I first met him on the first Saturday of my first weekend in a practically new life. It was a crazy night of drinking, laughter, and lots of tobacco. God how I’d missed that! The feeling of total abandon for at least one night before consciousness seeps back in. But it was the hours of laughter that had done us in. Dave received a letter from the Board the next week about excessive noise late at night.

“But it was only 9 O’clock!” Dave remonstrated to me.

It was actually after 1 AM before we called it a night … ahem … morning. In Arabic I’d have heard “It’s still too early till morning [read sunlight]. Why go now?” I’d have said that to Dave that night. I was having a desperately enjoyable time that I didn’t want to end. Alas, we might have kept some people up, or Dave couldn’t have received that letter. I guess I got away with it. It’s not a big deal, except keeping some people up.

Strange how a sense of commonality bring people together. In many ways, Dave and I are very different, quite opposites. But we’re both Navy veterans, so we’ve managed two quite adventurously spontaneous nights that seem so deceptively worthless. At the beginning of one such night a homeless elderly Marine with a white beard started singing a song dedicated to Dave: “There’s an angel living on the block!” He has a high-pitched voice, a rather pleasing one.

I know there’s a reason why Bacchus had a temple.

That first night, however, - the night Dave received a warning from the board (I’d have paid the fine, as I was the one laughing loudly) I was afraid I might have offended a young man. I later - several weeks later when I recognized him through his goatee – I later apologized to him. He said it takes much more than what I said to offend him. I then said I’ll try harder to offend him. Seriously, he should have seen how drunk I was. OK, I’d had 3 beers, and I was starting the fourth and last. Long story, but I was trying to be brief with him. I’d just moved out of the life I’d known for years, and, somehow, I felt compelled to lead this young man back into that world … my world before I said: “and where’s Sharon now? I suppose he’s in Purgatory, where some say is worse than hell.”

“Jews don’t believe in hell,” he countered.

“Don’t they have Gehennem?” I asked. “It’s a place in Israel, isn’t it? Anyway, Catholics believe in Hell, so who knows. Anyway whether he’s in hell or not, he’s between life and death, and he can’t do anything about anything. He may still be aware of the world around him. Someone might still be whispering the state of the world news into his ears. And he’s totally helpless to do anything. What kind of a vegetable life is that? He might prefer the Catholic version of hell.”

It was at that point the young man almost leapt up to go. The next morning, I was afraid I’d offended him and I mentioned it to Dave. “He didn’t seem upset to me; but what can you do about it now?” Dave asked me. He’s very good at making now seem so helpless about the past. I guess that’s comforting to me sometimes; but I have to map my course for the future. So I must learn from the past. That’s what I’d been trying to do.

And Dave gave me some invaluable lessons about learning from the past in a seemingly boring game of Rummy Monday night. He beat me convincingly in 4 rounds. I didn’t even count my hand in the end. I just lay down the cards: “Game over!”

First, I became reacquainted with the rules, as I’d played the game awhile ago. I learnt very quickly that there are stated rules and unstated rules. I still think that deception is dishonesty, no matter who benefits. More importantly, however, I believe one must always avoid self-deception. I won the round but lost the points by 5 in the first round. Not bad for the beginner.

Next, in the second round, Dave demonstrated the curve. He started talking at me; but apparently, he was counting the cards, or so he said. There always seems to be the obligatory whispering of “women are like that” among men who refer to deception. I know there are women who feel the same about men, stereotyping them along gender lines. There are books about Earth and Mars. There are definite biological differences. That’s all I can ascertain. It just seems that when some men speak of women they speak of them collectively. I heard a woman speak of men like that yesterday evening, so I suppose that might happen more often in private among women. Thirty points separated Dave and me at the end of this round. I won the round but lost the points again. Sometimes you lose even when you win. What a fucking true cliché!

Third game, I started to focus more on the game while keeping up with the conversation. I know I can’t keep up with Dave’s beer drinking, but I can burn away his entire packet, even on a night I exercise. He described how luck can affect life. A simple slide on the ice in a vehicle at 5 MPH in Michigan can change the course of securing a great job offer in Atlanta. “Yes,” I mused. “I know luck quite intimately.” I concluded my own loud thoughts with “but I’m a good man. I just need to keep on reminding myself that. I’m not a bad man. I’m not perfect, obviously; but I’m honest, decent, appreciative, loving, nurturing, smart, attractive, intelligent, hard-working with the whole world in front of me. People tell me so, and I can believe it. My life will not be defined by negativity.” Of course it won’t.

Dave is now charging me $100 for some sessions. I bought him a nice rare filet with a divine sauce, crisp cooked tasty vegetables, and basil (zaatar) cheese bread with a glass of whiskey and we were served at 10PM at my client’s reputable restaurant where the food is always good. It was the night when the homeless man sang Dave’s praises at the corner of Peachtree and Pharr Road. So yes, the end of the third round separated Dave and me by almost 200 points. Dave won his first round.

“I don’t know if you can catch up!” Dave almost smirked.

“Anything can happen.”

Fourth and final round. Dave had already shared another secret. “You know your opponent’s hand by the cards he throws down.” Aha, I thought, I can beat Dave and bring him down to my level by winning this hand before Dave disposes of any card, by applying everything I’d learnt up to this point. So the conversation turned to the game. A man and his kids were playing in the pool. Dave had previously asked if I’d jump into it, but I didn’t want chlorine in my hair. “Yes Dave,” I told him, “I know what you are building. Seven of spades would indicate you are not building sevens.” Of course, the opposite was true. Dave simply wanted me to think that. He didn’t lie blatantly, but he set me up. Or the opportunity came and he changed his mind, and I had all my cards in my hands when he laid his down to win the game. “That’s how women are. You cannot know what they’re thinking. I’m not sure if most of them know what they’re thinking. We just need to find that gem, that woman, who knows what she’s all about, doesn’t play games, doesn’t want people around her to suffer for her own enjoyment, and isn’t a narcissist, for starters.”

“Yeah, a cute woman too,” I added after I’d conceded the game without even bothering to count.

It used to be the bloody cigarettes that were killing me. I knew I was hooked on them after a quick start about 3 months ago (but I’d since successfully stopped for about 3 weeks, and a dramatic improvement in my facial color was apparent.) Brian, another new friend, is now arguing that I give up one thing at a time. “First the woman. Then the cigarettes.” Yet the bloody things had stopped me from eating more than minimum. I was eating less than minimum, many would have argued.

It’s no longer the cigarettes, and I’ve never been much of a drinker. Now, I feel, I can die from exhaustion if I don’t slow down a little. On other hand, that might not be a bad way to die, living life so actively!