The Game

            BOB and Carlos leaned over the railing, squinting at the ground far below.  Beneath the icy bridge stood a tin can, a tiny gaping mouth among the rocks.   “It’ll be a miracle if you make it,” Carlos observed, his breath coming out in little puffs of steam.
“Then that’s what we’ll call this one: miracles.”  BOB was all seriousness, though a sneering smile stretched across his face.
               Carlos nodded. “Milagros.”
BOB bent over as far as he could and dropped a small silver object.  The boys heard a ping as it bounced off the rocks and disappeared into remnants of snow.  “Shit.”
Now Carlos straightened up, tucked in his chin and with elbows clenched against his sides, he too leaned forward and brought a piece of silver clear up to his nose, before closing one eye and letting go.  Ping.  “Shit.”
They kept at it all afternoon.  When the sun had lowered and the air chilled significantly, hunger drove them from the bridge, into the frozen rubble below to collect their missiles.  There, glints of silver shone in and around the snowy rocks, like proverbial seed scattered on the unforgiving ground.  They were stones, lucky stones painted silver.  “Where’d you get all the painted rocks, anyway?” Carlos asked, filling his pockets.
“Made ‘em.  Painted them, I mean.”
Carlos picked up the can.
“Hey, man.  Don’t do that!”
“Do what?”
“You can’t touch the can!  We’re not done.”
“What do you mean?”
“Nobody won yet!”
Carlos shook his head. 

            The day before, they had spent the afternoon with their slingshots, shooting icicles that hung from the roof of an abandoned warehouse. First just shooting from where they stood, then backing up, more and more, behind trees, then in the trees, shooting from their branches.
Last weekend it was walking on exposed pipe in a new development.  Barefoot.  With their eyes closed.  BOB had accused Carlos of cheating.  “Hey man,” BOB stuck a bony finger in Carlos’ face.  “You have to figure, what would I do if this was the only way over a huge ravine and I was, I don’t know, blind or something!”
“Were I ‘blind or something’ I don’t think I’d be crossing ravines on pipes, without my shoes, particularly in winter.”
“But what if you HAD to!”
“Like someone put a gun to my head?”
“Yeah, or stuck a knife in your back or--.”
“Man, you really have it in for the blind, don’t you?”

             Carlos chuckled now. “Why are you so crazy about playing games?”
“It prepares you.  Besides, if you don’t play, you can't win.”  BOB was busy counting his silver.  “Some of them must have ricocheted off.” They kept searching.
“So,” BOB cleared his throat.  “You’re sister’s nice.  Cute, I mean.”
“Modesta?  Yeah, everyone says she’s hot, but nice?”
“No, no.  The other one.”
“Maria Elena?”
“What do you take me for, man! She’s like, ten years old!”
“She’s thirteen and she’ll give you a knuckle sandwich to prove it!”  Carlos laughed.  “You mean Trini?”  He snorted.
“Yeah!  You probably don't’ see it, because she’s your sister.”
“Huh.  You mean because, like, we took baths together, threw rocks at each other; thought each was the first to tell the other about sex? Well Mo’s my sister too and I can still see the difference between them!”
“You said yourself, Modesta’s not nice.”
Carlos sat back on his heels.  “Yeah.  You’re right.  Trini is a sport.”  He watched BOB, who seemed to be gathering the painted stones with a certain self-consciousness now.     “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why did you say that?”
“No reason, “ BOB kept his eyes averted.  “Just making conversation.”
“Conversation, eh?”  Carlos kept searching among the rocks.  “What are we missing?”
“That’s it!  That’s what I’m thinking!”  BOB stood up and flung his arms wide.  “I mean, sure, we know chicks are only in it for one thing; they just want to suck the power, the life force from us and all that.  I mean, it’s probably true--it is true--but then you go and you meet one who gets you, no, two, no three and they’re all in the same family--a whole family that gets you and one especially, is so, well, sexy and amazing and she draws you like a burning magnet and you’re using all your strength, every ounce of energy you’ve got to resist and it takes so much effort, you start to wonder why?  Why did we ever decide we had to keep away?”
Carlos sat with his mouth open.
“So then you start to think, what am I missing?”  BOB was sweating now.  His pockets bulged.
“I was talking about your stupid painted rocks.”
“Oh.”
Carlos stared at BOB. “So ask her out.”
“Oooh, no!”
“Well, if you’re so damn certain that resisting her is wrecking your life, what else is there?”
“She’s your sister, man!”
“Hey, I don’t like it any more than you do, but what choice do you have?  I mean, if it’s gonna drive you nuts--personally I think that ship sailed long ago--but if it’s making you even more nuts than you already are...?”
BOB’s shoulders relaxed.  “So it’s okay with you.  If I do.”
Carlos was working at a painted stone wedged tightly between two rocks.  His fingers ached as he scraped and clawed at their icy surfaces.  BOB watched silently until the stone was dislodged and Carlos turned it over in his hands, like it was a precious thing. 
“I said,” Bob repeated, “So it’s okay with you then.  If I do it.”
The sun was almost down.  Carlos faced the can, took one step toward it and drew his arm back, hurling the stone with more force than was absolutely necessary.  TWANG.  It bounced off. 
“That my answer?”  BOB gave his grimace of a smile.
“What?  Yeah.  No.  Don’t worry about it.” Carlos walked over to the can and picked it up. “I’ll get over it.”
BOB shoved his dirty hands through his hair. “I mean, hey, we’re presuming she’ll say yes.  We don’t even know if she’ll agree to go out with me but the possibility does exist and then once I ask it’ll be awful if she doesn’t go because there’s your whole family and of course they’ll all know and then whenever--”
“I said I’ll get over it,” Carlos muttered, one eye closed as he peered into the can.  “Plus, Ken’ll have to get over it.”
“Who?”
“Her boyfriend.  Holy shit.”  He pulled another stone from his pocket and laid it carefully over the hole.  “Talk about milagros!”
“I know, I know it’s a long shot but--”
“I’ll say!  It’s way too small!”
“What?”
“The can! You could throw rocks at it all day and they’d never go in.  It would be a miracle. The opening’s way too small!”