Clue

From the moment the TV was turned off, it felt like a set of theater drapes closed to the outside world and left us on our own, something that we desperately needed.

Slowly, we started gathering around the big table on the living room. My brother Peter came in from the porch, after smoking a cigar. My older brother John finished his video chat with his wife and kids on the phone. I left the couch where I was immersed in Dan Brown’s Deception Point, one of my grandmother’s favorite authors. 

From the kitchen, mom and granny showed up with snacks. Dad was the last one joining in, since he spent more time in front of the TV checking the current news. From his expression, nothing gave us an idea of improvement or a change on the situation. We began taking positions around the living room table, same speechless expressions as the night before, and the night before that one, a bittersweet blend between resignation, anxiety, concern and impotence. 

Without saying a word, Peter opened the box and started setting up the board. He shuffled the cards several times and effusively dealt them to everybody. We selected our tokens, I took the yellow piece. Peter grabbed the green token. Mom took the white one and regardless of her absent look given the circumstances, she looked eager to play.

John chose blue. He had some trouble ditching his cellphone, but my dad’s strategy from day one was almost mandatory, we were supposed to stand apart from technology at least for a while. It was his idea to bring a locked box for all of them. He sat in, taking the purple piece for himself.

Granny was the last one sitting down and she grabbed her red piece. Despite her eighty somethings, she remained surprisingly sharp during the previous games by winning one of them and leaving us speechless for hours. My mother shared little of Granny’s enthusiasm, but she was all in for the moment. Her delicious half sandwiches with cream cheese and “surprise ingredients” alone were a reason for celebration. For as long as I remember, Granny and mom used to collect the recipes behind the cream cheese boxes, and make something wonderful out of them. I couldn’t even remember the last time I had them, but they surely took me back to simpler and happier times. She remained happily enough by watching us eat them and reminiscing our childhood.

My dad had a similar fondness. He grabbed a small cart where Granny kept her coffee appliances, and pushed it close to the table. My grandmother loved coffee over all things, but more than that, she enjoyed the whole protocol involving the coffee drinking, the “ritual” as we called: the preparation, her unique and attractive coffee maker, the smell that filled every corner of the house, her cherished china, the cream, sugar and pastries, but also the assembly around the coffee table to share, or most likely, to listen to stories about our grandfather. As for my dad, being there for the ritual had become a vital part of his afternoons.

The indoor lights were lowered to the point where we could only spot the table and its immediate surroundings. A shelf on the corner displayed the locked box: a clear chest with a timer where we all deposited our cellphones, my dad’s creative solution to the problem of actually staying away from the media's excessive coverage, and paying proper attention to the game at the same time. John was the last one in putting his phone inside, not before multiple goodbyes to his wife and kids, as he was departing to a distant planet. All four cellphones were locked inside the box for the next hour.

Then the game would start and something almost mystical would happen...there was no more anxiety, no more impotence, concern or resignation.

We were kids again.

The dice started rolling, the first turn taken by overenthusiastic Granny, then my turn, mom, Peter, John and my dad last, he was the only one getting into a room, by the luck of the roll.

“Colonel Mustard, in the study, with the candlestick.”

My father’s voice felt different that night, slightly upbeat. One could almost take him for a lively person, but dad was more realistic, often too pessimist. Yet this time, he seemed to love every minute, in spite of whatever he might have heard on the news.

Granny mumbled something to herself, and then she showed a card to my father making sure no one else could peek at it. 

Suddenly, the unexpected happened: all time too-cool-for-school John lifted himself from the chair and went to granny’s Radio. He tuned one of the very few stations that the device could pick up and allowed some eighties music to fill the background, then he returned to his seat with a smirk on his face that made all us laugh and relax. We could have been passing for poker players on some illicit casino, beneath the light of a single lamp and the smoke of perfectly blended coffee.

Police’s “Every breath you take” finished and then it was Asia, with “Forever young”. That made everybody smile one more time, being kids raised in the eighty's.

“Whose turn is it?” –Granny’s question had become ceremonial, but being that old, she was allowed a little slip between times, and I would instantly remember it was actually her turn.

“Thank you, sugar pie”. –She said.

Granny called all of us a different special name. I was sugar pie, because I was the middle one and sweetest, at least according to her. John was her honey tea. Peter was her mighty mouse, due to his incredible power to create trouble when he was a kid. However, at my grandmother’s place, Peter was a saint. That was our childhood at my grandmother’s. We would resist at first, because we wouldn’t care for leaving our house, but later a bulldozer would be needed to pull us out of there. Granny always had something for us: a puzzle, a board game, a treasure hunt of some kind, candies, sweets or hot chocolate, and if our cousins happened to be there, we would even ask for pajamas to spend the night.

As time changed, we all had to learn how to go on without the pleasure of those simple things. The world of the grownups has nothing of that.

About ten minutes into it, one of the phones vibrated. Maybe a text message that came through and it would be the first of many. For us, it sounded more like a cry for help from the kingdom of technology.

We hardly paid attention to that.

By then, the game was turning really interesting. Everybody felt that Granny could come up with the solution at any moment, for the second time that week. My dad, the best thinker of the party, looked clueless at times but I could really see he was struggling to connect the dots. My mother, for once, was more into the game instead of worrying about anything else. Even John looked sharp enough to make me think he was about to win this thing. Peter seemed confused with the information he had at hand.

There was a slight excitement in the air.

“Professor Plum, with the revolver, in the kitchen.”

My suggestion broke a few laughs by reminding everyone of an inside joke. My dad was Professor Plum, and his face was a poem. He had that clown-like aspect that said “my own son, how dare you?”

“If I murder anyone in the kitchen, it would be your mother, if she ever refuses to make more of these amazing sandwiches.”

“I second that, and I would help you with the candlestick.” –John said, and then everybody laughed for a while.

The phones kept desperately making sounds now, their blue light trying to break into the darkness, but no one was listening anymore. We were too deep into the mystery at hand to attend anything else, crisis or not.

“Whose turn is it?” –Granny asked again. I held her hand and explained that it was my mother’s turn. During her turn we all had the chance to organize our information and suspects, thanks to her slow pace to make a move.

“I want to make the final accusation.”

By unison, we lifted our faces and stared at her. John’s eyes looked like two planets. Peter jaw dropped all the way to the table. Only my dad went back to his notebook with disbelief. “Yeah, right”, he whispered to himself.

“You understand that...”-Peter started saying, but she cut him right away.

“Yes, I understand that if it is not correct, I lose. I’ll go anyway. I accuse Professor Plum, with the wrench, in the Library.”

We remained silent, looking at each other, while my mother reached for the solution envelope. She checked the three cards, and laid them on the table. Professor Plum, wrench, library.

Our incredulous eyes were still searching for the rabbit inside the hat. My mom, on the other hand, was beaming. She also revealed her notepad, filled with marks and conjectures, and before we could even start asking her how on earth she figured that out, Granny started laughing like there was no tomorrow.

The after game colloquium took place and we shared our thoughts. That was the best part of the night. More coffee was served and now it was the time for pastries. All of the sudden, everybody was in the mood for another round, which never happened before. Usually, seconds before or after the game, the alarm on the locked box would make its infamous racket, reminding us that we were bound like slaves, to rejoin the rest of the world.

Nevertheless, we had the chance to sit back and enjoy the background eighties music and the view of ourselves reliving our childhood, at least for the brief moment of silence while Peter collected the cards. 

“This has been the best week of my life.”-Granny chimed.

That was most unexpected. Granny was very sweet and sensitive, but she seldom allowed her deepest feelings to be heard like that before. Mom reached a sweater and rested it on her back to give her a little more comfort, and then she gave her an affectionate hug. My dad smiled and raised his cup of coffee as he was making a toast. Both John and Peter added to the scene with words like “we love you granny” or “it’s been great for us too”, and I placed my hand over hers.

The timer on the locked box rang. The phones were finally free. They went on making all kind of sounds, like they made aware of their freedom, but even John seemed fine with just leaving them stranded in their dungeon.

Granny sighed. I believe she expected that moment to last a little more, maybe to never end. The fulfillment and absolute bliss in her eyes made room for disappointment and the usual melancholy she would feel when the house began to feel empty again.

The phones continued protesting, long enough to make us wonder why. We gave father an inquiring look, guessing that he definitely had news we did not. He was still sitting all the way back on the chair, with his coffee cup in his hand, and conceded. 

“Well...the storm is over. Roads are clear again.”

There was no relief in his voice, maybe because he just made us realize that this unusual week of staying-at-home had finally come to an end. Even if it was for him to admit it, I’m sure he didn’t want that moment to end either. My mom, the one I thought would rush packing as soon as the news were out there, remained calm, still absorbing Granny’s words, possibly thinking that it could be her one day asking desperately for our company in the not-too-distant future. John’s eyes were fixed on my grandmother. Being able to read my brothers like open books, I could easily guess he had no hurry into running for neither his device nor the door. His wife and kids were healthy, fed and comfortable at home. Peter couldn’t care less about the external world. Returning home meant work and routine. The snow storm had been a blessing for him.

Dad stood up, and granny followed him with her eyes, waiting for the words she was dreading to hear, but he smiled at Peter instead and set the coffee pot for another round. Peter smiled back and shuffled the cards once more. Mom moved into the kitchen again, maybe to get some more savory refreshments. John turned to the shelf and set a new timer on the locked box, maybe for something more than an hour.

“So, whose turn is it, anyway?" –I asked, ready for another challenge.

Granny smiled, and the most pure and endless feeling of joy returned into her eyes.

“Scarlet goes first, so I guess it’s me!”