have never before owned a suit jacket.

It was a beauty, an absolute marvel. But I had still not tried it on. Best to not get too excited, what if it doesn't fit? I slipped it onto my shoulders and shot my arms through the sleeves.
It fit.
What a find.

Then I panicked. A white shirt. The yin to the yang. How could I possibly pull this off without a white shirt? I knew I didn't own one.
The pile.
The greens and browns flew to the side as I dug for a white. White. White. I found it! No, not the kind of shirt I want. Dammit. Again, I began to dig.
And there! There it was! Like a shining beacon in a stormy sea!
I ripped off the jacket and let it to the floor. I found the sleeves, stuck my arms through them and buttoned it up. Sexy.
I donned the jacket once more.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The mirror at the end of the hall was impressed as I walked down the way. I winked at myself. Looking suave. Looking chic. Looking goddamn fucking good, that's what.
But I couldn't rest unless the image was complete.
Money, I thought. I'll need some. My drawer was opened and I withdrew an envelope with my name scrawled onto it. A birthday card once lived inside. Now it was full of cash. I slipped out a ten. Got to be money smart, too poor to waste. Can't. I tucked the note into the breast pocket on the inside of the jacket. Can't wait to be seen in public taking that out.
But what else did I need?
I opened a pocket of my satchel. Velcro. Inside there was a small black tin. I opened the lid and took out a bag of pot and a packet of rolling papers.
Essentials.
They also were awarded a spot in the breast pocket.

Matches, too, I needed those. But I put them elsewhere, in a small pocket at the bottom of the jacket. I contemplated a bic lighter but settled on matches as they better suited the beast upon my shoulders.

Time to go.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A car ride later, I steped through the pub door, feeling stylish. I followed my friend through the maze of drunken teenagers and found our table. Full of goddamn drunken teenagers. But my drunken teenagers. Fantastic.
I took a seat and grinned a grin as one by one they complimented me. I was the target, they were shooting me with praise for my attire. Bang, bang!
"So where'd you get the suit, looking classy, oh my my!" they said. Too goddamn right I was looking classy. I could blend in at a ball if I was sporting this beast of a jacket. I sat and let them fire a few more.
"Wow, you look like an artist, I've never seen you in a suit, wicked!"
Just a couple more to boost the ego. There's nothing wrong with that.
"Very stylish, looking good!"
"Where'd you get it?"
"Ha," I laughed, "found it in a pile on the floor. A steal, eh?"
They were impressed.

And so the talk of small continued. They were impressed, I was looking good, it all continued in that kind of fashion for a little while.
Then to the beer. We guzzled and poured the broth down our throats by the jugful. The idea of what was going on kind of became lost to me. As far as I was concerned, jugs of the stuff kept suddenly appearing on our table, and it was my sworn duty to drink them.
Having a laugh, having a drink, good wholesome fun.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I was absolutely trashed. Hammered. Fucked up. Yahoo!

There I was, trying to explain my life story to a complete stranger, when I was called by my scruffy hippy friend.
"We're off," I explained, and shook her hand. Then turned away.
We pissed then walked out of the door, laughing at some obscure drunken joke. Out the front door, we turned and headed home. A fairly short walk, but it wouldn't be easy. My balance wasn't too great.
"My motor skills are fucking impaired, baby!" I shouted, cackling to myself.
I'm an arsehole when I'm drunk.

Through the traffic light jam and the crowded streets, we reached that shining beacon at the end of the road. Maccers.
I sat myself down on the street outside as my friends went indoors. That scruffy hippy, he was smoking a needle-thin cigarette. Bloody ridiculous.
He claimed it on style.
I rolled myself a sensible-sized fag and proceeded to light up. I had to battle the wind with my matches, but I got it eventually. I puffed and puffed, sitting in silence with this scraggly, dirty beast. He wasn't doing justice to the suit. I even had mind to go and sit a few meters away from him.
But I didn't. I just sat there smoking. Bored. Time went by. Tick-tock. The three am McDonalds rush of junkies and drunkards must be holding them up. Bored. How could a boy in a suit entertain himself at this hour?
I took another puff and an idea came to mind. The dice!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"I'll gamble you."
"For what?"
Touché. For what indeed. I didn't really have much.
"My old ID card for a beer when we get back home."
"Let's see". I handed it to him. "Yaaa-ha-ha-ha, that's classic. You're on!"
Not that I needed the beer anyway, I was smashed and had plenty left myself. But I was in it for the thrill. Livin' by the dice.
"I call odds"
Odds or evens was all we played. A crude dice game, but simple, effective and great fun. Screw all that fancy stuff, a plain odds or evens is all this man needs.
The two dice rolled span across the ground. Even. My win.
'"Sucker, that beer is mine."
A scruffy scowl.
"Fine."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The others came out of their white light artificial paradise. Maccers. I hate that shit.
But the smell. My nostrils flared so they could get more of it in. God dammit I wanted some food. I was ravenous. But my tenner, I had spent it on beer.
Broke and hungry, fucking miserable.

"Hey hey," I said to old Scruffbags, "How about you buy us some bread?"
Neither my questions nor my suggestive eyebrow movements seemed successful. Couldn't leave it here, the option of bed without bread too miserable.
It simply had to happen.
"I'll gamble you for it."
"What's in it for me? You've got nothing I want."
Hot-foot thinking, "The dice, I'll give you the dice."
"Dice at home, baby, no need for those."
Crap.
"Well. Something, there's got to be something you'll take for it, anything."
"Anything?"
"Anything." Oops.
"Deal." He shook my hand, "That jacket if I win, a loaf of fantastic bread if i lose".
Shit. This was a disaster. There was no way I could back out now, this
goddamn son-of-a-bitch swine would never let me down about it. He's just
like that. Fucking ridiculous character, I'll say.
But it was worth a try.
"Actually I don't know. I think I'll vomit if I eat.." Lies dripped from my mouth.
"Ha. Scumbag. I don't care, you said anything. And I swear I'll fight you to the
death if you back down." He'd slap me at most, this fight to the death business was a mighty boast. But I knew ridicule was to follow.
"Fine."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The most heated dice roll of my life. He grinned and giggled, who wouldn't be if there was a 50% chance of getting a suit-jacket.
"I call evens"
"Hey hey, no sirree. You slow down there. You started the bet, I get to call. Rules are rules. So, I call evens."
He scowled again. This son-of-a-bitch scowls an awful lot, it's borderline ridiculous.
And so it was happening, the roll.
The two white gleaming cubes came spinning from his hand, slicing through the air. They hit the concrete path a-tumbling, bouncing once, twice, thrice. It was all going in slow motion for me, I wondered to myself whether he was getting that feeling too. And eventually, after a little more rolling, they came to a halt.

Odds.
Fuck.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

In a role reversal, I scowled a disheartened scowl. Beaten. I had lost the jacket, it was his property.
And him, he just sat there laughing, pointing at me and laughing. Ah yes, he just had to rub it in didn't he. This fancy jacket, my pride and joy gone. The second I take it off, I'd not only be hungry, but cold, angry and so very passé. The horror.

As I watched the expression on his chubby face I began to resent him. And I began to think. Is the jacket worth the ridicule? What if I was to run now? Sure people would think I was a scumbag, a wimp, a treachorous swine. But I'd have the jacket. And everything would be okay... It would.

I turned around, my suit-jacket flying up at its end, then my legs began to propel me forward. I was hurtling along in seconds, but I was already in pursuit. This man was quick on his wits.
"Gah, I'll get you, you dirty sonofabitch!"

Foot by foot, I flew along. I've never flown so long in my entire life. Never been anything so important to me. This suit-jacket was my life. My life had started just a few hours ago, and I was not prepared to give it up yet.
So I sprinted.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


And I dodged and weaved, dipped and tangled around my surroundings. I threw in a left, ran down an alley way. Footsteps hammered the ground behind me, he was still in pursuit. It was dark, dead dark, couldn't see a thing. I was worried for my footing. I squinted, tried to focus my eyes. Made out a box and dodged it.
And back into the light. I made it.

As I ran out to the street I looked behind me. I could see that hippy, he had just come into the light. He was maybe two meters behind me, hot on my heels.

And then my chest span to the side, my arms flung out. I landed on my back and felt the gravel rip against my back. I had run into the side of a postbox.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A minute later I was up my feet, helped by the hippy. We stood together as he held up the jacket and examined it. The back had been destroyed, utterly shredded by the force of my body sliding along the gravel. The silk inside was visible from behind, there were holes everywhere.
It had been destroyed,
my dream,
his dream,
the suit-jacket.


Stop.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"The Suit-Jacket" - L. Starr