by Knox
After two days of driving, we finally arrived in Los Gatos. “This is the street,” my dad announces. I squish my face against the car window hoping to spot my Aunt Lee-Ann’s off-white house. This neighborhood seems like paradise, every yard is full of flowers and most importantly, almost every backyard has a pool. Even though I told my parents I am excited to see family, playing in my aunt’s pool is what I am really looking forward to. I remember the pool being as big as my parents’ whole backyard. But that could be an exaggeration since the last time I was here I was six years old. I am all the wiser now; in two months I will be turning eleven.
At the end of the street, we spot the house. It is the only one with a wheelchair ramp leading up to the door. We pull into the driveway and the car shuts off. “Finally!” my dad exclaims, stepping out of the car. We file out of the car and make our way up the ramp. Lee-Ann opens the door before we reach it, “Oh I thought I heard you guys! Come in, come in.” It is one great optical illusion; the house looks tiny from the outside but once inside it becomes apparent how large it really is. Lee-Ann shuts the door, and the hugs start to commence.
The questions come first to my siblings and me. Well, the only question we are ever asked, “How’s school?” When that is out of the way Lee-Ann and my parents start to chat. They, of course, will be talking for quite a while so we start to explore the house. My sister pokes me and my brother in the arm, directing us to the glass doors. Through its windows we get a glimpse of the pool. It sits there in all its glory, glistening in the sun. We look at one another with eager expressions.
Our thoughts of water guns and pool floaties are cut short when we hear, “Leeagnhhs!” bellow from the hall.
“Coming!” my aunt shouts in response. She turns back to my parents, “Steve’s up. He wants to say hi to all of you.” After about five minutes she comes back pushing a large man in a wheelchair. They are both smiling; his smile contains a bit of drool.
“Steve! My man how are you doing?” dad whoops.
“NhhJohneee yeah.” Dad gives him a fist bump. He then blurts out “Hgeay Katheeyah” with half a smile.
Mom replies, “Hi Steve,” while giving him a pat on the shoulder. “This is Danielle, Jessi, and Derek. You remember them, don’t you?”
I remember him. Well, I do not remember him as an uncle but as my parents’ favorite cautionary tale. Dad told us about his accident a lot. How he was riding his motorcycle on the freeway when he was hit by a car and sent flying. He was not wearing a helmet so when he crashed to the ground his skull shattered and his brain was permanently damaged. Special emphasis was put on this part of the story: the doctor said if he wore a helmet Steve would have walked away from that accident with only minor scrapes. Instead, Steve lost most of his motor functions and verbal skills. Dad, who knew Steve as his brother-in-law many years before the crash, describes that “it dropped Steve to about the mental age of nine.”
Once greetings ended, we started to unload the car. I carry my clothes to the guest bedroom and fold them away. The last item is my brown, pink, and teal polka-dotted bathing suit. It is calling to me, challenging me to summer fun. I contemplated putting it on right then and there to signal to everyone it’s pool time, but I thought that might upset mom, so I placed it into the drawer. I hear her call out my name as I step out of the bedroom. She has a request for me.
“I have to play dominoes with him?” I exclaim with an attitude.
“Yes, Jessi, it’s polite and it’ll be fun.”
“I don’t even know how to play!”
“It’s easy. Come on, I’ll show you”
I begrudgingly went to the dining room. Steve’s back is to the door, and he sits at the head of the table; it is the best spot for his substantial wheelchair. Mom sat to his left and said, “Hi Steve! Jessi’s going to play dominoes with you!” He looks towards me with one eye, the other drifts completely to the left. He tries to smile but only half his face responds. He waves at me with three fingers, the only fingers he can extend. I awkwardly smile and wave as I take a seat to his right. Mom starts explaining the rules of the game and moves the pieces around the old wooden table. Steve interjects, we cannot understand a word he is saying but he seems upset.
“Sorry, Steve, she doesn’t know how to play. I have to explain it to her,” mom presumes, hoping this is an answer befitting to whatever he may have said.
He grumbles again. I move uncomfortably in my seat. Lee-Ann walks over and bends down to her husband, “Stop it, Steve. You are being rude.” He mumbles something in response that only my aunt can understand. She wipes the drool off his face and goes back to the kitchen.
My mother continues, “Each domino has two sides. You place dominoes against the sides that match – that have the same number of dots.” She points to two pieces that each have three dots on each side indicating that this is a match.
“What about the pieces with the same number of dots on each side?” I ask.
“Nhh double!” Steve blurts out.
With the tone my mother uses when speaking to young children she says, “Yup. Steve’s right! Those are called doubles. You know everything about your game don’t you, Steve?” Steve smiles his slanted smile and lets out an upbeat squeal.
Mom continues, “The doubles are placed against matching sides, like this,” sliding the domino horizontally, sticking it perpendicularly to the other pieces. “Now you can place other pieces off this one. Oh! And the game starts with a double domino. Oops, I forgot to mention in a normal game of dominoes, you can keep score but when we play with Steve, we just play till no more dominoes can be played. Does all that make sense?”
“Yeah, I get it.” I don’t get it. But I want to get this over with and go play in their pool.
She flips all the dominoes face down and starts to mix them around. The polished plastic pieces hit one another making a pleasant clicking sound. Steve grumbles over it, spinning his finger around implying my mother needs to keep mixing.
Mom shouts, “How much is it for each of them Lee-Ann?”
From the kitchen Lee-Ann replays, “We play with twelve. Give them twelve each”
The dominoes are dealt, and Steve seems excited letting out a happier sounding noise.
I ask, “Who goes first?”
“Steve always goes first,” mom speaks with a smile.
“What?” Lee-Ann remarks as she exits the kitchen wiping her hand on a kitchen rag, “Is that what he’s been telling you? Whoever has the highest double goes first. Steve, are you cheating again?” She enters the dining room and Steve starts to chuckle. “He always tries to cheat; you have to watch him.” She bends down to the giggling man, “Steve, be nice, play in earnest!” He mumbles something incomprehensible. Mom and I look at Lee-Ann needing her translation; she rolls her eyes and declares, “He says it’s not his fault.”
I laugh and feel some of my tension leave. I sit comfortably in my chair.
Mom chuckles, “Oh my god, Steve! Is that why you always beat me? Cheating this whole time. I can’t believe it!”
“Yeah, he’s terrible,” my aunt mutters, walking around the table. She looks at Steve’s dominoes and then mine. “Jessica, you go first. With that double, it’s the highest.” I slide the domino across the table so that it is between Steve and I. Steve slides his piece to the other end of mine.
I grab my next piece and hover it over one side of the double, “Can I place it here?” I ask.
Steve grunts out a fairly clear, “yes.”
Lee-Ann explains further, “You can place that piece at any of the four sides of the double.”
“Oh.” I set down my piece.
We continue placing dominoes connecting one from another. Drawing more when there is none that match. Lee-Ann and mom see I have the hang of the game and leave to the kitchen. We continue playing. Only the two sounds could be heard from the dining room: dominoes hitting dominoes and eventually subtle bits of laughter. Long lines are constructed, and new paths spin out of the doubles. The gap between us fills with an intricate web of black and white.
Warm orange light gleams into my eyes. The sun is setting and with it my hopes of swimming. I look outside, the pool is calm, and its waters are still. I turn my attention back to the game, realizing this is one of the few things Steve can still do. He is bound to his wheelchair and cannot have a conversation with someone, but he can play dominoes with them. I am grateful he has his game, that he enjoys it, and that I can be a part of one of his few remaining delights. My gaze does not fall on the pool again.
Steve’s one good eye scans his remaining dominoes. He throws his hands slightly in the air and mumbles, “Hrn damn.” He continues, letting out a small giggle, “good jyob!” and then he starts to clap. It is more of a clapping motion absent of sound. He cannot completely extend his fingers outward, so they block his palms from slapping one another. But I understand the gesture.
“Thanks, it was fun,” I answered honestly. “You want to play another round?”
He lets out a gleeful “yeah!”
I flip all the tablets over, hearing the subtle tapping noise as they hit the hard beige table. Steve’s smirk is radiating, he truly finds immense joy in this game. I smile with him as we build greater and greater webs of black and white.
Leonardo Magazine 