$20k

I remember it like it was yesterday. I was in the editing lab with my best friend, Stephon, adding the finishing touches to our video assignment. Nothing too exciting, just a five minute short for class. We always took the video assignments with a grain of salt, no matter how hard we tried, we got overlooked for video of the week. It was such a popularity contest. Sure, we didn’t know all the editing tricks in Final Cut but with my knack for storytelling and his techniques with the camera, we usually ended up in second or third. Right behind the photoshop nerds, their meme videos are the furthest thing from funny, or the Twins, the loins from a pair of actors. They aren’t even A-List actors, so I still don’t understand the obsession.

As we waited for the final edits to render, he suggested I roll a joint. I was pretty green at the time and took forever to roll. By time I finished the rendering would be done, his words, for the most part. He heckled my process while I tried to change the topic for post editing plans. He had to wait another hour or so for his girl to get off work so we decided to hit up our usual Hawaiian BBQ spot. During that time, it was all we did: log marathon hours in the editing lab after shoots, smoke, grab Hawaiian BBQ, smoke again, then Stephon would drop me off at home before he met up with his girl. What can I say, you gotta get your 10,000 hours in when you can, by any means.

Stephon is a savant when it comes to time management. However, the dude is as lost as me when it came to how the hell we would get the next tuition payment turned in before the deadline. The University was great, with a budding film program that was beginning to rival schools like USC and NYU, but the fine print was not so great and it left its students scrambling for ways to get tuition in on time, assuming one isn’t birthed by the wealthy or well connected. Stephon and I had jobs but they didn’t pay nearly enough. We also had financial obligations with no parental support to lighten the load. If anything, we ran into some sort of bad luck more times than not: Stephon’s car broke down a lot around that time, I had to max out my credit card for tuition that last month thanks to my job shorting me hours, Stephon almost got fired from his job for tardiness due to our editing lab hours, I sprained my ankle rushing to class while running away from a Rottweiler about as soon as I got off the bus. We must have been the equivalent to hedge fund guys in a prior life to accumulate this much bad karma.

The click of the lighter signaled the start of our post academic ritual, the mission to our usual spot. As we make our way across the main quad, I’m feeling extra high. Stephon did say he picked up from a new plug and they may become his main connect. I can see why, I only hit the joint a couple times and I was quickly floating up to the stratosphere. That may have been the difference that day. I told him to take some extra hits and went to take a knee. I pretended to tie my shoe so he didn’t break my balls about tapping out. When I stood up I noticed something on the bench I was kneeling next to: a small black notebook. Had I been sober, I would have let it be. I’m not the nosey type anyway. Yet, my subconscious could not leave it alone. Something about the plain, black notebook reeled me in. Stephon called out to me when he finally noticed I was not walking beside him. I swiped the notebook and caught up to him.

I filled Stephon in after we put in our order. I revealed the notebook as fast as we grabbed a table. Stephon tried to grab it from me but I smacked his hands away. We flipped through the mostly blank pages and as we were ready to write it off as a nothing find, the last handful of pages revealed the story. Whoever this belonged to was a huge football sports better. The top of the pages had the week of the season with the entire slate of the day. Messy writing filled the space in between with point spreads and moneyline notes. It went all the way to week five. The page that would have been week six just had a number written in a metallic sharpie.

Stephon insisted we call but I disagreed. What was the point? The number could have been for anything, for anyone. He declared it must have been a bookie’s number since the pages were all notes for football bets. I was able to compromise with him that we eat our food first, before it got cold, then go from there, in case our minds had changed.

Neither of us mentioned anything about the small black notebook on our way to the car. It wasn’t until Stephon rolled and fired up the next joint that he reaffirmed his desire to call the number. I was still on the fence myself. The possibilities were too endless, too arbitrary, and with our luck, a straight up fluke. Stephon continued to press and I eventually caved. I told him he would have to use his cell phone. I didn’t want this on my records if this was another run in with a raw deal. Bad enough this was about to be on my conscience.

The phone seemed to ring forever. The pauses between the dial tones felt like I was holding my breath underwater. Stephon seemed all the more curious as the dial tone vibrated the car through the bluetooth speakers. I caught him sneaking in extra hits on the joint, though I wasn’t complaining. The last thing I needed was more dank weed to make this phone call even more puzzling than it already was about to be. Finally the dial tone clicked and a rough, thick accented voice came through,“There he is! I thought you’d never call. Your crazy 12 team parlay finally paid off. When can I put you down to collect?”

Stephon and I are wide eyed and speechless as we stare at each other. I snatched the remaining joint out of his hand and gave him a push. Stephon asks him how much the winning parlay was worth. The rough, thick accented voice laughed and hacked up what was probably the last of his left lung before he said,“20k, my friend. ”

Holy shit.