DDR
“You can take that to the bank and smoke it,” he said. His brow had taken up an angular formation in concert with the snarl-like rise at the corner of his mouth. A look of quintessential vindication, of scorn and triumph.
The tower wobbled precariously.
“Jumanji gives me anxiety,” I said, probing various blocks with caution. The tower swayed as I pushed and prodded. I got a sense for a block that was particularly loose due to the weight distribution. It slid out with little friction. The tower bobbled to one side and then came to a rest.
With the care of a surgeon, I gently placed the block on top of the tower. It remained in violent equilibrium.
“Oh come on,” he said. The look of vindication had been evicted. Annoyance, the apparent owner of the real estate, had taken up residence on his face.
“Damn, you didn’t even get on my case about calling it ‘Jumanji’,” I said. He was too focused to reply.
I marveled at how much could be taken away from the foundation of the tower and piled on the top without it collapsing. I idly considered the parallels between the structure and wealth inequality. I tried to piece together what my role in this metaphor would be when the tower collapsed. The blocks clattered loudly on the table and floor, causing me to yell in surprise and jump out of my seat.
“I hate Jumanji!” I said. My heart was racing, something deep in my guts convinced that some awful danger was nearby.
“We’ll call it a draw,” he said, picking the blocks up off the floor. He had a little smile on his face. I hadn’t been paying attention.
“Did you knock it over on purpose?” I demanded.
He continued picking up the blocks. I knelt down to help him.
“Can we do the puzzle again?” I asked. “I know I said it was boring, but…”
“After DDR,” he said. He finished gathering the blocks and kissed my cheek.
At the Insanity Complex
100 Skate Park Drive
Madison, AL