Page 31 of Hot Tea & Bird Calls

Prizes, yes. Fabulous, idk but they get really heated about them.

Celene downloaded a pdf from the recreational center’s mobile site. She kind of envied this quaintness. With the resources being so reduced, one would find regular events. No bombardment of choices.

‘Pokeno in the Poconos.’ Wednesday, 4 p.m.

Interesting.

Celene – 9:26 pm

Preserve your voice. Drink chamomile with honey.

Skye – 9:29 pm

I will, thanks.

Drive home safely tomorrow.

Skye remembered. Smiling, Celene pulled up the tile photo, zooming in on the unsuspecting woman again. Skye tended to wear long sleeves, Celene noticed, rubbing at her own arm, onto a tattoo—a thin, geometric rendering of a stemmed flower.

Celene would’ve left tomorrow morning. It wouldn’t hurt to postpone that a little.

8

Skye’s eighty-two-year-old grandmother had a livelier social life than she did.

Following a thorough lecture of “don’t make me look foolish out here” in her sensible heels and cashmere shawl, Luce strutted to her usual seat. None of the shuffling she did in the confines of their house.

Luce set up her ritual area: a single game board, two beverages, and sea glass Pokeno chips she’d fashioned herself, doubling as her good luck charms. This precision echoed to every senior’s space on four rows of long gray tables in the activity room. All other games and furniture had been pushed to the outer banks, as this was serious business.

“Three pages of stress,” Skye muttered as she pored over notes left by the usual caller, Austin. They read like he was under duress. Good reason, as this same group physically ran the caller before Austin out of the recreation center when he accidentally left three playing cards out of the game deck. They’d pinned his picture on the bulletin board in the lobby: permanently banned.

Marta, the dealer, sported a deathly serious face as she sat by Skye at the front of the room. She’d finished phase two ofher role: handing out the play boards and talking down the most superstitious of the twenty-seven attendees. Phase one had been setting out the gifts, from where Marta would bring them to the caller’s table each round. She’d also patrol around at intervals to keep the peace.

As the caller, Skye kept a laptop connected to a projector to show the playing card selected from a specialized app. Being that the group didn’t trust overused technology, Skye had been tasked to pull from a mechanical shuffling machine, read the card into the mic (“Don’t mess up,” Luce warned), and select the corresponding card to project. That prevented continuous‘What suit?’ ‘Eight or Ace?’ ‘Can she speak up?’interruptions all game.

“We start at four o’clock. Sharp.” Marta indicated twelve minutes ‘til with a bow of her flat chin. Skye swore this lady was once a prison correctional officer.

“Okay. Okay, I got this,” Skye murmured to herself, trying a smile at Marta. “Any tips?”

Marta’s eyes hardened to rock. “You know how everyone would usually say, ‘Have fun,’ and ‘relax, you’ll be fine.’”

“Mmhm?”

“Don’t. Stay frosty. Stay alert. If you’re too comfortable or try to sneak in anything cutesy, you’ll flub naming the card, and these citizens will riot. That’s why I swapped your seat for something metal.”

Skye shifted in the dented, cold chair—an artifact from Marta’s old prison, she imagined. Three hours likethis? Her ass already ached. “I’m very uncomfortable. Appreciate it.”

“We play by covering spaces, not poker hands. We do the first hour like normal bingo, the second hour’s two diagonals, then we play Blackout for the rest of our time, when the whole Pokeno board is filled. If they give you any lip, I’ll step in.”

Skye wiped increasingly damp hands on her long sleeves, as she’d woefully worn shorts. The air conditioner blew the roominto arctic territory, so she’d surely remain as frosty as Marta instructed.

Luce had been turned around in her chair, chatting with a friend. She and the other woman tangled their fingers as they laughed, and Skye broke from her fear to grin at them. An almost school-like air filledthe room. Even the table closest to her and Marta was left empty, similar to students avoiding desks next to teachers. Bad luck to them? Who knew.

Marta’s stiff bun gleamed in the rectangular overhead lights as she stood with her mic. She even barked the “welcome everybody” in a gruff tone meant for compliance.

While Marta listed all things forbidden (wandering to other tables during gameplay, badgering personnel, sneaking in alcoholic contraband), Skye found Luce smiling at her table on the second row. Her grandmother’s eyes crinkled, lips dabbed with a color that made them pop. It eased Skye, but only temporarily, as that metal chair wasn’t letting up on her.

Right as Marta began her spiel on game rules, the tan double doors swooped open. And a straggler arrived.