Kiki's Last Game

The package arrived on Thursday. Not just any Thursday, but the Thursday after the storming of the Capitol. Meaning it was when too many COVID hours spent with my significant other, Jack, boiled over and our differences became, to me at least, irreconcilable. We’d made it through the election, but the QAnon Shaman was the last straw. I just hadn’t told Jack yet.

I was also waiting for COVID test results. Under that guise, I moved into the second bedroom, which I’d been using as my office. I was making a list of friends who might let me crash with them once I was cleared.

At the smattering-scattering sound of the mail hitting the foyer floor, I jumped up. Great, a distraction.

The junk I chucked in the recycling bin, a belated Christmas card I tossed on the table. There was a small package addressed to Miss Courtney Elizabeth Miller.

Really? Wouldn’t Ms. be more appropriate for a thirty-year-old?

The return address was a law office in Springdale, West Virginia. Suddenly I understood.

My grandmother! The beloved Kiki. An early victim of COVID. Alone, horrible…

Tears flooded my eyes and I toyed with calling Mom to talk to her about the package before I even opened it, but I didn’t. Mom was distraught by Kiki’s death—then and now—and talking to her was like treading a minefield.

I peeled off the brown mailing paper and found a smallish white box. Opening it, I found lavender tissue paper. That made me smile. Ever since I’d insisted on painting my childhood bedroom lavender, Kiki had used shades of purple to wrap my gifts.

Inside rested a black Moleskine journal. There was no note, so I slipped the elastic band from the book and thumbed through the pages. Kiki’s writing was on some of them, while other pages were blank. I turned back to the front.

“In case of loss please return to:” My beloved granddaughter, Courtney Elizabeth Miller, Kiki had written in her elegant handwriting, followed by my email address and phone number.

Printed beneath those lines was the phrase “As a reward:”

Kiki’s response: You’ll have the satisfaction of knowing you did the right thing.

I laughed. Then began crying.

It was like having Kiki back. Fiercely loving and kind, but also sassy and outspoken. But Kiki couldn’t come back and my throat tightened in sorrow.

However, Kiki had sent this journal to me. I headed back to the bedroom, jumped into bed, arranged my pillows and turned to the first page.

April 10, 2020 was written in the upper right corner. Almost nine months ago.

My dearest Court,

No premonition here that this ridiculous virus is going to take me out, but I am taking time during quarantine to do a few things that have been on my mind to do.

So, grab a pen and let’s get started.

I love you, dearest,

Kiki

Grab a pen?

I plucked a pen off my desk and turned on the lamp. The winter sun was already setting and the room was turning gloomy.

I turned the page. At the top, it read Directions.

What in the world had Kiki cooked up? My chest ached with the deep recognition of my loss, our loss really. Mom’s, my sister Catie’s, and mine. We’d been a sort of well-balanced cube ever since Mom and Dad had divorced when I was thirteen.

My grandfather, Tips, had been a constant presence too until he died when I was eighteen, but even during those five years “the girls”, as Tips called the four of us, were a tight bunch and counted on one another pretty much to the exclusion of everyone else.

I pushed against the sadness and tried to pay attention to what Kiki had written on the heavy cream page. She was, had been, I corrected myself, an inveterate creator of games.

Chase-a-Hug, Sponge Tag, Clue Chasers—all games from my childhood, were created, each with specific instructions, by my grandmother.

Rules, we had learned, were important.

Like all the best games, these rules were clear and concise.

Complete each page before going to the next.

Do not read ahead or you will be disqualified.

If you cannot complete an answer, make one up.

I laughed at that. Gosh, this all sounded just like my grandmother! The final instruction:

There is a prize upon successfully completing the pages.

I wondered how she could possibly make good on the promise of a prize. Maybe like the reward if the journal was lost and returned, perhaps the satisfaction of playing this last game of Kiki’s would be enough.

I turned the page and began.

A beautiful one headed the top of the right page. Below it read: People I love…

Well, not Jack, that’s for sure. I cringed. I hadn’t loved Jack in quite some time. Maybe…never?

People I love… I put my pen to the page.

You, Kiki. I love you! I always have and I always will. How could you have died? You had to have known how much we needed you!

I stopped. Well, that was true in the most honest of ways. I kept writing.

Mom

Catie

I could have gone on, but even my best friends were on a rung so far below Kiki, Catie, and Mom it just didn’t seem right to continue.

I turned the page.

Below a decorative two it read: People I love… and Kiki’s writing followed:

You, my beloved Court. Since the day you entered the world you have had my heart. As a child you were bright and thoughtful and you remain so. But I worry that you’re not demanding more from your one precious, fabulous life.

Kiki was a mind reader. That’s how I’d been feeling all through COVID. Had I been living a too-small life even before the virus shut down life as I’d known it? Yeah, probably. But I’d stayed busy enough to ignore the signs. But not Kiki.

She continued.

Your mom. What a wonderful daughter she’s been to me—as you have been to her.

Catie.

Tips, the love of my life, even though he’s been gone over ten years now.

Your uncle, Jordan.

That’s enough, sometimes less really is more.

Less really is more. I resonated with that. But seeing Tips’ name made me yearn for a great love in my life. They had been so enthralled with one another, even after almost fifty years of marriage. Was that even possible in the twenty-first century?

I flipped the page. Below the number three Kiki had written: People I hate…

Tempted to turn the page to see who Kiki had put on her list, I made myself stop. Skipping ahead was definitely against the rules. My dad’s name would probably top the list anyway.

I pondered who to put on my hate list. That was a pretty strong emotion, and while Jack was imminently irritating, I definitely didn’t hate him.

I struggled to think of someone to put down. Then with a gasp and a laugh, I knew exactly.

Chucky

I hated that creepy doll. Shortly after the divorce, my clueless dad had rented the video Child’s Play for Catie and me on our first weekend with him. Unfortunately for us all, Catie and I watched it. Hysterics, tears and sleepless nights followed. Forever after Mom wrote a list of approved movies each time we spent the weekend with dad. Each and every time. My dad never once complained about the list or my mom’s insistence on sending it, evidence of how traumatized we were.

I flipped the page. Kiki’s handwriting: Did you think I’d have your dad on this page? I don’t hate him, Court. I never did. I hate what he did to your mother, but he gave me you and Catie. I could never hate him.

And maybe it’s cheating, but I don’t have anyone on this list. Do you really think I could have lived this life of boundless joy by holding grudges and hating people?

I hope your list was short or empty too – although it’s entirely possible you put down that creepy doll that was in that awful movie! You know that’s why I have nightlights in every room, don’t you? You insisted. And since you never asked for me to remove them, I assume you still find some comfort in them.

Glancing at the nightlight glowing near the bathroom door, I wasn’t sure what I felt. Guilt? Amusement? Finally, I settled on fortunate. How wonderful to be so well known and loved and cared for.

I flipped the page.

Three places I’d like to go right now:

I immediately wrote:

Harbour Island, Bahamas

St. Bart’s

Italy

I stopped. Were the islands even open for visitors? It did say, “right now”. I did a quick internet search. Both islands were open with a negative COVID test. Just thinking about the clear water and warm sun made my shoulders relax. What bliss that would be.

But instead of excitement, I felt like a prisoner. COVID quarantine was like being stuck in Monopoly jail. Would I pull a get-out-of-jail-free card with a negative test result? I grimaced, I didn’t have the money to travel anyway. Particularly not with my need to find new living arrangements.

I turned the page.

For her three places Kiki had written:

Harbour Island—but then you guessed that, didn’t you? My happy place. Want to meet me at Sip Sip for lunch and then head down to the Dunmore for a frozen drink?

There was nothing I would have liked more.

Kiki continued.

Charlotte, NC to see you.

Denver, CO to see Catie and your mom.

I hadn’t even considered a visit to my mom and sister for my list. Maybe FaceTime was more effective than I’d appreciated.

The front of my phone lit up. My COVID test result had just hit my inbox. Negative! I felt a surge of relief.

I turned back to the book. Another page, No one knows this, but I…

Recoiling, I bit my lip. There was plenty in my life that Kiki didn’t know about, and plenty I wasn’t proud of, but something that no one else knew? That was harder. I cast about for a younger, childhood memory.

I wrote as if addressing Kiki directly: Remember the bunnies that would always eat the strawberries from the little strawberry plants mom planted each year by our backdoor? It wasn’t bunnies. It was me!

Chuckling, I turned the page.

Kiki had written:

No one knows this, but I’m not feeling so good about this virus, Court. If I can’t tell you this in person, love, don’t waste your precious life on someone you don’t absolutely know you love. Seek and you will find.

Love you, dearest!

Kiki had known she might die. And this was what she wanted to say to me.

I slowly turned the page.

To Score the Game:

From page 1 choose a name:

From page 5 choose a place:

I wrote Kiki and Harbour Island.

On the next page, instead of Kiki’s choices, it read: Now for your prize!

Take the person you chose from page one to the place you chose from page five. Take the trip as soon as possible. Opportunities need to be taken when they present themselves!

Something hidden in the back pocket will make the trip a little easier.

I turned to the back of the book and pulled open the pocket. I slid out the single piece of paper and unfolded it.

A cashier’s check for $20,000.

The next morning, sitting on the plane, I realized Kiki had given me the ultimate get-out-of-jail-free card. Not just the money to take the trip, but the courage to end my relationship with Jack and move on.

I felt like my life was just beginning.