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Monday, May 22, 2006 The Euchre Report, May 14, 2006 Susan Steinberg When I got to Adam and Stephanie's, everyone was standing around the living room in small groups, looking stylish, and not playing cards. I was like, Wait. I was like, I thought this was card night. I looked for Andrew. He was standing by a wall. I could tell he was angry. He walked into the living room. He was like, Is this or is this not card night? He was like, What the fuck. I was wearing my regulation euchre sweatband and socks. Andrew had his special euchre cap on (big E on the front; jack of clubs on the back). We were ready to kick some ass. There was pizza and there was beer and there were these tiny muffins. We went into the dining room where Tom and Chellis were sitting at the table, being all serious. Chellis was shuffling cards. Slowly. She was like, So. She was like, It looks like you want to play some cards. She looked at Tom. They laughed like who the fuck did we think we were. I said, Yeah, we're here to play some cards. Chellis was like, Well. She was like, Bring it on. She cracked her knuckles. I was like, You fucking bring it on. And yes, no surprise, we kicked their collective ass clear into Oakland. But only once. Because something's happened where Andrew and I are, like, regressing back to that dark place where we were a year ago, back when we had no game. First Chellis and Tom won against us. Then we lost to Julie Orringer. We lost to Eric Puchner. We lost, God, to Tom McNeely. And, worse, we lost to Adam. Which was only because he made us stay after everyone else had left just to finish a game, and we were like falling asleep at the table, and no one wanted to be there. After the second or third game, Andrew and I went outside to smoke cigarettes and re-strategize, and he was like, Let me give you some advice. He was standing too close. He was like, Are you listening? He pointed to his ears. He was like, Listen to me. He was like, I can't do everything. He was like, Don't take this personally. We got into a huddle. He laid out a complicated strategy. I didn't understand it. He was like, Are you with me? He held up his fist. I was supposed to punch it. I did. He was like, Do it again. I did it again. He was like, Watch this. He ate his cigarette. He growled. He was like, Let's make it happen. Then I followed him inside and we lost again. We don't deserve to be invited to anymore of these so-called euchre nights until we work through some things. I mean wearing all the regulation euchre clothing and having all the attitude and trash-talking and then losing makes me feel like this kid from junior high who would come to school wearing a baseball uniform, even a fucking glove. And he wasn't even on the team! After they won for like the hundredth time, Chellis and Tom were like, You better put this in the Euchre Report. Like I would ever just make shit up. Like I would just omit their wins, which big fucking deal. I feel like shit. I was thinking about enrolling in one of those silent retreat in the woods things where you just sit around all day on a damp floor eating rice and leaves thinking about how bad your life sucks. But Andrew has suggested euchre "partners' counseling." Adam and Steve have gone to this. They went for a couple of sessions, and the counselor had them holding hands and looking into each other's eyes and saying things like, When you throw down the jack and call me bitch, I feel undervalued. If things don't improve we could always go back to our old strategy. We drank a lot of cough syrup back then, but it was nice, all that winning and all. The trophies we got. That fancy pink sash the guys made for Andrew. And after each big win I got swung around and Andrew got pats on the back. Sometimes they called me "Ace." And sometimes, for some reason, they called Andrew "El Diablo." And then we would egg Dave and Tom's place in our underwear. I'm remembering now that at the end of the night Julie gave me the most amazing hug I have ever gotten. I could hear my ribcage cracking, one rib at a time. During the hug, she whispered something into my ear, and I believe she whispered, I cheated. Though Andrew claims he heard her say, Nice to see you. And he claims it wasn't whispered but, rather, just said like normal. Sometimes I fantasize about what it would be like to be in a euchre tournament. In this fantasy, it's me and Steve playing some big guys from Indiana. We're in a dark, smoky arena, a light shining down on the table. We've been playing for a while. The guys from Indiana are in the barn. Steve and I have one point. And we manage, somehow, to tie the game one slow, painful point at a time. Everyone's cheering. Adam's in the crowd holding one of those giant we're-number-one hands. Tom McNeely has painted his face. Peter Orner has painted his chest. Julie's in a white fur coat. And we win. But whatever. Because in the real world it hasn't been like this for months. Now it's always Tom and Chellis high-fiving in my face. It's Andrew locked in the bathroom, repeating, We're all winners, we're all winners. It's Adam telling me I deal the cards like a girl. posted by Susan Steinberg 10:44 AM | link | |
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