Madison Esshaki

“What if I fall?”
“Oh, my darling, what if you fly?”

-Erin Hanson

—

As I take my seat at the wooden table, the dealer begins shuffling the deck. Money is already on the table.

“It’s about time you showed up,” an opponent says, setting his black top hat on the floor. “Hope you’re feeling lucky.”
I shrug, readjusting my crimson skirt.

I’m always feeling lucky.

An opponent sits on either side of me, and another straight ahead. The dealer is seated to my right. He is the most skilled player. His eyes are eager to start the game.

The man on my left grabs a rusted clock from a nearby shelf and sets a timer. “To raise the stakes.”

Mr. Dealer’s gaze is on mine as he hands me my two starting cards. “Ladies first.”
I feel the pulse of the clock’s ticks through the table as I glance at my hand. 

A queen and an ace, both spades.

I fight a smile.

Beautiful. Ample start for a straight flush.

“Raise,” I say, sliding a stack of chips into the center.

My opponents furrow their brows… all but the dealer, whose smirk could mean bluff or sureness.

His turn next.

Eyes gracing his cards and then my own, he says, “I’ll call.”
He slides his chips over, and I study the other two opponents. One swallows hard; the other clears his throat.

By the time it’s my turn again, they’ve both folded.

I stare at the dealer. Now, this is a duel.

Tick, tick, tick. The clock is relentless.

The game continues on.

~ ~ ~

I sit rereading, for the third time, the email from the publishing company.

Mr. Schreiber,

We love the stories you’ve posted on your website. We see great potential in you as a writer. We’d like to offer you a deal. Please call us at your earliest convenience to discuss.

My heart pounds hard in my chest. I feel like crying and laughing, all at once. No one’s ever seen value in my writing. It’s only ever been a hobby, something I do for fun as a break from the stresses of my corporate job. Nothing worthy of publication. 

Until now.

I don’t know how to answer.

A sleepless night and an espresso later, I shakily give the company a call.

They tell me if I can submit a novel manuscript in three months, they’ll happily publish my work. Again, I feel a roller coaster of emotions.

 Maybe it’s confidence, or pride, or blinding elation. But whatever comes over me in that moment… it prompts me to tell them:

“I accept.”

—

Mr. Dealer places the next three cards face-up on the table. The flop.

I study them. A queen of diamonds, a jack of spades, and three of diamonds.

Glancing down at the ace and queen already in my hand, I recognize my top pair and relish the sweet potential of that straight flush. My luck is growing.

I slide chips forward.

The dealer calls.

His hand doesn’t tremble as he turns over a fourth card in the center.

A ten of spades!

One spade away from a flush! If I’m really fortunate– if that last card he flips is the king of spades– I’ll have my straight flush. The unbeatable hand.

I’m cautious, though. Something about the glint in my opponent’s eye makes me hesitant to put more money into the pot. My chances are high, there is so much potential in my hand.

Tick, tick, tick.

The pressure of the quickening timer makes it hard for me to focus, let alone to call his bluff for sure. What cards does he have? What if his luck outruns mine? What if I fail?

On paper, though…this game is mine.

Do I risk a higher bet?

Hearing the tick of the clock with the pound of my heart fuels my next move.

Yes, I could lose everything… but I could also win.

Tick, tick, tick. Faster now.

I’m running out of time. I must make a decision. If I don’t act now, the opportunity may disappear. What’s the point of playing if you never take a risk?

“Raise.” 

I try to muster a confident smile as I push more chips across the table. The dealer raises a brow, pausing only a second before declaring, “I’ll call.”

I swallow as his chips meet mine in the center.

So confident. 

Why? Only two reasons. He’s bluffing, or I’m about to lose.

I push that fear away as he reaches to turn over the final community card, the river. The make-or-break. My saving grace, or my downfall.

~ ~ ~

What’s the point of living if you never take a risk?
That’s what I tell myself as I anxiously hit send on my resignation email.

Almost immediately after accepting the publication deal, I realized three months is not a lot of time. All of my focus needs to be on writing, on my passion, if I want to complete that manuscript and win the deal. No time for futile office struggles.

I work day and night, mustering up ideas, characters, dialogue. Thoughts of my novel never leave my mind. It’s a tedious process; one that’s not always enjoyable. But I discover that writing makes me feel alive… like no corporate job ever could.

A week before my deadline, I sit at my bedroom desk, polishing the final chapters. Pushing away the doubt.

Almost done. Almost out of time.

I watch as the clock above me counts the minutes.

Tick, tick, tick.

In the middle of the night, I finish it. My full manuscript. My saving grace.

Paralyzed by hope and fear, I send it in.

—

My heart plummets when he flips the final card on its head.

A six of diamonds, glistening in the candlelight. Useless.

All hope of a flush dissipates.

I’ve made a huge mistake.

The dealer chuckles, noticing my despair.

Something tells me his confidence isn’t bluff… and that my simple pair won’t be strong enough to win.

Tick, tick, tick.

I’m beat, and he knows it.

Tick, tick.

Almost out of time.

I make a small bet. I’ve got nothing but a pair. 

Mr. Dealer doesn’t hesitate – “All in”. His grin, ear to ear. 

~ ~ ~

All air leaves my lungs as I stare, heartbroken, at the latest email from the publishing company.

Mr. Schreiber,

After careful review of your manuscript, we’ve decided not to move forward with the publication of your work. We wish you the best in your future endeavors.

Their words are cold. Disregarding.

My heart sinks.

Here I am, hopeless, jobless. Peering over my computer, a million ideas suddenly at a halt. My chance over before it even began.

Three months wasted. I should fold now; give in.

But no… I’ve come this far. 

This is my passion. I’m proud of my work.

What’s the point in living if you never take a risk?
I take a breath, steady myself, and decide my next steps. 

I’m going to play the cards I’ve been dealt.

I’m going to self-publish my book.

—

My heart sinks. The timer rings.
Out of time, out of luck.

There is no way my pair of queens will beat whatever the dealer’s holding.

What does he have? A pocket pair, turned three of a kind? Did he hit the diamond flush on the river? 

To call would be suicide. My night over, before it even began. 

But what if he is bluffing? 

My heart is pounding through my chest. I narrow my eyes, staring at my opponent’s smirking face.

I’ve come this far.

What’s the point in playing if you never take a risk?

My decision made, I let out a breath.

“I call,” I say. “I’m all in.”

In an instant, the grin on the dealer’s face disappears.

~ ~ ~

Three months after I self-publish my book, sales are slowly coming along. I’ve had to adapt to life without the corporate income. I’ve faced backlash, competition, and criticism left and right. Turns out, life as a full-time author isn’t easy in the slightest.

But everything– everything– is worth it when I receive an unexpected email in the middle of the night.

Not from a big publishing company. Not from some famous individual praising my work, or offering me the deal of a lifetime.

From a reader of mine. A stranger, who I’ve never met and probably never will.

They’ve written a paragraph, introducing themselves, asking me questions, wishing me nothing but the best.

The final sentence, however, is what gets me.

Tears flood my eyes as I read it.

Your book changed my life.

A life changed, through my words.

Amidst my elated tears, I grin.

A life changed.

Not because I had the best cards in the game. Not because I knew I would win. 

But now? I know I’m the victor.

A reward well worth the risks.