Chapter one

Me, I weren’t nothing since, won’t ever be something again, lost that something you need inside to be something, don’t care none no more. 

Being nothing is fine, now my something is nothing. 

That man his name was Roger, that man he was my best friend. 

Roger, he said he was from Houston but, you know, every time he wrote down the name of his hometown, he spelled it wrong, I paid no never-mind to it, a man’s secret his secret you know. 

Roger used to say, “Don’t matter none where I come from what matters is where I’m going.” 

All he going to be was going to be dead.

I kissed his forehead, whispered I loved him, I did…

He smiled.

Mouthed something.

Then he died.

Me too, I died then, his body died that day in that muck…

…took my soul that day…

Who me…my given name is, you ready for this, Reginald Clayton Blue…the third…yep, somehow three of us got tagged with that name, but when I was a baby my mother’s father, Willie, my grandfather would pick me up and give me all sorts of kisses while saying, “Boy I love to kiss those cheeks of yours, your skin it so soft and sweet you be like sugar.”

But Grandpa Willie, he had this old accent and whenever he said “sugar” it sounded like “Sugah” as it stretched long and slow outta his mouth. Pretty quick that’s what everyone called me, “Sugah, sugah Blue.”

There ya go.

I did my best growing up, played the piano before being drafted, became a somebody on the keys, came back, still play, play for my bar tab and the nightly special for eats. 

Give it a go best I can, hands getting old, hurt on the wide stretch keys, hurt on the old songs by Jerry Lee, lots of pounding, my knuckles you know, I played great before being over there, play good now, enough to get by, barely.

Good enough for the weekday crowd, give up my seat on the weekends to a young fella, he sings too, takes requests for new music I’ve never heard of, no riffs, he just plays what the people hear out of their radios or their cellphones. 

The old stuff, he needs to have paper in front of him to read, need to see the music before he plays it. 

I just go, my fingers know, my fingers know where they need to be. 

Come the weekend, that my Roger time, that my Roger time. You see, back some it was a slow week, just coins in my tip jar, quarters mainly, some dimes, and someone put in six pennies. 

Still shake my head at that, I play 4, sometimes 6 sets, got me a tip of a penny a set. 

Oh well.

So as I’m leaving Sammy the bartender yells out to me, “Don’t spend it all in one place,” and laughs, I laugh too as I down my Genny, put on my hat and gloves and leave the joint, then, as I always do, I go next store to Mr. G’s newsstand, give him a couple of bucks for his nightly bookie numbers gig, for the record I always pick the same number, 264, and then on my way out, dig the tip jar change out of my pocket and a couple of bucks I found in my coat, push all of it to Vinny and tell him to give me one of those lottery scratch off things. 

“Which one.”

“How many you got.”

“Who knows the state keeps adding them. Looks like you got twelve bucks and, let me count, um forty-six whole cents.”

Almost a weeks worth of tips.

“Blue, dude, do this, first here’s your change back, don’t spend it all in one place. Then play those numbers of yours, that’s $2, and, um, huh, you know football season is about to begin, state came out with a football card with all the New York teams, all ya gotta do is scratch off the two helmets up top there, then scratch off the helmets down here, I think there’s like 18 of them, match any of these helmets with the top helmets and you win a prize. Ain’t got no one buying these they so pissed at the Jets they say screw it.”

“How much is it.”

“$10 smack-er-roos.”

“Jesus.”

“Come on man whatcha-got-to-loose.”

“Fine.”

Mr. G rips the football scratch off card from the group of those cards and slides it across the counter to me.

“Good luck Blue, there ya go.”

“See ya.”

As I’m going out the door I here from behind me, “Gotta love them Jets, huh Blue.”

I hate the Jets.

So I yell back, “Go Bills,” just as I shut the door.

So I feed the Boom with some cut up chicken mixed in with some fancy kibble for Shih Tzu’s and top it off with a small cut up piece of celery , pull another cold one out of the frig, light up a smoke, find the scratch off in my pocket, take the 1-penny I have left, and commence to scratching.

Okay rubbed off the two helmets at the top of the card…NY Giants one helmet, Buffalo Bills 2nd helmet.

I look at Boom and toast him with my beer bottle…”Go Bills Boomy.”

Ok so I’m supposed to scratch off the bunch of helmets below, here goes.

First scratch…Jets…second scratch…jets…third…jets. Jeez, just my luck…and I hate that team.

Then…Giants…FINALLY…another Giants…Jets…damn…wait…oh wow…Bills…crap 2 more Giants, now 4 Giants…4 jets…only 1 Bills.

Boomer brings me a ball, we do this every night, I bounce it off the door into a wall and then under the table as he scrambles to get it.

So, scratch…the 5th Jets…8 more helmets to go.

Bills…Bills…Bills…Bills…Bills…Bills…Bills…Giants.

That’s got to be something, turn the card over, scan the rules and how many helmets need for the prizes.

Blah Blah Blah…8 same helmets…win..

…what, wait WHAT…

…8 same helmets wins the GRAND PRIZE.

THE GRAND PRIZE!

And then at the vey bottom of the scratch-off, in print so tiny I had to get up and find my good reading glasses to read it, way down there it says:

Four Grand Prizes of $2-million dollars each to be awarded. 

Chapter 2: Amtrak to Schenectady