1001 Coin Tosses by by AlexUrwin

1001 Coin Tosses (self.nosleep)

submitted 11 months ago by AlexUrwin

Sticks and stones may break my bones, so like a good little boy, I never played with them. I wanted to, don't get me wrong. Even my mother who would force feed me gallons of chicken soup at the mere sound of a cough thought it was peculiar. Of course, there would be the week after where she'd praise me for being safe, after a friend had broken a bone or sprained a wrist or ankle. But those were few and far between. And after all, each child has their own set of quirks.

    Want to take a bet with me?

Throughout my childhood, I avoided danger. That's not to say I wasn't adventurous. Oh no, I was very much the opposite, always happy to go outside and explore the world, but safely. When other kids would wet their feet and play in the creeks, I stood on the sidelines, just watching and shaking my head when asked to join.

    What type of bet?

Not even my first crush, Emma, could pull me out my little bubble of comfort. Emma, with her barely bucked front teeth. And her orange braces, matching the colour of her corkscrew curls that shimmered like stars if the wind sang through her hair. Even in my lovestruck state, blushing every time she held my hand and losing words to the constant, 'Thump! Thump! Thump', of my heart, I was content in my safety.

    A coin toss. Fifty-fifty chances of winning and losing.

Emma came close to dragging me out, I won't lie. One summer's day, free from parents and out in the buzzing-filled meadows, we frolicked about and stumbled across a cat caught in a tree. To this day, I can remember her features dropping. The wrinkles in the corners of her eyes fading to nothing. The bright and upstanding cheeks, falling into a frown. And the lips, so stuck in a smile that it seemed to be a dream when they turned upside down.

    Only? I need to know how much we're talking here.

Please, I'm asking you now before I tell you what happened, don't blame Emma. We were only kids, and young love at such an age is fleeting and fickle.

She asked me to climb the tree to rescue the poor cat, mewling and whining. Initially, no's sprung to my lips, but never left my mouth. Seeing her like that, the little knight in shining armour could not resist and triumphantly strolled up to the tree to give it a hug and prepare to climb. The moment I pressed myself to the wood, fear got the better of me and I hauled myself back to her, shoulders sagged and stature slumped. I told her we should get an adult to help, instead. It would be safer that way.

    Ten dollars sound good to you? Ten to the winner, from the loser.

Like a hollywood film, it didn't even take a minute of us arguing about whether the cat needed to be saved now — or if we should wait for an adult — before Brian showed up.

"What's the problem, Alex?" Brian asked, still at the age where he was uncomfortable talking to girls.

I pointed up in the tree at the now silent cat, claws dug in and looking like it'd seen a dog.

"Oh that? Don't worry, I'm good at climbing trees and cats like me," Brian said, imitating some TV show as he rolled up his tiny t-shirt sleeves, "not as much as dogs, but they still like me."

He wasn't lying either. Brian scaled the tree, and scooped up the petrified cat like it was nothing more than a furry bag. The moment he came down, one hand still clutching the cat, Emma bolted to him and squeezed him and the cat as tightly as she could.

Just like that, my crush had found another. They would eventually start dating in high school.

    I don't know... got any better odds for me?

In part, I want to blame that incident for my fear of rejection. But, I think it was something else. You see, when I say, 'fear of rejection', I actually mean sweat-inducing anxiety that locks me in place and steals the words from my mouth faster than a dog can wag his tail when you hold up a sausage. Looking back on it, it was comical.

    And worse odds for me?

My friends even gave me the honoured title of, "Alex the Asker". In the remembrance of my inability to ask girls out on dates. Don't worry, I gave as good as I got. That's just how friends were in high school, at least for me. Insults tossed around, in the most twistedly endearing of fashions. Hey, at least we weren't like momma birds, serving up dinner from their own bellies.

    I... uh...

A bachelor throughout high school, and a kiss on the cheek being my most daring adventure. And yes, you would be right to assume that I was one of those kids that waited until they were of legal age before my first taste of alcohol. Drinking in celebration of my 18th, and in moderation at that. Risk just wasn't for me.

    Relax, I'm pulling your leg. How about twelve to ten? Twelve if you win, ten if I do.

I studied to be a statistician in college, throwing my brain (screaming and kicking the entire way) until I slogged through the degree, even failing my second year. Every minute, I hated it. But, it was guaranteed money, something that was in high demand, and promised stability. If not for my risk aversion and addiction to stability, I doubt I would have made it through that wretched set of years.

    I don't really know, my gut's telling me no.

As expected, I got a job offer right out the gate. Five figures, up in the 80s right out the gate. I hardly thought before taking the job. And I hated every minute of it.

The job zombified me. I woke up at 8, and followed my routine to a T. Ate a varied breakfast, depending the day. Wore clothes based on the weather, a sweater when it was below 60 (about 14 celsius) and a waterproof jacket whenever it rained. Following in Einstein's footsteps, although it may be a myth, I bought multiples of the same shirt and pants. No need to choose, the same old, same old every time.

And though I hated it, there was method to my madness. I kept telling myself, at the end of every work week, that it was just a means to an end. That, I'd work for a few years, save up some money, retire early and travel the world. Every time, I reminded myself that it was the next step in the system, education, working and then, after all that, fun. My life hadn't started yet.

    Alright, fifteen to ten.

After three years, with student debt paid off and almost six figures in saving, I began dating. Too much time alone, and you tend to end up with two types. Those that settle, and hopeless romantics who believe everything should be perfect.

34. I think that was my count at the end of the year for first dates, one every other week or so, searching for my soulmate. Looking back on it, and staring at the fading line on my finger, I really was too picky. Hair colour off, eyes not the way I wanted them, or even small things like taste in literature and movies would have me mentally crossing off the date and pondering the next one.

    I still don't feel that great about it.

Struck by defeated, in having expectations too high and unwilling to try something that was less than perfect, I slowed down. I did my job. I dated every now and then. I didn't find love. If life were a movie, they'd only be able to make a couple episodes a year whenever I took a little off to go on a holiday.

Never a fun holiday, mind you. Always some place safe, with plenty of planning. The big cities, the first world countries, the cultural hotspots. The thought of some beach resort in Fiji? Thought didn't even cross my mind, based off GDP alone.

    How about... twenty then?

And so my life became work, break, work, holiday, work. I would work. Enjoy a book or two, reading more over the weekend and on the oddest of occasions, breaking the routine to go on a date.

Years passed me by. My twenties fading into a wall of numbers and purchasing a house on prime real estate. My thirties started off similar, finishing off payments on for the house and being...

I want to say content, but the truth is, I just was. No risk, no reward, I simply existed. A little cog, doing nothing more than pitching at some rally and saying a word or two because that would change the world. But I was fine with that, I was still working for a little longer, because my life hadn't truly started yet.

    Twenty? I mean-

Late into my thirties, I was wealthy. I worked for corporate, still hated my job crunching numbers, but was happy with where I was. Never broken a bone, never broken my heart, and never suffered through debt.

In the next few years, on the cusp of forty, I would finally marry. Not for love, I had come to accept that love was just not for me. All my friends had fallen in and out of love, married, divorced and lived their lives, but here I was. Susan, the companion of my life.

    If you do the math...

The marriage lasted a passable ten years. We didn't ever fight, small ones from time to time, but nothing big. And as the 50s rolled into my life, my astoundingly uneventful life, she pushed for divorce. She wanted to travel and go around the world, and we separated with relative ease.

And that was it. I went back to working my last few years, aiming for that rounded 30, while Susan disappeared from my life.

    I can do the math, but there's no point in me taking the chance.

The sixties came, and I kept myself in better condition than most. I was lonely, but never hurting. My life still had a few decades left in it, just over half of it being over if I was lucky and careful, so there was plenty to do. And so, on a warm summer's day as I strolled down memory lane to the tree where I once lost my crush to a cat rescue, I began.

    So, how much do I need to go to? Twenty-five?

And two years into my life, I was diagnosed with cancer. Somehow, in all my care and attention to detail, I'd missed a growing mole on my back. Melanoma.

Two years into my life, I was given three years to live. Four, if I pushed it and was lucky. Better than most, especially at my age.

    I suppose... maybe fifty? I don't know. I just don't like risk.



A few days ago, I was just walking. I can't remember the last time I was just walking, but that's what I did. Step by step, in whichever direction the sidewalk would take me, with no particular goal or place in mind. Just walking, and seeing.

    So what if I proposed to do it ten times?

I saw children dragged along by their mothers, mumbling about how shopping for clothing was boring and they wanted to do skateboarding instead. One of them smiled my way and we shared a moment waving.

    Only ten? At what odds, twenty five to ten?

I saw a dog, scampering along and nipping at the heels of a laughing teen, who promptly scooped up his best friend in the world and shared a cuddle.

    I guess you still don't want a go?

I saw a man in his twenties, somehow having walked so far that my knees began to hurt and I ended up in some place in town that I'd never been in before. He wheelied on his bike, and did donuts to the applause of friends and what I could only assume were romantic prospects.

    Not entirely.

And to each of them, I smiled. A sad, bittersweet smile for all that I'd missed out on.

    Well, how about a hundred?

Near the end of the day, I met a man who came up to me with a coin in his hand. He was out of place, wearing a tux and tie, as old as I was with more wrinkles than fingers along his forehead and smiling eyes.

    Getting there... But...

He asked me to play a game. A coin toss.

    A thousand then. Would you take a thousand?

But near the end, it was quite clear that it wasn't just a game.

    I don't see why I wouldn't take those odds. Even at ten to twelve, I'd say yes.

The man smiled at me when those words left my mouth. Not a smug smile, no. A sad one.

    "My friend, how can you say yes to a thousand coin tosses?" he asked,

I thought back to the time I said no to sticks and stones. The time I said no to risking my bones. The time that I lost my crush to a cat in a tree. And the time that my voice was taken, at the thought of rejection.

"When you won't even take one?"