What We're Dealt

When you’re young, and you love nothing more than to feel the late sun on the back of your neck, covered in wispy little-boy hairs no darker than the afterglow of a star, you always remember what you’ll eventually want to forget.

It was this way for Judd. Those types of things clung to him, and when they got too heavy, he’d take them off collectively like a backpack: carefully unloading it, putting it back on, empty again-- waiting for more weight just to keep his feet on the ground.

Judd’s father was Head Grocer down at Dale’s Market; this made it convenient for him to be friends with the neighbor boys, as their parents were, let’s be honest-- better off than Judd’s. On those deep firefly nights, his mother appreciated only having to cook for two. One of the boys, Ben, was ruddy-faced and full of life, and Judd clung to him like a stray piece of toilet paper at the bottom of a pant leg, begging carefully and quietly to be dragged along. Ben, satisfied enough with Judd’s ability to play baseball, allowed it. He even began to like him after a matter of months.

Another boy, Philip, had parents who traveled often, and a live-in nanny took care of him through most teeth-brushings and tuck-ins. Ben took a liking to him as well, and the three boys began to hit baseballs to each other behind the school on the diamond when no one else was around. They’d go for retreats in the woods and hold private fires, usually talking about Emily--the cutest girl in fourth grade--and how they felt about multiplication problems. Sometimes, they’d even play in Jackson Cemetery: caressing the glassy marble surfaces as they jumped over each plot, careful not to harm anyone.

One such time, they were playing hide and seek amongst the slabs, and they were doing so without their parents’ permission. “Come home right after baseball,” he was reminded earlier that morning. Judd would later tell his mother that he had simply forgotten.

“Let’s go to the graveyard,” Ben had said after tossing a ball up, catching it, and flashing a smile. Judd could tell in it that Ben did not yet want to go home.

It began as a pushing match between the boys on the walk, arguing over who Emily was in love with. The BEST thing about Ben and Philip, in Judd’s eyes, was that neither boy ever brought up the fact that Judd was poor. They might have recognized it, but not once did they ridicule him. For that, Judd was thankful-- and while their trio would soon disintegrate when Emily became Ben's girlfriend after Philip wrote her a love note she misinterpreted-- he would always remember how they spared him.

Ben shoved Philip into the wrought-iron fencing along the west edge of Jackson, then went running ahead through the always-unlatched door they'd all discovered months ago when completing a dare from Jesse Rohrban, one of the biggest bullies at St. Francis. A game of tag began; three children dancing over dead bodies as easily as one might play the piano. Judd found himself darting behind a tree, sinking down as if he were sitting in down in Mrs. Grenner’s math class, peeking around the corner for a glimpse of the others.

He may not have had money, but boy, could he run. Judd always outdid Ben and Philip in this way, and this time was no different. He allowed himself the luxury of sitting on a patch of shade under a hulk of an oak free, and shifted his weight with his hands. Something poked his left palm, and beneath it was a mound of dirt out of which stuck the tip of a human finger.

Judd’s right hand went to his mouth, which he realized was unnecessary because he wouldn’t have been able to speak during the game, anyhow. Was it real? He examined it, felt it, made sure that it was. He’d never thought about how human flesh felt until that point, and even into his adulthood he would always recall its rubbery texture; the way it bounced back after a slight squeeze, a gesture of curiosity.

“You’re IT!” both boys screamed at him, peeping out from behind either side of the tree. They punched him playfully in the shoulders. Judd stood to meet the boys as they took off, he followed, and the game began again.

Now, as a grown man who hasn't played hide-and-seek in decades, Judd thinks about growing up like a stack of playing cards. His mother, the Queen, and his father, the Joker. He still hates numbers, so he ignores all of those-- but Ben is still the Ace; Philip, the King. He cannot recall whether the finger belonged to a man or a woman, and so he thinks of it as the Wild Card: disguised, waiting to be defined, with no exact purpose but to be dealt with, unexpectedly, forever changing the course of a hand.