Pitty Pat at the Repast

It's not about the game. But it really is.

Photo by Me on Unsplash

The other day I was at my cousin’s house and the elders would not let me join the Spades table. There was music and laughter and joy—also lots of food. I ate my gumbo and watched as they argued and played over the spade hand. I decided to share a short story here about another card game. You do not need to know how to play the game at all but as a primer, I will say it is similar to go fish in that you are seeking matching cards. Here is Pitty Pat at the Repast.

Four of clubs.

Ace of spades.

Jack of diamonds.

Eight of hearts.

Ten of spades.

You have a bad hand. A terrible hand in fact. There are 300 dollars in the pot and you’re playing against some great uncle you can’t remember the name of and your hand is so horrific you are going to be behind on your rent.

Three of clubs on you.

'

You contemplate picking this card up. You run the risk of potentially not finding a match for any of your other cards. You also run the risk of someone else having the other threes and holding you. You pick the card up. Down goes the Ace of spades. It seems to mock you. Bad decision again.  Cousin Bud picks it up. She puts down a four of hearts. You go to grab it but another hand snatches it away first.

Damn.

Grandmother always told you to take risks. She also told you that you needed to move quickly.

Jack of clubs on you. You pick up the card quickly, even though no one would have taken it from you. You throw out your ten of spades. No one grabs it.  Another club comes out of the deck. Lord who shuffled these cards. Nobody is ever going to win at this point.

If grandmother were here, she would scold you for forgetting to cut the deck. She’d also probably have already won regardless.

The cards are starting to blur together now. The dealer goes through at least ten more cards. Honeycup to your right is giggling. She never had a good poker face. You wish she would shut up. 

“Pitty Pat”

That uncle you couldn’t remember the name of has a hand full of 10s. You don’t even remember when he picked up the ten you had placed down. Your face has gotten extremely hot at this point. Maybe it has gotten a little wet. Hopefully, no one is paying close attention to you.

The uncle has placed his hand on your shoulder. He smells like her. You don’t want to look too closely at his face because what if he looks like her too? You don’t think you could handle that at all.

“You know Nellie was my favorite sister?” You make yourself look up at him. It’s hard. Your eyes are hurting and you know if you look in the mirror they will be red.

“She taught me how to play too.”

He places the 300 hundred dollars in your hands and walks away.

---

This piece of flash fiction was my first foray into writing in the second person. I think there is a certain closeness that comes from that point of view. A connection that even the first person can’t reach in the same way. I guess it makes me feel exposed and almost raw, much like funerals. Thanks for reading!