We were a board game kind of family - an after dinner, lets sit on the living room floor, pull out the pieces, and play a game kind of family. Well, four of us were at least. My Mom elusively separated herself from the action by putting up an Obit section of the Pittsburgh Post Gazette screen from her perch on the couch.
Which she would tear down every five minutes or so to whisper an answer to a less knowledgeable player - something that the well read Trivial Pursuit players, like Erin detested - but something that the piece-of-pie-less dummies, like me, enjoyed.
We each had our favorite games: Scattergories, Trivial Pursuit, Life, and one of my personal favorites Monopoly - a game that I tended to win.
I was usually the shoe - a decent alternative to the dog, which Erin immediately claimed, and the car, which was reserved for my brother, an avid collector of Micro Machines and Matchbox cars.
My goals were three fold: buy and build hotels on the yellow properties, buy and build hotels on the green properties, and buy and build hotels on Park Place and Boardwalk. I wanted the pretty properties on the most expensive part of the board. The end. Somehow, with my eyes set on garnering and creating 'death row,' I got my way, slyly and stubbornly bartered the unassuming car and dog into stacking my deck.
Monopoly games always took longer than others. Many times we would save the second and third rounds of the game for other evenings. The first and second rounds - the purchasing, trading and accumulation of initial wealth were always fun. Everyone got along. Hopped around board. Paid each other politely. And started building here and there. It was the third round when things got a little ugly - when I started really building death row and my money-making capabilities weren't met with equal enthusiasm across the board. Soon enough the other player's houses were stripped; their properties were mortgaged; their utilities didn't work and their railroads were shut down. Then the white flags would go up, and it was just me and an unoccupied collection of real estate. The end. But it was always a lonely end. Adam and Erin would go off and play another game, and I was left to clean up the pieces.
Naperville is like the game of Monopoly. Except I'm not winning. And there are a lot of other players out there who are just about ready to lose the game as well.
Every morning, I pick my favorite piece, my running shoes, and do a four to five mile lap around the board. I start at Go - my apartment. Then I breeze pass Baltic Avenue. Fittingly, there is a very modest purple house on Baltic. Baltic is owned by Gary, the divorce - a 6 foot 5, tight end built man, who is always smiling. Most mornings, he's watering his roses or mowing his lawn, leading what seems to be a very carefree existence. There are remnants of a life on Marvin Gardens in his driveway and on his porch though. And they make me wonder about his story. I smile and nod, but I keep going.
I cross over the Railroad and into the Light Blue and Light Purple sections. There are lots of houses for sale, mortgaged properties and even a couple that have been foreclosed upon here. There are also lots of players going around the board at this point. And sometimes they seem to be going out of turn - whizzing by me, almost knocking me out of play. They fly by as if they all received Chance cards sending them straight to take a ride on the Reading Railroad, which
phew, they already have a yearly pass for, and
phew, let's them bipass Park Place and Boardwalk for another day.
The Orange and Red properties around mile two are next and they have a similar story - lots of unhappy dog and car pieces with mortgaged properties and fleeting hopes for survival.
Then we get to death row - the prime properties with massive McMansions, brand new Escalades, trophy wives, and speculative developers who have their eyes on everyone else's properties. I run a little faster during this part. I'm almost back at Go. I can make it.
On Friday though, I heard a voice say "Don't let me scare you now." I turned around and on his Marvin Gardens style monstrous mountain bike was Gary the divorce, owner of Baltic Avenue. I motioned for him to pass, I didn't want to have to stop on Boardwalk. But he countered with a signal to stop and chat. He asked if he knew me. I said no (only that I run by your house every day, and made up a story about you, but no, don't know ya.) He tried to decipher my story - where he might have seen my familiar-looking face, but it evaded him. And suddenly there we were. Together, right at the apex of death row.
The property owners, freshly jacked up from their yoga-barre-pilates fusion class, wanted their money. They glared at us with eyes that said, ante up! I couldn't pay. And Gary couldn't either. Surprisingly, they let us slide. I think they just wanted the game to keep going - they wanted us to continue to do laps and continue to witness their winning hand. But they seemed very unhappy - lonely - like no one wanted to play anymore.
As the yummy mummies hopped into their Escalades, seemingly pissed off at the world, Gary biked off, back to Baltic, with a big smile on his face. He knew something that I didn't know - that life on the Yellows and Greens wasn't all it was cracked up to be. He had been there once. And he lost it. But life on Baltic wasn't that bad. In fact, it was kind of great.
As a lowly renter, I'll continue to do laps, and perhaps when the time is right, I will buy. I might need some help though. And that's where the Banker comes in. Luckily, I'm getting married to him.
Lo.
