My Entry in Writing Contest

The Last Card Game

I often look back at this picture of Jimmy and me. He came to visit me from Colorado in Wyoming, where I lived at the time. A troubled kid like most of the kids he lived around.

I asked him where he had gotten the bike. He said, "A card game."

A compulsive gambler he was. He would have bet your car if he could get ahold of the title. It was his addiction that killed him in the end. After betting more than he had in his pocket, he managed to slither his way out the door with another man's motorcycle keys in hand. A fast talker and trickster he was.

I found this out when a man approached me a day after Jimmy left asking if I'd seen a guy on a black motorcycle pass through. His GPS tracking device led him to this location, our mountain town.

I didn't let the man know about this picture, nor let on that I knew Jimmy. However, I read the paper a week later about the tragic way in which Jimmy's body was found.

I couldn't help the kid. He had to do things his own way.