32 THE CEDARVILLE REVIEW flew my plane down to Vancouver, which I then bought. Laurence’s racecar made it to Toronto. Dad rollerbladed straight into income tax. Mom’s burger sped to Ottawa. It was a fierce game, but slowly and surely, Dad bought properties and built hotels until all three of us went bankrupt. “I won! Da-da can never be beaten!” Dad exclaimed gleefully. Laurence and I pouted, but his teasing was infectious. Mom warned against the dangers of pride, but smiled at her husband. For the first time since 3 AM, I checked the time on our analog clock. It was almost time for bed. The irony of the difference in the situation struck me. The last time I had looked at that very clock, I had been surrounded by deafening wind, peculiar light, and tortured trees. The time did not go unnoticed by my parents. My mom snuffed out the candles. “In the wake of my smashing victory, it is time for bed!” my dad said. Laurence and I giggled in protest as he scooped us up and paraded down the hallway to my room, where he threw me on the bed. He then dragged Laurence, kicking and screeching with gaiety, to the other side of the house and deposited him in his room. I mindlessly did my nighttime routine, absentmindedly showering and methodically brushing my teeth until the toothpaste stung my gums and
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