Solitaire, And Other Games Children Play

By: Jamie Eyberg
September 10, 2008

I never liked Lindsey. She is just a little girl, and I am a grown man after all. But there was something about her that I didn’t trust.

She didn’t look odd. In fact, she looked like just about every other little girl you had ever seen. Stereotypical you might say. Her blond hair up in ponytails most days. The unicorn and rainbow shirts that went just fine with the little Levi’s that she wore. Her shoes did that light up thing when she walked.

I couldn’t pin it down. I just didn’t trust her. The way she smiled when I walked into the house to talk to her dad. The way she played with her dolls. Just the usual Barbie’s and Bratz dolls that most girls play with these days. It was just. . .different.

And yet I continued to visit her dad, usually a couple of times a week. The way we always did, even in high school.

“How you doing Steve?,” Rick said. He reached down, grabbed a beer and handed it to me.

I popped the top on the can. It was the cheap no-name brand he liked but it was cold. “Usual, I guess.”

She watched us from the hallway, her dolls surrounded her, all of them plastic with whispy hair. All but the one she was holding. It was homemade with crudely sewn features and rag clothing.

I turned back to her dad. He continued a game of solitaire on his computer, he had no chance of winning the hand but he continued on, clicking the digital deck absently. “You got plans for the weekend?”

This was usually how he started his conversations, it had become comfortable. I took a large swallow from the can, it was more bitter than usual. “No. How about you?”

“Poker tournament at the bar this weekend. You in?” The only thing that Rick like more than beer was gambling and Friday nights had become church for him. A sacrament of booze, stale peanuts, and cigarette smoke incense.

“You know I suck at poker. I don’t have a game face.” I drained my beer and set the empty on the coffee table. He didn’t even ask, just reached down. His hand came up with another beer which he handed me without looking.

“You know I don’t care. The worst that can happen is you lose a couple hundred dollars.” He paused to look at me. “At best you could come out a couple a’bucks ahead.” He drained his own beer and pulled another from the cooler between his feet, ice settled to the bottom.

“Who’s going to watch your kid?” I hated to ask but I felt it was the responsible thing to do, his wife worked night shifts and the last babysitter he got quit before he got home.

“She’s getting old enough to watch after herself.”

“She’s seven.”

“Just look at her. She’s fine.”

I looked over my shoulder. She was still in the hallway, the dolls still surrounded her although she had posed a few of them in the unnatural positions their limbs allowed. Her eyes were closed but, as the seconds ticked by, she opened one eye. I looked away. I could feel the eye peering at me, her face pointed toward the ceiling. I didn‘t have proof but I could feel it, the girls bright blue eye, looking right through me.

“Your kid, not mine.”

He started a new game, the computer sorted the cards out on the monitor. “What’s that supposed to mean.” I could sense hostility in his voice but I didn’t really care; from all the empty cans around his computer I guessed it the beer speaking. “It’ll just be for a couple of hours anyway.”