Quietly he entered the room, not wanting to disrupt the game at hand. Although the room contained different players, it was familiar and comfortable to him. He took a seat in a dimly lit corner not really wanting to be noticed, still not sure he really wanted to be back.
He carefully examed the room. It was about the size of a regular classroom with carpet on the floor and bare walls that were painted a dirty brown. There was only one door through which one could come or go. In the center of the room stood a solitary table around which the players were seated, intent on the current game. Only one light was on and it hung from the ceiling directly above the table, illuminating the center of the room and casting shadows in which he was able to sit and observe.
The players were all distinctly different. Style of how they played, what they wore, how they interacted, moves they made, allowing each to be working toward their ultimate goal. Immediately he realized that a few players had been here playing for what seemed their entire life. They knew the rules and followed them exactly. They had never moved away from the table because they knew the stakes were great and it was too risky to leave. Others had come and gone, finding they weren't ready to devote the time and effort involved. The rest looked as if they had just recently joined because the rules were still being explained to them, but there was much eagerness to learn. He had been at the table before. He knew the rules. He wanted to join, but hesitated because not playing meant no loss.
A voice interrupted his thoughts, "Please, come and join." It was the player that had been at the table the longest.
"I'm not sure that I am ready yet," he responded.
"Are any of us really ever ready? Sometimes we just have to look at what is the possible gain verses the risk and jump in believing that we can win. Pull up your chair, I feel that this game is going to be a good one."
Slowly standing, he hesitated only for a while because it felt right and there was something about the main player that made him feel comfortable. It was almost as if there was a knowledge that existed that was accepted, even though he was positive that this person couldn't know anything about him.
He pulled his chair up to the table and the game began. Slowly the dealer put down the first card in front of each player. He picked it up.......10 of diamonds. Not bad, but nothing worth screaming about. Next card was placed in front of him......King of diamonds. This could be good. Three additional cards down in sequence.....Queen of diamonds......Ace of diamonds. There is no way this was happening. One more card placed in front of him.....Jack of diamonds. Royal flush.
"This is not possible," he thought, "the odds of this are 649,739 to 1 and this is the first game that I have played. Why would I deserve to win the pot?"
He looked across the table at the player that had been there and the thought ran through his head that it was not fair to them. He should just fold and nobody would know better, he would be the only one that would be hurt if he just put his cards down and walked away. Not that he didn't want it, but it would be for the best.
"Everything okay?" asked the other player.
"Always." he answered.
"Alright. Let's continue."
The chips began to hit the center of the table as it went around. It was back to him. The stakes had been raised and he didn't know why he felt such a complusion to fold and leave. He had the best hand that was possible, it shouldn't be a stuggle to want win, but what about the other player? Would it be best for them?
"Your call." the player announced
"I am thinking." he countered
Placing the cards on the table facedown, he looked across the table. Nothing was said, he didn't leave the table, he didn't fold. Thinking time was needed and he just knew that the other player was willing to wait for a decision.
Looking at her cards, she stared at the Ace of hearts, the King of heart, the Queen of hearts, the Jack of hearts and the 10 of hearts. The odds of the happening in one hand, improbable. The odds that both of them were holding a hand that was perfect, impossible, or maybe not.