Vegas

She had treasured that plastic ring. A gift from a gumball machine on their first night together. They’d laughed a lot. Due in no small part to the seemingly endless rounds of shots that they’d had in the casino bar. The neon lights had grown fuzzy as her focus had blurred. Bright, shiny, noisy people crowded all around them. There had been no sense of time. In Vegas, no one really goes to bed. They just crash out, sooner or later. Something to do with the casinos blocking sundown from its customers. As if seeing it would make them decide to be good children and run home to bed. It had seemed silly to her. Anyone who came to Vegas most likely had no intention of being good. Didn’t they call it Sin City? 

There had been a whole lot of sin. She was sure of that. For two glorious weeks the two of them had shared her hotel room. Dropping exhausted into bed, then waking, filling up on room service before cleaning themselves up and heading back out into the lights. A few nights they did well. He was good at cards and she was his lucky charm. Giggling, they’d cashed in the chips and headed to the bars. When they didn’t win, it was still the same. Nothing could pull them from this golden web, this dream, this new life they had found together.

For the first time, in her life at least, she had been connected. A part of something. Him and her sharing their own world, where rules were what they made them, and the game was to have fun. Sharing booze and dances and laughter with the colourful people they met. All of them sharing the bond of adoration for this city. This place of light.

On the third day of the second week she saw a young woman crying outside a club. Her hands over her face, body shaking. Then, then he rushed through the door, grabbed her hand and tugged her toward the next casino. In a second, she forgot the crying girl. Maybe another time she would cared. Maybe offered help. But not tonight. Tonight, she was with this gorgeous man. Tonight, she was bright and adored and alive. She had no time for crying women.

The two weeks ended, and pain pulled at them both. They did not want to part. They did not want to go back to their lives. How long they had lived as other people. Working, studying, saving money, looking to the future. Live right. Behave well. Be happy. Make your parents proud. Oh, they had tried, they had really tried. Until they met one another they hadn’t even known how dead they’d been inside.

They decided. They would stay. Goodbye to their old lives. Hello to a new life. Farewells were said, relatives cried.

They’d felt young. Free but not alone. Together they’d made a bedsit a home. When they’d got jobs, they rejoiced. Because the jobs had meant they could afford to keep their world turning. Months passed but the shine never faltered. Returned home, they wrapped their arms around one another. Talked about their days. Crumbled together in laughter and tears. He would hold her in his arms and she would stroke his hair. On Friday nights they’d cook a big breakfast and watch television in bed. On Sunday mornings they’d get Chinese food and laugh at how unique they were. When someone was mean to her, he’d promise her protection. When someone upset him, she would kiss his face until he smiled. They felt protected. Their family was a small one, but it was true.

It was a Sunday when he got hit by the car. A pink stretch limo driven by an Elvis impressionist.

Alone, waiting to identify the body, she collapsed into hysterics.

The police found her sat on the floor, arm wrapped around her stomach, muscles cramping, her hand over her mouth, body shaking with laughter. She could not breathe. She did not cry. She only laughed.

They thought she was in shock. They consoled her. Promised to guide her through the process. To contact relatives so she would not be alone.

 They don’t get it she thought, they don’t understand.

Then, then she wept.