The Question Game

You know how Chicago’s also called The Windy City? Aptly so. I’ve almost lost my jacket a good one thousand times and have had to check routinely to be certain my face hasn’t fallen off quite yet.

My roommate, Dan, and I are headed over to some friends’ place. He’s quiet for one reason or another. Well, that’s inaccurate. He’s not speaking. But he’s certainly not quiet. The man breathes louder than an elephant in labor. And though I can look past it most of the time, I want nothing more right now than to shove a sock in his mouth and kick him in the nose. Too bad I’m not as flexible as I used to be and my high kick leaves something to be desired. But I’ve got the sock ready to go and have started stretching on a daily basis, so… watch your back, pal.

We arrive only partially numbed to the core and our friends buzz us in. We’re greeted by a loud laugh and a string of unrelated comments and jokes that I never really pay attention to. Another roommate of mine, Nick, is here. This is where his girlfriend, Ashlee, lives. Her roommate is the one with the huge laugh. She also has gigantic tits. This isn’t a realization anyone comes to on his own, no sir. In fact, her tits are her favorite topic of conversation and she’s bound to point them out to you before you have a chance to get her name.

Insert boob joke here.

Dan laughs. He always laughs at her. I can’t tell if he likes her or if he just likes those tits. That is assuming the two (three?) are mutually exclusive.

I sit down next to my second roommate. He’s tiny. And has a floppy Mohawk courtesy of the sheers I got for this past Christmas. They work like a dream. Just ask his floppy Mohawk.

We’re waiting on some new guy. Ashlee met him at a coffee place the other day. Well… he hit on her incessantly, rather. And, as she embraces the uncomfortable situation, she invited him along with us tonight. To be honest, the night’s potential to be remarkably awkward is what pulled me out of my nap to tag along.

The phone rings. It is sitting closest to me so I answer it.

Hello?

It rings again. You have to press the talk button. The round button. Press the round button in the middle of the--

I find it.

Hello?

Nothing. I was too late…

It was probably Ashlee’s new buddy trying to get buzzed in. He’ll call back. Sure enough he does.

I find the round button right away this time. Hello?

Press 9 to let him in.

I press 9.

No no no no no no, you gotta hold it.

I hold it.

… does he even know what room we’re in?

Tits runs into the hallways to find him. We all wait. She comes skipping back into the room moments later tailed by one of the mousiest looking kids I have seen in my life. I have never known someone to squiggle and squirm so much ever. Ever. He grins, nods, introduces himself, and continues to speak about what becomes an endless supply of absolutely nothing for the rest of the night.

Glances and grins are shot around the room as we all try to be polite.

Let’s play the question game! Tits yells, interrupting Squirmy in the middle of an absolutely riveting monologue about how surprisingly easy it would be to steal a boat.

All you have to do is find one you want and untie the thing, really. Easy as pie, really. I mean… really.

The question game isn’t so much a game as it is a… getting to know your neighbor… activity. There’s a box of cards, someone volunteers to be the reader (I’ll do it, Squirmy shouts) who (me, I’ll do it) takes a card and reads the question written on the card and everyone goes around the room giving their answer.

Any volunteers for reader? (I’m a great reader, please me. Please me, oh god please.)

I’ll do it, I shrug. Tits tosses me the cards and the game begins.

It really is delightful. Some of the cards turn out to be silly, but the best part about being the reader is that you get to dictate which questions are too silly to be read aloud. “Which historical sporting event would you have liked to bear witness to?” and “What’s the perfect age?” are easily skipped.

It’s funny which questions spark the most conversation and how willing and civilized people are when it comes to a debate.

“What is more essential to humanity: science or art?”

Naturally, everyone in the room screams art right away, which I find silly. Though I would have answered the same. I just find it interesting that no time for thought was needed. Science has become the absolute evil opposition to the artist and/or religious man.

I say something seemingly eloquent but terribly vague. I just don’t think the question is as simple or obvious as everyone makes it seem. And though I know there is a point I would like to make, I can’t find it, so I take a lot of words and spin them in circles until I sound mildly convincing.

Everyone nods. Squirmy starts to give his answer and everyone winces. We need Oscar music or something.

The game continues for quite some time.

“What would you say was your most spiritually defining moment?”

And the room is silent.

It’s funny, really. So many questions produce very predictable answers, but ask a question that prompts a story or gives us a reason or opportunity to open up and we’re all over the place.

We’re waiting for an excuse to share a secret or be candid about anything personal or… mysterious.

It’s Ashlee’s turn. I’m sorry, she says to Squirmy. This kind of story doesn’t make for a great first impression. But…

… so I’m getting raped, right?

And we freeze.

Wait… what? Dan asks. I nod along with him, but never would have asked. (He explained to me later that he never would have asked either, he just honestly though he had misheard.)

The room is silent. Tits is obviously the only one who has heard this story before. Ashlee shrugs it off and continues.

There are pictures of Jesus all over the room, right? He’s just… he’s just staring at me. And the next day I can’t… I can’t go to school. I can’t face this, you know? And he’s there. And this gives him the opportunity to talk to people about this, tell them about me, start… rumors about me and by the time I get a chance to tell anyone anything he’s been to them first and no one believes me. No one. Some people still don’t. Most people still don’t… The next day I have no where to go. No one that I know to talk to. There’s a church in my neighborhood that I go to. I can’t really… talk to anyone there. The need to cry is overwhelming and the only thing I can say is just… I need somewhere to stay. I have nowhere to go. Please. And I remember they didn’t say anything, they didn’t ask anything, they just took me up stairs and to a room, sat me down and told me where they would be if I needed anything. And they left. And I sat in that room for hours. I didn’t cry, I didn’t go to sleep, I just sat there. And there are pictures of Jesus all over the room, right? He’s just… he’s just staring at me. But for whatever reason I feel safe. This is the first time in so long that I feel safe. And even though He couldn’t do anything to stop it from happening to me, He gave me a place to stay and He helped me feel safe when no one else would. And I don’t even know if I believe in Him…

She stops and I’m looking at my feet.

That’s a good one, Squirmy says. And he begins to give his answer to the question. I share a glance with Ashlee and she makes a face. I make one back.

We could really use some Oscar music or something.