Chapter 1

November: 1999

I’m not a doom and gloom person, but all I hear lately is the world is coming to an end. The fact is, I don’t believe the world is going to end.

Yet!

So please, give me a break!

However, I’ll admit I have purchased an extra pound of coffee just in case it does. Let’s be realistic. I mean, you can’t be too careful, right?

The reason I remember the date this story started so well was because of the clamor of the media and how we were facing the end of time. Or at least the end of civilization as we’d known it so far.

The year was 1999 and if you listened to certain people, a great many of them believed all computers were going to die a horrible death and because of this calamity, governments were going to topple, the economic system of the world was going to end, and the human race was in danger of turning into savages. On January 1st, 2000, our cars were not going to start. Planes would fall out of the sky. Elevators would come crashing down. ATMs would cease to spit out cash. We would all live in caves again and hunt for food with spears and bows and arrows.

And the reason for all the doom and gloom? Because somebody had forgotten to incorporate some sort of computer code, or some such thing when computers were first being programed which would allow the computer to recognize a date after December 31, 1999. Once this glitch was discovered we were told that since computers wouldn’t be able to understand the year 2000, civilization, as we knew it, was going to come to a smashing end.

Doomsday!

The end of civilized mankind.

WHAT?

As I remember, my feelings at the time were, “Come on, give me a break!”

The other thing I remember about 1999 was the fall weather that year and how horrible it had been. Reports issued in November said the year had seen the coldest and wettest September and October on record since they started keeping track of weather kind of things.

This story starts on a wet, Friday mid-November night in ‘99 and considering what was going on outside that night, it looked like November was trying hard to beat the cold wet record of the previous two months.

Due to the computer problem, many people shared that feeling of impending doom and gloom and sadly it seemed to be spreading. As for the weather, it didn’t seem to be helping with the somber mood of the times. I felt since there wasn’t a lot anybody could do about it, the best thing to do was plan indoor activities and that was exactly what I’d been doing.

My main problem that evening started because there were too many people in too small a kitchen, which made the kitchen stifling hot. In addition, my chair felt more like stone than wood, and to make matters even worse, I felt like I’d been ridden hard and put away wet. My body was sore, and I was just plain dog assed exhausted! The snack I had wolfed down just after midnight had become a lump sitting in my tummy, waiting to decide if it was going to move on or stay where it was and haunt me. I thought to myself, “Thank God, dawn – and relief – is just around the corner.”

My eyes felt like there was a desert of sand and grit trapped inside of them. With every blink I was positive my lids were scratching my poor eye surfaces beyond any repair. And then there was my mouth. That was the worst.

My Lord, what a horrible taste! I know that taste. I’ve tasted it before. It’s similar to the entire 6th Army division bivouacked for a fortnight in my mouth, latrine and all. I forced my poor eyes shut again for a moment; however, I dared not shake my head to try to clear away the cobwebs for fear one of the other players would realize just how tired I actually was and then decide they were not ready to fold. To be honest, I really shouldn’t complain too much since I was sitting here playing poker by my own choice.

Slowly I opened my eyes and the room full of poker players gradually returned to focus. I cast my gaze directly across the table at a large, flush-faced man in his early forties who kept fidgeting with his cards. Just an idle glance at his demeanor would tell you he was not having the best of evenings. Beads of perspiration had popped out across his forehead and his thin blond hair lay flat and damp on top of his head. His small, bloodshot blue eyes were deeply recessed in his puffy face and the laugh crinkles around his eyes now made him appear tired and old. What was once a crisply laundered, expensive white shirt was now wet and yellowed under his armpits, the collar stained and wilted with the tips curling up. I could see he had his French cuffs rolled up and I remembered earlier when I’d watched as he removed and placed his large gold cuff links into a coat pocket.

At the start of the evening, his bespoke expensive suit draped well over his stout form, but now the jacket hung shapelessly from the back of his kitchen chair. His tie hung loosely around his neck and the knot showed a greasy shine from being repeatedly fondled and tugged.

The man’s pudgy hands betrayed a slight tremor as he held up his cards in front of his face. He was chewing on his bottom lip as he stared at the cards in his right hand for a few more seconds. There was anguish plainly written on his face, making it clear he desperately wished he could change the spots on those cards; obviously I was not watching a good poker face. In his left hand, he held a couple of poker chips he kept repeatedly turning over. I watched as he finally swallowed hard, signaling to me he’d made up his mind. He sighed heavily, and then pushed the rest of his money into the pot.