Song for Night

Child’s Play

This is how we sign this: forefinger pointing to the sky while the whole body gyrates. For Ijeoma and me, play is a veiled thing, our own private language within a private language, sweeter for being secret. Rock, paper, scissors: one tap on our gun’s stock, two taps, three.

One tap. One.

One tap. Two. A loss.

Two taps. One. A win.

Two taps. Two. A draw.

Endlessly we play, never looking at each other but smiling into the distance, hearts racing with the anticipation.

Then a steady hand, palm flat.

Silence.

Still we smile as we scan for the danger, our hearts beating:

One. One. Two.

Two. Two. Two.

Three. Three. Three.