Turkish Memory

We had unloaded our bus after an eight hour ride from Istanbul to the retreat center in the middle of nowhere in Southern Turkey.  The center staff showed us our wing of rooms and how to throw away our toilet paper instead of flushing it.  They left, and it was only us, sixteen Americans, wondering how to spend the evening.  I figured we might discuss plans for the retreat or do something spiritual like pray.

"Let's play Sardines!" Kathryn suggested with typical enthusiasm.

No.  Not that.  I had a fear of games that pitted myself against others in total darkness.

"With partners!" she continued.

That would be okay.  Darkness and competition is always less frightening with someone else to either a) cuddle or b) blame.

"Our retreat partners!" Kathryn would not stop with the suggestions, but everyone else seemed fine with the latest addition.  That made sense, because their partners weren't Jason.

Our team had two leaders.  Chris was more of an exuberant puppy than a leader, jumping around with excitement and making sure everyone was entertained.  He could bust out the spiritual comments, but those moments were shocking in their depth.  It was Jason who held the team together, making sure we counted off to sixteen in the Grand Bazaar and ensuring everyone was safe at our previous hotel.

Jason was a great leader.  But I could not imagine running around with him in the dark, discovering hiding places and fumbling with laughter.  He looked equally unsure of this partner idea.  That made sense; I wasn't exactly known for bringing the party.  We would be the lamest team in Sardines history.

After Lauren and Graydon volunteered to hide first, Jason and I strategized.

"Do you want to go downstairs?" he asked.

"Sure."

We were tactical geniuses.

There were two huge rooms downstairs, filled with lines of bunk beds and wardrobes.  It was more than creepy, but Jason didn't seem to care.  "You go down that line of beds, and I'll check over here," he said.  I obeyed, but only glanced at each lower and upper bunk.  Finding someone's eyes staring out at me seemed scarier than losing the game.

At the end of the room we met and agreed to go upstairs.  I could hear other teams shuffling in the darkness, giggling to each other and whispering plans.  I mentally sighed.  Jason and I were too similar in our introversion.  This game was the opposite of fun.

We climbed the stairs into the looming darkness.  Once again we had options as to which room to investigate first, so we paused on the landing.  It was all very ominous.

"Boo!" something shouted to my right.

"YAAAAAAAAARRG!" I jumped and flailed my arms while screaming bloody murder.  Mid-flail, the back of my hand collided with my assailant's face.

Tim staggered into dimly lit view and said, "You slapped me!  Tricia?  You slapped me!?"

I had.  Hard.  And I wasn't going to apologize for it.  "You scared me to death!"

Erin appeared out of the darkness and asked, "Are you okay?"

It was then that I noticed the wheezing.  Jason was bent double, laughing uproariously in some strange combination of little boy and old man.  Then he lost his breath, and began inhaling deeply in raspy fits.  I stared at him open-mouthed, astonished at his total lack of propriety.  He looked completely ridiculous, and laughter burbled out of me.  Tim and Erin joined in the hilarity, and the four of us fell against each other, repeating, "You slapped him!"  again and again.

My eyes were wet and my gut was sore, but when we finally straightened up and regained some dignity, I looked at Jason, my partner.  We smiled at each other.

And then we totally won the game.