"What's going on?" I asked.

"Found it!" Marcia exclaimed, and pulled her head out of the crawlspace. She leapt down from the chair, falling against Anne so that they both feel onto my bed (a mattress on the floor), in a giggling heap. Still clutched in Marcia's hands was the Twister box, battered and frayed.

They stood up, still weaving. Marcia brushed a strand of brown hair away from her face and extended a hand.

"Hi," she said. "I'm Marcia. I used to live here a couple of semesters ago."

"Wayne," I said, and took her hand. Her fingers were long and thin, her palm cold. She was pretty. Not stunningly beautiful, but pretty in the way that any woman is who smiles at a lonely man.

"Hi, Wayne," she said. "I can't believe this is still up there. That's where I used to throw all the stuff I didn't know what to do with. There's a couple of boxes still there too. Even the ones that were there when I moved in."

"I didn't know that was there," I said, but she brushed past me and ran into the living room, tearing off the box lid as she went.
"Make way!" she yelled. "It's Twister time!"

The crowd parted before the wedge of her enthusiasm, and in moments the plastic mat of the game was stretched across the floor. Marcia squatted onto the floor in one fluid motion and began to yank off her shoes. Anne sat beside her and did the same. Marcia flicked the spinner, then handed it to Carrie, who had joined us from the Drug Room.

"Ooh, right eye red," Marcia teased her friend. Carrie laughed that far away stoner's laugh.

"Ready?" Carrie asked, then flicked the spinner with one long, sparkly nail. "Left foot blue," she called, and the game was on. Marcia and Anne both stretched toward the goal, and Carrie spun again.

A circle of people formed around the Twister mat, and the cheers became more raucous as the girls became more entwined. Spontaneous drinking games erupted. One drink for blue, two drinks for red, everybody chug if someone fell. Anne, shorter and less agile, as well as more inebriated, lost all of the matches but one. They wrapped around each other in sensuous pretzels, playing up the obvious lesbian overtones of the game. A chorus of "Kiss! Kiss!" arose every time their faces were close. They finally did, a short chaste kiss, interrupted when Marcia's tongue darted into Anne's mouth. Anne recoiled and fell off the mat with a cry of "Yuck!"

"We need some guys in this game," she said. She wiped an arm across her lips with an exaggerated flourish.

"Come on, Wayne!" Marcia said, and grabbed my arm and pulled me forward. The cheers of the crowd erased any hope I had of declining. I kicked off my shoes and squatted by the mat.

© 2004 Wayne Wise