The Game
I'm just waiting for it to all come crashing down -- hoping, actually, as I watch my brother Blake place the little wood block on top of the Jenga tower. The stack of ill-supported wood blocks has grown to preposterous heights and is leaning at a ridiculous angle, sort of like Pisa.
If he succeeds in placing this block, then it will be my turn. With the obviously precarious nature of the foundations and the thick, heady feeling of previously drunk beer, the odds of my surviving another round would be grim.
The evil twin in me considers breathing out a strong exhale to send the blocks plummeting. But then my brother withdraws his hand with a triumphant look on his face.
"You suck." I give him a glare that should turn him to stone, but he just laughs.
My four sibling and I sit circled around the game. Our beers are sweating rings of moisture onto the wood floor.
I consider the tower. Not only is it leaning, but it's twisted vertically. Also, in several places it's balanced solely on the criss-crossing individual blocks. I'm amazed, actually, that gravity hasn't claimed it yet.
"This sucks."
"Whah, whah," says Nicole with a giggle. "Do you need me to call the Wha-ambulance?"
"Shut up."
It's usually easier to remove blocks closer to the bottom, so I focus in on a block near the middle. I point my finger at it and tap it, just barely brushing the surface, to test if it's movable. The block doesn't budge, but the tower begins to wobble.
"Shit. Shi-it." For one moment I'm certain as death that it's going over, but it steadies. I take a deep breath and let it go pointing my exhale away from the game.
Brother Blake is chuckling. "You are so screwed."
He doesn't have to tell me. I know it.
I take a sip of my bear, wipe my sweaty hands on my jeans, and then lean in again. I pick a block toward the top and test it. The block gives just a fraction. The tower shivers, but holds firm. With a steady hand, I shift the piece, millimeter by millimeter, out of its position. Every time I touch it there is a slight, but manageable shudder in the rest of the tower. My chest is tight with a mixed-brew of anxiety and hope.
"No way, no way, no way, no wa-" I can hear Blake repeating under his breath, as the block comes loose.
I hold the freed block triumphantly. My grin is so wide it hurts my face.
"You're not done yet," says Chase. My smile droops, but the harbinger of doom is right. The piece still has to be placed safely on the top of the tower before my turn will be over. However, compared with extracting the block, this is cake.
I adjust to a more comfortable sitting position and proceed. The block sits comfortably in my fingers as I begin to put it in place. It barely touches the tower, when the stack begins to shudder and sway. There is collective intake of breath and I know it's all over. The tower topples the blocks clatter and scatter across the wood floor.
"Oh-ohhhhhhh!"
Frozen in place, I am still holding the block in my hand poised over the empty space where the tower used to be. I let go and it falls, hiting the pile of blocks below it with a sharp clack.
My siblings are most amused. "Drink, loser!"
I pick up my beer, tip it to the imaginary brim of my imaginary hat with a smile, and then begin to chug.
If you've never played Jenga and want a clearer visual of what it is, you can watch this video.
This is my week 7 entry for therealljidol . Topic: One Touch.
If he succeeds in placing this block, then it will be my turn. With the obviously precarious nature of the foundations and the thick, heady feeling of previously drunk beer, the odds of my surviving another round would be grim.
The evil twin in me considers breathing out a strong exhale to send the blocks plummeting. But then my brother withdraws his hand with a triumphant look on his face.
"You suck." I give him a glare that should turn him to stone, but he just laughs.
My four sibling and I sit circled around the game. Our beers are sweating rings of moisture onto the wood floor.
I consider the tower. Not only is it leaning, but it's twisted vertically. Also, in several places it's balanced solely on the criss-crossing individual blocks. I'm amazed, actually, that gravity hasn't claimed it yet.
"This sucks."
"Whah, whah," says Nicole with a giggle. "Do you need me to call the Wha-ambulance?"
"Shut up."
It's usually easier to remove blocks closer to the bottom, so I focus in on a block near the middle. I point my finger at it and tap it, just barely brushing the surface, to test if it's movable. The block doesn't budge, but the tower begins to wobble.
"Shit. Shi-it." For one moment I'm certain as death that it's going over, but it steadies. I take a deep breath and let it go pointing my exhale away from the game.
Brother Blake is chuckling. "You are so screwed."
He doesn't have to tell me. I know it.
I take a sip of my bear, wipe my sweaty hands on my jeans, and then lean in again. I pick a block toward the top and test it. The block gives just a fraction. The tower shivers, but holds firm. With a steady hand, I shift the piece, millimeter by millimeter, out of its position. Every time I touch it there is a slight, but manageable shudder in the rest of the tower. My chest is tight with a mixed-brew of anxiety and hope.
"No way, no way, no way, no wa-" I can hear Blake repeating under his breath, as the block comes loose.
I hold the freed block triumphantly. My grin is so wide it hurts my face.
"You're not done yet," says Chase. My smile droops, but the harbinger of doom is right. The piece still has to be placed safely on the top of the tower before my turn will be over. However, compared with extracting the block, this is cake.
I adjust to a more comfortable sitting position and proceed. The block sits comfortably in my fingers as I begin to put it in place. It barely touches the tower, when the stack begins to shudder and sway. There is collective intake of breath and I know it's all over. The tower topples the blocks clatter and scatter across the wood floor.
"Oh-ohhhhhhh!"
Frozen in place, I am still holding the block in my hand poised over the empty space where the tower used to be. I let go and it falls, hiting the pile of blocks below it with a sharp clack.
My siblings are most amused. "Drink, loser!"
I pick up my beer, tip it to the imaginary brim of my imaginary hat with a smile, and then begin to chug.
If you've never played Jenga and want a clearer visual of what it is, you can watch this video.
This is my week 7 entry for therealljidol . Topic: One Touch.