Game Show

A few nights ago I went to a reading by the fabulous mystery writer Laurie King. (Parenthetically—and I wonder, is one using “parenthetically” correctly if the material is actually inside parentheses?—you should read her books. She’s an awesome storyteller, and an engaging and witty speaker, too.) After the presentation and book signing, I sat at a table in the lobby until my friend Lisa, who had organized the event, was ready to leave for dinner.

As I waited, a little family consisting of pretty long-haired Mom holding pretty baby, handsome Dad and a girl barely out of toddlerhood walked by. The little girl, who had ringlets and was wearing a bright flowered dress, glanced up and I smiled. She planted herself directly in front of me and held up three fingers.

“Three, are you three years old?” I asked her. She nodded.

Next she pointed to the baby in her mother’s arms, who was wearing a flower-covered pinafore with a tiny pink t-shirt. “Sophie,” she said.

By now I was catching on. “Oh, is her name Sophie?”

She nodded again, and responded, “Isabella.”

“Isabella? Is that your name?” Again the little nod.

“Isabella is a beautiful name. There was a queen named Isabella. Are you a queen?”

Isabella shook her head emphatically and looked a trifle annoyed. At this point I realized that she and I were playing Jeopardy. She gave me the answer, and I was to provide the question. And I had broken the rules. So I waited for the next response, which was:

“The park.”

“Oh, are you going to the park now?”

Affirmative.

“Before ice cream.”

“Oh, you’re going to play at the park and then get ice cream.”

We could have gone on, but Sophie was getting a little fussy. So after chatting for another minute, Mom gently urged Isabella towards the door.

Isabella held up her hand with the little moist palm facing me. I almost expected her to say “Wait!” or even “Hark!” but she just opened and closed her fist three times, smiled quickly and skipped away. No words were needed. Isabella already had all the answers.