Our Little Game

It was a game. Of course it was a game. That’s how it had always been. Of course he knew she was there; she probably knew that he knew, even as she sat on a nearby bench “reading” a newspaper with little eye holes cut in it. such a cute amateur tactic, the little flirt. He fancied she knew when he was there just as much as he knew when she was, that she knew when he peeked through her conveniently opened blinds. Of course, he couldn’t rightly rule out that there weren’t times when she was following him, watching, waiting, and he was none the wiser; and maybe he was sometimes as unawares as she was.

 He took in the air in the park. The trees in which the birds sat were a ways away, encircling the park, and yet he could hear them trilling. He sat at one of the many chess tables the park had, across from an old man whom he had played with before. Neither of them ever spoke a word to the other, and he wondered if the old man was mute. Thinking about her again, he thought “I know how to play this game; act as if you don’t

know the watcher’s there and it’s just a regular day.” The sunlight bit the tops of the tall trees.

 The old man was good as always. It was only after he was checkmated and looked up from his game that he noticed her walking by the chess tables toward the fountain that stood nearby, where she refilled a steel water bottle. For all the world to anyone but him she would have seemed to be just another park patron.

 “I’ll be,” he muttered. “She can play the game too.” He had played the game many times before, and by that he didn’t mean chess; but she was the only one to his knowledge so far who had ever played the game back, and played it better than any he knew before to do so. She was at the most as old as he was, and he was twenty-three, meaning that, like him, she couldn’t have that many years of experience; to play the game at this level must mean that she had at least as much of a knack for it as he did.

  He gave the old man a courteous nod and stood up; his game had taken about twenty minutes, during which time she had sat back down on her bench. The birds’ songs had begun to shift away from their midday trills and toward their evening ones. He went to his car, a baby blue Grand Cherokee. It was time to use some of his tricks.

   As he exited the park, he didn’t see her in his rear view mirror right away; she wouldn’t make an amateur move like that. He looked at the sky; in another couple hours it would be sundown. He was wearing the black pea coat he always wore when he played. He was a little tall and more than a little stubbled.

  He went around the bend off of the gravel path that led up to the park and into the street. The area all around the park was a nice neighborhood, as if mimicking the park itself. He went along the route he usually took to come home from the park. That way it wouldn’t be at all apparent that he was aware of her. 

As he passed by a salon which he had seen her enter yesterday, he finally picked out her small olive green Volkswagen Beetle in the lane to his left, secreted away among the traffic so that only a keen looker would have been able to notice her. He chuckled in anticipation of his trick. He took a right turn and then sped up into a roundabout before she could make the turn with him. He went all the way around and came out behind her. This time they were the only cars on the road. 

  In the next phase is his grand trick, he stopped in front of a deli and got out; she had enough sense not to stop right as he stopped, and drove around the block. He entered through the glass doors into the overly air conditioned air of the deli.

  “Hello George, some turkey pastrami cuts to go would really hit the spot today.” He frequented this deli, and he fancied she knew that. His order was taken with the seamless efficiency that only George could muster, and in less than two minutes he was back out of the store again. 

The sun continued to inch its way lower. The air was brisk, though downright warm compared to the inside of the deli. He re-entered his car and started the engine. He was unable to stop himself from chuckling as he spoke: “All right now, you can peek your head up. And I won’t not think you’re there if you don’t respond.” He looked in the rear view mirror and saw her peak up from under his back seat, grinning cheekily. He hadn’t heard her, and he certainly hadn’t seen her; but he thought that she was probably there, and had guessed luckily.

  She was wearing a black skirt and a black and white striped sweater; part of the game was them both dressing unlike the usual. 

  “Got spidey-senses or something?” She said. Her face was like a young deer; her expression looked between joking and a faked sort of sinister.

  “Do you always start conversations this way?”

  “No, but given the circumstances I’d say this isn’t a usual meeting by far.”

  “Which warrants an unusual greeting.” 

  “Bingo.”

  “I guess I oughta be happy; it’s never been this easy in my life to get a girl into my car before.”

  They spent the next short while breaking the ice. The circumstances of how they met didn’t seem to bother either of them very much. Both of their favorite movies were Terminator movies, though they disagreed on whether it was the first or the second.

  “Funny thing is, on my way over here I passed that salon you were in only yesterday.”

  She was taken aback by that, but hid it well. “Well, a girl wants to look good when she senses something’s coming up the next day. And where were you watching this?”

  “In my car up on the overpass.”

  “Isn’t that the funniest coincidence, I saw you go into the electronics store from there a few days ago.”

  “Ah, really? I myself had forgotten that I even went there until you reminded me about it.”

  “I’m sure there’s lots of little scenes like that you’ve forgotten. I’ve been peeping you for two months.” 

  He laughed. “Try three. I started at the concert I first saw you at.”

  “Oh, I saw you there too, and you also stood out to me then. I didn’t start playing the game, though, until I realized that you had been playing it too.” She smiled in a way that was attempting to be sinister in a way that actually made her look kind of sweet.

  At her mention of playing the game, he couldn’t stop himself from grinning like a madman. He turned his head to the road and started the car going quickly. She was pressed back into her seat and yelped excitedly. It was now about an hour and a half to sundown.

  They wound along the path toward his home. Absently he wondered that they were abandoning her car on the other side of the block from the deli; but she didn’t seem to care.

  As they pulled up to his house, a small and old but very well-maintained home with a slightly rustic look, he popped the question.

  “What’s your name?”

 “Cher. Yes, like the singer. My mother couldn’t get enough of her.”

  “Not usual, but a wonderful name. I’m named Theodore.”

  He stepped out, went around and opened her door. He took her hand as he helped her out; she dramatically pretended to faint at the gesture before getting up and following him up the stairs and into his home. They passed quickly through the kitchen and living room and up the stairs to his second floor patio that he had made into a bedroom. His bed took up very little of the room, being small; most of the room was bookshelves, as he preferred to sleep around his collection. He sat down in the armchair that sat next to his bed, which he usually used for reading.

  “You’re-“ he said, but was cut off.

  “Not usual?” She replied. She was the first person to ever finish one of his sentences. She sat on one of the armrests; the westering sun behind her cast her gracefully.

  “Yes, in a way like I am.”

  She gestured to herself. “In the best possible way, of course.”

  “Better than the best. I’ve never met someone who plays the game like you do.”

  “Likewise.”

  “Well, that begs the question, of course, who won.”

  “Both of us,” she said, and shifted into his lap. She kissed him. “It’s our little game.”