The King of Friends

Old Sol was my most faithful companion in the long, often lonely, years of growing up an only child with a single, working mom. He'd join me on the living room floor, where we would spread out all 52 cards and move them without fear of a long series of alternating black and red cards, numerically-arranged, dropping off the edge of a table. He beat me nearly always, but wasn't cocky about it. And no matter how many hands already played, he was game for another.

I renewed my friendship with Solitaire a few weeks ago. He had slipped from my life and memory without notice, until it had been nearly two decades since we last challenged each other. The floor is harder on my knees and back these days, so we played only a few rounds on the soft, low-pile beige carpet before I cleared the placemats and napkins from the kitchen table to make way for our competition. After about 15 rounds, over three days, I beat Old Sol. Piled those Aces with matching suits all the way up to the Kings.

Our reunion was one of quiet joy. Sol afforded me a chance to set aside worries from the day and frets about the future. Focused on our play, I was reminded of why we became friends in the first place.