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The women around the room hooted and hollered.
“Is everyone ready? We’re going to kick off tonight with a favorite that I’d like to dedicate to my guest here with me this evening. The first game will be any horizontal line. Just mark off any five spaces across your card to win.” He looked directly to me as he continued and winked. “Any which way you want to lie down horizontally will earn you a prize from me.”
I rolled my eyes. Bertha gave me one of her cards, a stamper, and slid one of her fuzzy-haired, freaky trolls in front of me wishing me luck before the games started.
Carter stood at the front of the room behind a folding table that held a wire cage filled with small white balls. He cranked a lever at the side, which started the balls jumping round. Stopping it, he reached in and pulled out the first ball. “Today we’re starting off with one little duck.”
The room quieted, and everyone picked up their stampers and began stamping. I had no idea what was going on, but Muriel seemed to be stamping the number two. When she saw I was confused, she explained. “One little duck…it’s a bingo term, it means the number two. The two looks like a duck.”
I didn’t have a two on my card, but I watched as Carter’s eyes scanned the room. He was making sure everyone had enough time to stamp their dozens of cards. Eventually, he cranked the lever again. This time, when he pulled out the ball he said, Grandma’s getting frisky into the microphone.
Muriel translated again, “G60. Frisky rhymes with sixty.”
Again everyone went to work at stamping their cards. It seemed I was the only one who needed a bingo lingo dictionary. While they were all busy checking their cards, Carter began to hum into the microphone. I recognized the tune, but couldn’t put my finger on it.
A few more calls later, Carter looked down at the ball and then winked at me, “Anyway up. A favorite of mine.”
I didn’t need Muriel to translate Carter had just called O69. Throughout the night he continued to hum that same song. I’d initially assumed it was the Beatles, but then when he began to sing the first line about knowing when to throw in the cards, I recognized it as Kenny Rogers, The Gambler.
Curious, I asked Muriel. “Does he sing Beatles songs while he’s up there ever?”
“He used to. Until we took him to the Kenny Rogers concert for his birthday.”
“You took him to see Kenny Rogers?”
“Yep. Most of us hadn’t celebrated our birthdays anymore until Carter moved in. But now, we look forward to them. On his birthday, we chip in and introduce him to something from our generation. On our birthday, he surprises us with something from his.”
I was blown away at how deeply connected Carter was with these people. “What did he give you for your birthday?” I asked Muriel.
Her eyes lit up, and she turned, lifting her foot to show me her shoes. “Reebok Pumps. My back was killing me when I went out for my daily walk. You pump these crazy sneakers he got me up…no more back pain.”
“I didn’t even know they still made them.”
By the end of the night, I realized I’d had a great time. Muriel had written down the recipe for Carter’s favorite meal, and Bertha, who was halfway sloshed, told me dozens of dirty jokes all centered around pilots. There I was, sitting in a Bingo hall full of people the same age as my grandparents, and there was nowhere else that I wanted to be. It was in that moment, as I watched from afar while Carter cleaned up and talked to a few of the other residents, that I realized how hard I’d already fallen. Muriel noticed me in deep contemplation.
“Confused about the man?”
I sighed. “How did you know?”
“I know that look. Been there with my Connor. Met him at eighteen, and he scared the bejesus out of me. The man could quite literally talk your pants off. Had that way about him, like Carter does. I tried to keep away. Didn’t help that he was gorgeous and a police officer who was rough around the edges, either.”
I smiled. “You said my Connor. I guess you eventually stopped running away from him?”
Her face fell. “I did. But, unfortunately for me, it wasn’t until I was nearly thirty-five.”
“What happened?”
“I was eighteen, and he was twenty five. I was a Jewish girl from the east, and he was an Irish boy whose parents were off the boat. My heart said yes, but my brain said no. As did my father. I made the mistake of listening to my brain over my heart. Eventually, I ran one way. He went the other. Lost almost twenty years with the love of my life before we caught up with each other again.”
“Wow. Is he…does he…live here with you?”
“Died in eighty-two. Random traffic stop gone bad when he pulled over a man who happened to have a trunk full of guns. Shot him point blank and left me a widow at thirty-seven. Found out I was pregnant with my son a few days after his funeral.”
I clutched my chest. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry.”
She nodded. “Thank you. But I didn’t tell you my tale of woe to bring your head down. Told you to remind you life is short. Half of the people in the world will tell you to follow your head, half will tell you to follow your heart. My advice, follow the one that isn’t confused. The stronger one will eventually convince the other to fall in line.”
Carter walked over wheeling a man in a wheelchair. “You ready? Just need to help Mr. Hank get into his car on the way out.”
