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My Encounter with Morris Ch. 01

By: jazzysoul



I got a job at a casino as a blackjack dealer, because after years of dealing drugs, dealing cards just seemed to make sense. A few months earlier I had been busted at a friend's house when the police raided him for growing pot in the basement. I didn't even know he was growing it. Shows what a great friend he was. The police busted me too because I had a crack pipe and a couple ounces in my jacket pocket.

I'd been smoking pot since I was fifteen but I didn't see that I had a problem with it. I had graduated high school with decent grades. I had worked at a video store for over a year when I got arrested. I had dealt with some of the harder stuff too, but it was only recently that I had stepped up my participation in heroin and cocaine. Using lead to dealing, and eventually things had to fall apart. As with my usage, I had started out dealing pot, but then graduated to coke and heroin. Sometimes ecstasy, but not much. You could get that anywhere.

That combined with my excessive drinking, and I figured I was heading to jail for a long time. The lawyer I was saddled with assured me that he could get me a good deal. My record was clean prior to this. Due to my ability to fast talk my way out of a few traffic tickets, and the fact that I had never been caught with drugs before, this was basically my first offense. I could plead no contest and get sent to a rehabilitation clinic for a couple months. They'd dry me out, and get me clean from the drugs and I would be just as good as new, the lawyer told me. And that's what happened. The judge told me that as long as I finished my two months there with no problems, the records would be wiped clean.

I had been there for a couple days when a guy walked over to the table that I was sitting at, and sat in the chair beside me without saying a word. I looked at him, and he looked back at me but no words were spoken.

I looked away to the television, but they were watching an episode of American Gladiators and I wasn't really able to give the show the attention it deserved because I was wondering about this guy. Finally I sighed, and turned around, facing him.

"Can I help you?"

"You have to help yourself first. No one can help you but you."

I stared at him for a few moments wondering if I had landed in some old Kung Fu episode, when he started grinning.

"Just kidding man. My name's Scott, and I'll be your " he looked around and shrugged, "guide, I suppose. I'm the one you come to if you have problems. I'm the one you come to if you start to feel withdrawals, etc, etc, etc."

I stared at him, my smile gone. "Is this some kind of game? I mean, is this some thing where you get my confidence, and then try to get me to admit to doing something in the past that you can get me locked up for?"

Scott chuckled. "We're not cops. I'm here to help you, not bust you. You've already been busted. Why not let us help you?"

And that's how I met Scott. Over the next two months it was pretty rough. I wanted drugs to calm me down, but of course, I didn't have them. Scott worked me through that, and at the end of the two months I was allowed to leave. 

After my court mandated rehab was through, I packed some things in my yellow Datsun and drove to Las Vegas in hopes of finding work. Perhaps if I put enough distance between myself and my past, I reasoned, my past would stay my past. 

Scott was against it from the beginning. He said that rather than running all the way across the country, I should stay put. 

"You have a support group here", he told me. "You have people who love you, and care whether you live or die. You think going through two months of a rehab clinic and you're free from the pull of drugs and alcohol? Wake up man, you have no idea what you're doing." 

I knew there was some sense in what he was telling me, but I had to get away. I didn't need to be reminded of my failings. I needed a fresh start. 

As I made my way across the country, I admit I had the urge to looking for something to drink on several occasions, but I was able to keep it just what it was: an urge. How long I could keep it as such, I didn't know. 

Once in Vegas, things went pretty well. I quickly found work while living with a friend of mine, Bryan, who I'd known in high school. His girlfriend worked at some strip club beside the casino, and one of the pit bosses come in there all the time and flirted with her. So she put a word in for me and just like that, I was in. 

Things went smoothly for a couple months, nothing out of the ordinary happening. Then that cat came in. I'll admit that it wasn't everyday that a cat came into the casino. In fact in my entire working career I had never seen a cat come into the place I worked at.

The cat came to my table leapt up to sit on the stool, threw down a couple hundred dollars worth of chips and that's how we met. I guess that's how all relationships start if you think about it. You throw your chips on the table, and see what happens. By throwing down that much at the outset, he let me know he was no small time kitty. 

He saw me staring at him, not moving. He asked me if I was okay. Did I need a drink or something? I shook my head and blinked a few times. The cat was talking to me. I asked him his name but he seemed reluctant to tell me. He suggested I call him Morris. Cute. 

As the game began, Morris began telling me about his life, as if I was a bartender, and he had a tab. He asked me if I knew that cats had nine lives. I commented that I might have heard that somewhere. Morris added that whenever cats died, they would jump to another time in history to another family.

Whenever Morris would die he would jump to another cat's body in history. He would bounce from life to life living with Presidents, rock stars, writers, and simple common folk, until he would meet some bizarre death, and jump somewhere else. He compared it to an up and coming comedian bouncing from one crappy TV pilot to another. 

I commented that he had seemingly had a full life. Morris placed his paws on his cards as I was about to flip him another. He stared at me and shook his head slowly. He explained that he had not had a full life, unless you only counted the places he'd gone and people he'd seen. He'd battled a drug addiction that had killed four of his lives. He had been in recovery for three months when he was hit by a car, and landed in a home with Sam Kinison. 

"Needless to say," Morris said dryly, as he rubbed the shiny studded collar that encircled his neck, "that wasn't the most ideal of places for a recovering addict." 

He went out with Sam every night, drinking and drugging until a cocaine-induced heart attack sent him on his way to another owner. Finally he got with an addicts group, and got clean. Clean from the alcohol and clean from the drugs. But there was still one painful thing in his life, or rather one thing missing. He had never found that one true love that he could bring a dead mouse home to. 

I've met some fine kitty in my day, Morris said, pulling his paws back and allowing me to throw the card down. 23. Morris sighed and leaned back as I reached out to liberate him of some of his chips. He counted out some from his winnings and signaled for more cards. He went on to explain how he'd felt a deep vacancy in his soul for the longest time. As he spoke, I wondered why he was telling me this. Was he just some lonely cat out to tell someone -- anyone -- his hard luck story? 

He told me that he had now finally begun to settle in with his new family, and for the first time in his life he felt good. There was something in his mind telling him that this could be the time when he could meet someone to live with. He was down to his last life. The margin for error was zero. 

I felt sorry for Morris. I saw myself in him. Here I was, a recovering addict working in the most drugged up alcoholic business in the world. 

As the night wore on, Morris won big, and then slowly lost it all back. He was a considerate gambler. He knew the rules. You win big, let the casino give you a ton of free comps, and then you slowly lose it back, so as to make it even. Not enough gamblers understand this rule. It makes the casinos welcome you back, and more apt to comp you some good stuff in the future. Too many young punks just want to win big and leave. No one respects that. 

Morris finally yawned and looked at his watch. It was small, miniature version, something you'd expect to get for fifty cents out of one of those machines outside Wal-Mart. He looked down at his pile of chips. There were two one hundred dollar chips. 

Morris looked at me, cocked his head to the side and said, "Looks like I broke even, huh?" 

"Kind of looks that way." I said. Morris winked at me and hopped down from the stool. 

He stood there as if he wanted to shake my hand or something, but knew that rules prohibited anything that would make anyone suspicious of chips changing hands. 

"Another time, Morris?" I asked. 

"Another time, my friend." he said softly. "Another time." He then turned, and jumped down from the stool and made his way out of the casino. I watched him leave, and wondered if I would meet anyone else that I could relate to as much.

My Encounter with Morris Ch. 02



Over the next few hours I couldn't stop thinking of what Morris had said. It obviously translated to my work, because I wasn't really concentrating and began losing money to the players quickly. I would constantly go over 21, until finally the pit boss came over and took me aside. A new dealer took my place.

"Look kid, I like you but you're losing us a ton of money here. You were doing fine earlier, what's up? You got family troubles or something?"

"No, I'm fine."

"Regardless, you take the rest of the night off. Clock out, go home and relax. Go find a woman or something. Let her help you relax."

I sighed and nodded. I went to the break room, and clocked out. As I slipped my jacket on, and fished out a smushed pack of Camels cigarettes from the breast pocket, I heard the sound of one of the slot machines going off, and some woman screaming hysterically. I sighed, thinking that someday I'd get used to that. Someday I would see a financially strapped gambler in dire need of money, gamble his or her last dollar away and not care whether that last pull of the handle would net them temporary financial security, or a long walk back to their car, trying to think of what they would tell their family. Someday that may happen, but today was not that day. I felt a smile creep on my face, as I imagined the happiness my place of employment had caused, if only for one person. 

I lit up, and exited the employee lounge in the back of the casino, and made my way to the bar. This wasn't a regular occurrence. I hadn't touched alcohol in seven months, but apparently seven wasn't my lucky number tonight. It had been a weird night, Ever since Morris had sat down at my table, I couldn't think straight.

I walked into the casino's bar and sat down at the first stool that was open. I buried my head in my hands and sighed. 

"Rough day there mate?" 

I looked up and the bartender was standing in front of me. I blinked a couple times and nodded. 

"What'll it be?" 

I waved my hand at him, "I don't care. Surprise me." 

The bartender shook his head and disappeared at the end of the bar. My eyes followed him as he made his way down the bar and sitting down on the end, staring at me with a slight smile on his face was Morris. I climbed off my stool and walked over and sat beside him. 

Morris cocked his head to the side, and looked at his watch. 

"You off, already?" Morris asked me. 

"Bad day at the office." I muttered. The bartender came over and set two drinks down. One in front of each of us. 

"Thanks Mike." Morris said. 

"No problem." Mike said, as he went back down the bar, wiping the surface, and collecting tips. 

"What's wrong?" Morris asked me. 

"I don't know. I guess I've been thinking about what you were talking about. I mean trying to live a good life, getting clean and off the drugs. I thought maybe I could do the same. I mean I've been clean and sober for a hundred and fifty-eight days now, but here I am. Sitting in a bar when I should be out there working." 

"You know we're both alike." Morris said. 

I thought about it for a minute and then looked at him. "What do you mean?" 

"Well, we both want what we think is unattainable. We both want to be clean, we both want to stay on the straight and narrow, we both want someone to love us, to somehow validate our lives. To us, we need that validation. We can't just wake up and say, 'I'm a good person. I deserve to live. I deserve to be happy'. We need something or someone to tell us this constantly, on a daily basis." 

I sat there, running my finger around the rim of the glass in front of me. Morris tapped me on the shoulder. 

"And we're both recovering addicts sitting in Las Vegas, staring down at a glass of alcohol that neither of us plan on drinking." 

I suddenly realized that I hadn't taken a drink from the glass. Hadn't even made a move for it. Neither had he. 

"We're alike, the two of us. Not only are we alike in the ways I mentioned, but we're both self destructive people." 

"I'm not self-destructive. You think I want to fail?" 

"Yeah. Well, maybe not fail but you want to put yourself in the most extreme positions to see if you can get out of it. You keep getting more and more in over your head until you can't even see the top anymore. You get yourself to the point where there's no way in hell you're gonna succeed, and then when you fail you tell yourself you just can't do it, and that you might as well succumb to the addiction." 

I shook my head as if to say no, when he cleared his throat and said, "Why did you come here to work?" 

I shrugged, "It's work. I needed a job and my roommate's friend hooked me up." 

"No, I mean Vegas. Why in the entire country did you pick Vegas? There weren't any closer places to work? I can tell by your accent you're not from here." 

"Virginia." 

"Exactly. So why out of all the places in Virginia, North Carolina, Maryland and all the other places on the East Coast did you pick to drive across the country and get a job in a casino? " 

"I wanted to get away. Start over." 

"How quickly did you decide this after drying out? One minute? Five? You obviously didn't waste any time." 

"Why do you say that?" I asked, getting irritated. 

"Okay, let me ask you a question. Kind of off-topic, okay?" 

I rolled my eyes, "Sure, whatever." 

"Suppose you meet this woman right? Now, she's just hot. She's everything you imagine the most beautiful perfect woman would be, okay? You got this image in your head?" 

"Yeah, what's your point?" 

"Just stay with me here. She offers you a night alone upstairs in one of these suites. And not just an ordinary suite. Not the stuff they comp you with. The real suites. The ones set aside for the rich celebrity people. So you get a night alone with this hot exotic woman." 

"Sounds great." 

"Now here's the kicker. You hear rumors that she's got a disease. You still go upstairs with her?" 

"Are you nuts? Of course not." 

"Then why would you, a recovering addict, move to Vegas to get a job? Same thing." 

I sighed and shook my head slowly realizing he was right. I was in a destructive pattern. I had been for years, and yet had never really noticed. It took a cat to point out what had been obvious to everyone but me. I mean, here I was a recovering drug addict and an alcoholic working in a casino where alcohol is flowing heavier than the water, and drugs are available everywhere you look. I could toss a chip and hit some coke in that place most nights. And I was supposed to succeed? I, of all people, should know that the house always wins. No matter what happens no matter how confident you are, the house will win. 

If I keep going the way I am where will I end up? Where will I be when my luck runs out? A halfway house? A jail cell? Alone? How far was I away from that end? 

Morris pushed his drink away from him and turned to me. 

"Look, I can't tell you what to do. Even if I could, you wouldn't listen to me. We never do. We have to find out for ourselves, and then it's often too late. I was lucky and wised up before it was too late. Maybe you will too. Maybe you'll beat the house." 

My eyes widened a bit when he said that. Could this cat read my mind, too? 

"Lots of luck, my friend." Morris said, with an outstretched paw. 

"Julian." I said, as I gripped his paw gently in my hand. 

He withdrew his paw, and turned to jump down when he stopped and turned back around to face me. 

"Do you want to know my name?" 

I wasn't expecting that, so it took me a few seconds to register. 

"Excuse me?" 

"Do you want to know my name? I told you it was Morris, but I never told you my real name. Would you like to know it? Or is Morris satisfactory to you?" 

I thought for a moment, and smiled. "Wait and tell me another time." 

"Why is that?" he asked. 

"So there will be another time." I said simply. 

Morris smiled and nodded his head in understanding. He jumped off the stool and quickly sprinted out of the bar. As he was exiting he stopped and called back, "Another time." 

He then ran out of the casino and into the night leaving me sitting there with a glass of some type of alcohol sitting in front of me. I stood up straightening my collar. I fished a ten out of my pocket and tossed it down by the untouched glasses, and walked toward the exit. 

As I reached the door, I heard a voice behind me.

"Hey, you not gonna drink this?" I turned around and the bartender was pointing at my glass. I waved him away, and said no thanks. Suddenly I realized something. There was only one glass there. 

"Hey, what happened to the other glass? You take it already?"

"What glass?"

"You know, the one that the other guy beside me was drinking."

Mike stared at me a few seconds and shook his head. "I think you've obviously had enough." he said as he grabbed my glass and dumped it down the sink. 

I stood there for a few trying to figure out what was going on. I shook my head a bit and turned and exited the lounge. As the door swung shut, I into my breast pocket and withdrew the pack of cigarettes. I looked at them and then tossed them in the trash can by the door. 

I walked out of the casino and as I passed a pay phone I stopped. I stared at it for a few seconds. I walked over to it and picked up the receiver. I entered in a phone card number that I had committed to memory, and then the pin number. 

After a few seconds, I entered in Scott's number. Three rings into it, he picked up. 

"Hello?" he sounded tired. I cursed silently as I remembered the time difference. 

"Scott, I'm sorry I'm not even thinking. It's like two in the morning there." 

"Julian?" 

"Yeah, I wanted to call you. I um.." 

"Where are you?" 

"Leaving work." 

"Are you alright?" 

I stood there looking at all the neon signs around me. There were a crowd of people pouring out of the Stardust down the street. 

"Wait...it's two in the morning where you are, right?" 

Pause. "Um. Yeah." 

"That means it's midnight here. Or just after, right?" 

"Okay, you're a math whiz, what's this leading up to?" 

"A hundred and fifty-nine days." 

"Congratulations. Did you have a hard day today?" 

"Nah, actually I think I've had one of my better days. And you know what? I think things might be looking up. I met someone today." 

"Someone? Didn't you just say a hundred and fifty nine?" 

"No, not that kind of someone. He ..um..put things in perspective for me. Sort of clarified things. Pointed out the obvious, I guess you could say." 

"When are you coming back to Virginia? Back where it's the same time for both of us. No more waking me up in the middle of the night." 

"I don't know. I won't wake you up anymore, I'm sorry for bothering you." 

"You know you're not bothering me. I'm here for you no matter what, you know that too." 

"Yeah. Hey, have a great day Scott. I'll call you next week. At a decent hour this time." 

"Good luck Julian." 

"Yeah you too." 

I hung up the telephone, and took a deep breath. It is a brand new day. A hundred and fifty-nine and counting.