GAMES PLAYED
The soft whirr shuffling a deck of Bicycle cards to learn to play solitaire, takes me back to youthful days of long-ago games. In 1955, Marolynn became my best friend. She lived up the next block with her mother, and a couple years older, brother, Gordon. Overjoyed to be in the same classroom, we walked to school together. I had no doubt she was the smartest kid in class. Ignoring my new favorite teacher was easy as we whispered, muffled giggles, and passed notes. At home, the radio played “Rock Around the Clock” by Bill Haley and the Comets. I felt like a bird dancing on a branch, ready to fly. Change was in the air. The fifth grade shifted into a year of friendship discovery.
Gordon was a leader, with a variety of loyal friends enjoying his easy-going charm. Wanting his attention, noisy hot-shot boys raced bikes up and down the street with clothes pins holding cards, hoping speedy spokes sounded like James Dean’s motorcycle. On an afternoon of summer heat, Gordon invited buddies to play poker. We knew how to play cards but were informed no girls were allowed in their game. Even with doors and windows wide open, the air was stifling. The guys decided we were good enough to shoo away to the store to buy a large bottle of Coca-Cola. They collected the exact amount of penny poker coins, no extra change for us. Marolynn was so mad, I swear I saw smoke coming out of her ears like in a Tom and Jerry cartoon. We marched to the grocery in silence. Words didn’t need to be said. Big wheels turned in our heads, dreaming up a perfect plan.
Surprised they even noticed our return, we were asked to pour pop into glasses with some ice, to cool such a hot day. Not the smallest breeze came through opened doors. Did we look like soda fountain servants at an oasis for parched and sweaty boys?
In the kitchen, I watched Marolynn line up six glasses. She stuffed four with ice, shaking the frosty containers, and measured chunks like a chemist in the Jekyll and Hyde movie. Waiting to pour their cokes, she prepared our glasses, dropped in two ice cubes, filling soda near the top. We clinked glasses, said “Cheers,” and drank a few refreshing sips. Our don’t-mess-with-us game was set in motion. We delivered the icy coke concoctions to the boys, then she stood behind her brother observing cards dealt. Staring over his shoulder, waiting for the right moment to ask, in the sweetest I-know-nothing-about-cards voice, “Gordon, are three kings a good hand?” He leapt from his chair, chasing her out the open front door screaming her name into one long reverberating word as the screen door slammed, providing a rush of air for three stunned poker kings at the table.
These hot summer days at the drive thru, I order coke with no ice. A long-ago memory smiles.
April Ryan is a retired Seattle bus driver turned Seattle writer/poet.
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