Your Turn

by Eleanor Adams

“The coronavirus has ravaged New York City.” Generally, the cute broadcaster on CNN was emotionless, but now Aurora was sure she heard sparks of fright.

She briefly watched the television and then turned back to her laptop.

“A group of adjoining neighborhoods,” the newsman continued, “Corona, Elmhurst, and Jackson Heights, have emerged as the epicenter of the outbreak.”

“Jesus,” Aurora whispered, “I’m a neighborhood away from that!”

She should watch something unreal or at least find the courage to turn off the set, but Aurora wanted to know everything about the coronavirus that seem determined to destroy the world. Truth hurt but ignorance could kill.

She tried to concentrate on Scrabble. Told in March that all public libraries would be closed until further notice, Aurora gleefully abandoned the demands of librarianship and played video games while watching television.

She was sure words would come to her despite distractions, but they didn’t. A devoted reader, Aurora sometimes moved her finger lovingly across words she didn’t know but were intriguing. She made lists of them, which she looked up and tried to remember. Now words she fell in love with were not coming to her.

WAAF (28 POINTS) appeared on the screen.

What’s that? Aurora thought snatching up her dictionary. WAAF: Women Auxiliary Air Force. Used during World War Two. Well, she thought while wondering what she could place on the board. Screams from the television caused her to turn around. The screen was now showing covered corpses being shoved into ambulances while a small crowd stood nearby and wailed.

Glancing at her laptop, Aurora realized she had stared at that image for too long.

HURRY UP was typed in the chat section. To her, the comment barked annoyance. In return, Aurora whispered, “It’s hard to concentrate because America has been hit with a pandemic, and we might all die.”

That’s all she did; there was no point to type it, because all kinds of remarks might follow; most of them not nice. Gradually Aurora realized isolation and a touch of fear can caused people to become brutal.

She used to write an apology to those she had offended. That put dents in her loneliness but, after getting no response or worse, profane replies, Aurora abandoned her civility and just stared at the letters hoping to find a word that could give her a high number because that’s what Scrabble really was, not a game of words but of math.

Concentrating on the F in the last word placed Aurora happily put

WAAF (28 points)

O
L
K (14 POINTS)

It wasn’t a high number, but it was doable.

Immediately, she saw S being placed under the K and then:

WAAF (28 points)

O
L
K (14 points)
S U E (29 POINTS)

Aurora sighed deeply. The score was now 170 to 215. Aurora only had five letters left; there was no way she could win. Aurora hadn’t won for a long time, but she still loved to play. One reason was the designs that the words formed. Deciding where to put letters was like painting. She also loved the colors of the boxes: orange, blue, purple, green.

There was a more important reason for her love of the game. Scrabble was so much like life; completely unfair. She saw unfairness in the world that let a drug addict murder her parents after he broke into their home. Her relatives were found unsuitable or didn’t want her, so Aurora had to grow up in foster care.

She also found unfairness in the words Scrabble allowed. Familiar words such as NAZI couldn’t be used but foreign or antiquated words such as BAWBEE, XU, and YUS was. Aurora wanted reminders of the cruelty of the world since it kept her watchful. After the game was officially over, Aurora got up to clean.

“While age is a major factor in COVID death” — a solemn-looking brunette was now speaking — “neighborhoods with a high concentration of Black and Latinx people as well as low-income residents are suffering the highest death rates.”

“Well, I’m the color of cinnamon toast with a touch of butter, but I have a middle-income salary, so I might get saved,” Aurora said, forcing out a laugh to chase her stress away. “I don’t go out, except for the mail and supermarket across the street. And I’m always masked when outside,” she continued, “so COVID might miss me.” Talking aloud helped her forget she was alone.

Her job used to do that. Working five, six, sometimes seven days a week resolving the needs of the misinformed as well as soothing disheartened staff had provided Aurora with many outlets to socialize. She had hoped one of those outlets would put her on the path to a suitable companion; but it didn’t and, though Aurora was in her late thirties and still had hope, it was becoming muted. Since the weekly Friday night staff party no longer happened, she felt even more isolated.

After sweeping and polishing her hardwood floor, Aurora sat down at her desk and glanced vaguely around her studio apartment. She got up again to check if her books were in Dewey Decimal order when she glanced sharply at her laptop. On the screen a new person wanted to start a game with her. The name was GBTA222.

The person had a blurry avatar. It looked like a storm. Pushing her thoughts aside, Aurora happily responded. She received so few offers to play because her game score was low. Five foster care homes made her accustomed to rejections, and she was too shy to ask other people to play with her.

There were no greetings exchanged, but Aurora was used to that. Typing an acknowledgement to your opponent could lead to all types of exchanges ranging from offers of insurance to sex.

XI (15 points) was on the screen.

“Xi the fourteenth letter of the Greek alphabet. Well, I’m sure I can get close to that score.” Scanning her letters, Aurora found and placed:

J
XI
B (20 POINTS)

“Not bad,” Aurora muttered, “not bad at all.”

The game ended with, GBTA222’s 140 to Aurora’s 155.

“I won,” Aurora said. “It’s been a long time coming, and I won.” She glanced at the right side of the screen. GBTA222 sent two more game play requests. Aurora couldn’t resist.

* * *

“The first known death from the coronavirus,” the still handsome but slightly haggard-looking newscaster said, “was reported on February twentieth.” He took a deep breath, and his eyes widened as he said, “It just took eighty-nine days for this nation to reach a hundred thousand deaths.”

“A new variant of the virus has been fueling outbreaks in the United States throughout this summer,” the still serious-looking but slightly smiling brunette spoke. She was sitting next to the male cutie and appeared to have a supportive hand on his arm. “It’s called Delta and is highly contagious.”

Aurora kicked off her sneakers and grabbed a Pepsi before sitting down at her desk.

* * *

Three months had passed, and she was still with GBTA222. Starting at four they would play several games always stopping at eleven. That was GBTA222’s doing. The person would just stop playing often in the middle of a game. Besides Scrabble, Aurora loved puzzles, and GBTA222 provided tantalizing clues. Who was she or was GBTA222 male? Did the person stop playing because it was time to go to work? What did that person do for work? What was GBTA’s real name? And what was the meaning of 222?

Despite the strangeness of their encounters, Aurora’s feelings for GBTA222 grew because the person encouraged her. GBTA222 would wait until Aurora thought of a word. There was no “Hurry up” or “F-you” typed in the chat section, so Aurora stopped being anxious and gave serious thought to finding good words. Her score improved and when she won GBTA222 would place clapping emoji hands on the screen.

Aurora wished they could be friends, though she was aware of the dangers of connecting with strangers on social media. That didn’t stop her from trying to send GBTA222 a friend’s request, but Aurora couldn’t find a profile on Facebook. Aurora used her real name and received many friends’ requests from strangers but GBTA222 never sent one to her. Blocked, Aurora wished GBTA222 would say something to her that could start a conversation while they played, but that didn’t happen.

Despite the uneasiness GBTA222 caused Aurora, it made her feel alive connecting with a person who liked her. What with staying in most of the time and always alone, playing began to resemble a slight touch, a brief hug, a hurried kiss. And if attentiveness, and reliability weren’t signs of devotion from GBTA222, it would do. What Aurora especially liked about GBTA222 was that the person was an enigma that made it easy for her to mold GBTA222 into what she chose.

* * *

Aurora sat down at her computer smiling while she watched the clock’s hands move to four. Pushing her rejection fears aside, she typed “Hi” in the chat box and smiled when GBTA222 replied with a raised thumb emoji.

She placed: PARABLE (30 POINTS) on the screen. Finding courage, she continued to type in the chat session: “Octavia Butler was a great sci-fi writer, wasn’t she? And that book Parable of Talent was so close to what’s happening now isn’t it? Do you read her?”

No movement was made on the screen.

Slightly unnerved Aurora typed, “Hard to believe what’s happening in the world, huh?”

Uneasy minutes passed. On the point of despair, Aurora saw something being typed. A comment.

“This is creepy” appeared on the screen.

Aurora’s fear boiled over. Struggling for control Aurora wrote “What is? The world? The word I just used. That I’m trying to talk to you? I know it’s not safe to do that. You’re finding what offensive? Why?”

GBTA222 didn’t reply. Troubled minutes became desperate hours but there was no word or comment placed on the screen. Typing frantically, Aurora wrote, “Why don’t you respond? What offends you? It just a game and it’s just a word. What did I do wrong?” No reply. Aurora waited until eleven o’clock before she turned her computer off.

That was the last time Aurora played with GBTA222, and she cried about it several times. She was back at her job now, and too many times she used books to hide her tears and frustration. What could have caused GBTA222’s behavior? The person was strange from the start only using emoji thumbs but why was seeing “parable” unbearable? Was GBTA 222 an atheist and felt upset? No religion was mentioned but the word “parable” did have a religious connotation. Was it that Aurora was trying to be friendly and GBTA222 didn’t want that? Aurora had no idea of what she had done to make GBTA222 upset, but she still felt remorseful about it.

“I’m always putting my foot in my mouth. Always,” she would say to the air after her crying spells would end.

Aurora slowly climbed back to normalcy. She made a copy of the last game played with GBTA222 and stared for hours at it. Gradually she ignored it. She dug deeper into her work, forcing herself to become engrossed in the minutiae of the job. Rejection was like the tides of the oceans, strong at first but gradually fading away.

Later, when the pain stopped, Aurora was able to see that GBTA provided her with a way she could keep her fragile confidence intact and unharmed.

* * *

The newscaster whom Aurora adored was speaking. “This summer of 2021, carries the first step to the country’s recovery because the vaccine which has proven itself successful in preventing COVID is now available to all.” He was looking relaxed and happy.

Aurora rubbed her vaccination spot. Briefly she thought of GBTA222 while she opened her laptop. That person had improved her game so much she now had several people who wanted to play with her, which made Aurora feel loved and valued. “He/She,” Aurora said aloud, “gave me the opportunity to have a type of relationship. I must be grateful for that.”

Most importantly, the character helped her remember what her parents had taught her. Aurora silently mouthed her mother’s words, “If life’s struggles ever cause you to crawl, when you’re able to stand, walk with one hand extended behind you, because there’s always someone there that’s crawling.” Savoring her father’s hugs, she remembered how he would nod at his wife’s words and then say, “Give back to all is the way to lead your life.” Immediately, Aurora realized what GBTA might stand for.

“Giving to someone helps you see yourself,” she said. Before going to Scrabble she changed her name and avatar. Now the picture she used looked like a tornado. After a particularly ingenious move by her, David, a new player who seem not to know the rules or just didn’t care, typed, “That a good play darlin’. What’s your name?”

Remembering what she had been through, Aurora typed: “GBTA223.”