Scrabbler

It's just after mid-night. Dad, myself and my two younger brothers are crowded around the dining room table of my parents' new house in Bozeman. It's a quaint house, built sometime in the 40's... cozy, warm, country-like. The wood-floors creak underfoot, I like that. The rooms smell a mixture of woolen sweaters, home cooking, labrador, and wood-burning stove... I like that too. Floor lamps cast a soft light, and illuminate the crazy angles of the ceiling high above.

The dining table is still covered with a table cloth... the table cloth adorned with the stains from dinner earlier. All of us wear faces of sleepy concentration as we try to finish up an epic game of Scrabble. We've been at it for over an hour. Having polished off two chocolate bars between us, we're down to three tiles remaining in the bag.

The 10-point 'Q' tile is the last remaining big play out there, and through his not-so-subtle grumblings, my 16-year-old brother Harrison has let it be known that he holds the 'Q' tile. It's been his turn for a few minutes, and he looks no closer to making a play. My 25-year-old brother Mike (very serious about his Scrabble) is looking quite inpatient. Mike wouldn't disagree if I called him a Scrabble-snob... he is very good, but he also sounds a bit like Nick Burns-Your Company's Computer Guy as he mocks your 3-letter-words and points out where you could've played that word for 12 more points. I relish the very rare occasion when I beat him... though I won't give him the satisfaction by outwardly displaying that I care. Harrison breaks the silence...

Harry: "You know what mom hasn't made in a while?..."

All: "..." (we've learned not to guess where he's trying to go)

Harry: "Croquettes."

All: "..." (looks of confusion)

Harry: "Croquettes... salmon croquettes. Mom hasn't made them in a while."

All: "..."

Mike: "What the hell are you talking about?"

Harry: "Salmon croquettes... you know, the one's mom makes."

Mike: "You know it's your turn right?"

Dad: "He's thinking of Q-words, give him a break" Dad tries to explain, "But Harrison, you don't have a 'U', they've all been played."

Harry: "Oh, yeah... shit."

And I think to myself... croquettes? Q-words? How the hell did he get to croquettes. Trying imagine the inner workings of his head...

Q-word, Q-word... Quiz? Shit, no 'Z'. And... no 'U' or 'I' either... shit. Quit? Ummm... where can I play... wait, no 'U' or 'I' again... shit. Qua... Qua... Qua... nope. Que... Que... man, this sucks! Stupid 'Q'. Hmmm... Quei, Quai, Quoo, Que, Quo, Cro, cro... croquet? That's a game, I think? Yeah... I played it that one time at Dan's house. That has a 'Q' right? Yeah... there's a 'Q'. Croquet, Croquet...Croquet sounds almost like... croquette. Mmmm, croquettes... man, I am kind of hungry. God, I love croquettes.... come to think of it...

"You know what mom hasn't made in a while?..."