The Board Returns

The Scrabble board came out after dinner as we continued through the Bay of Bengal. Its arrival no longer feels entirely recreational. There is a small but definite tightening of attention when the tiles appear, particularly on my side of the table. I still approach each game believing that a reasonable vocabulary ought eventually to produce a reasonable result.

For almost the entire game, I led. This deserves recording plainly, without the qualifications that subsequent events might encourage. My score was higher than Priya's, and remained higher through a stretch of play long enough for me to begin imagining a gracious victory. I had not settled on the wording, but it would have been modest and almost certainly unbearable.

Priya acknowledged my advantage only by becoming very quiet. The tiles clicked on the board, the ship's steady vibration continued through the furniture, and her concentration acquired a rather formidable stillness. I mistook this for a sign that matters were going well for me. In retrospect, silence from a competent person should never be interpreted solely for one's own comfort.

She won with a final E placed somewhere unremarkable for twelve points. There was nothing flamboyant about the move, which made it worse. I had been waiting for an impressive word and was defeated by a letter that looked as though it had wandered in to help with tidying. Her celebration consisted of one raised eyebrow. It was devastating. I had prepared for graciousness, but unfortunately had rehearsed the wrong side of it.