Domino Sundays

Sunday is domino day for my abuelo at the corner park. One day, maybe I’ll join the game.

Abuelo knocks on my bedroom door. "Ready, Yolanda?” he asks.

“Si!” I say.

Abuelo hands me the long, wooden box that holds the fichas, the domino tiles. "Today is a special day. I have a new partner.”

“Who?” I ask.

“You’ll see.”

I wonder who Abuelo’s new partner is as we walk along the shady sidewalk. Abuelo has been teaching me to play. Could it be me?

Our neighbors are starting their days, too. Salsa music flows from open windows. I smell bread and imagine it pressed flat in a plancha, like Mami makes for me. From someone’s yard, a rooster steps out in front of us. Papi complains about the roosters. He says Miami is a big city. Roosters belong on farms. Abuelo and I don’t mind the roosters. We like the jerky way they move.

Abuelo imitates the rooster, moving his head from side to side. I think about being Abuelo’s partner, helping him to win, and I let out a loud cock-a-doodle-do! The rooster turns a beady eye at us and crosses the street with an angry squawk.

By the time we reach the park, my bangs are wet from sweat. Abuelo peels the pale blue guayabera from his skin. He pulls a handkerchief from his pants pocket and wipes his forehead. "It was never this hot in Cuba. The weather was — ”

“ — always perfect in Cuba,” I finish for him.

Abuelo taps my nose. “Well, not perfect. But close.”

The square tables are filled with old men playing dominoes. “Where’s your partner?” I ask, looking around.

He puts his hands on my shoulders. “She’s right here.”

I jump up and down. “We’re going to make a great team, Abuelo!”

He takes my hand and leads me to the table with his friends.

“You’re late!” Mr. Perera greets us. He always says that, even when he’s the last one to get there.

“Buenos días, Yolanda,” Mr. Castillo says.

“Buenos días, Señor Castillo.”

Mr. Castillo pours Cuban coffee into a small plastic cup. I breathe in the warm, sweet smell as it passes by me on its way to Abuelo. In one gulp, the coffee is gone.

Mr. Perera checks his watch. “Where’s Juan Carlos?” he asks.

Abuelo takes the box from me and sits down. “Yolanda is my partner today!”

Mr. Perera slaps his hand on the table. “What does this señorita know about dominoes?”

“I know how to play,” I say. "I have a good teacher.” I sit across from Abuelo, in his partner’s chair. My chair.

“I’m sorry, Yolanda, but this is a game just for us old men. I will only play with Juan Carlos.” Mr. Perera stands up and crosses his arms.

“Then you forfeit,” Abuelo says, “and Yolanda and I win.” I try not to smile. We all know Mr. Perera will never forfeit.

Mr. Perera sits back down, grumbling like a summer thunderstorm. “Está bien. What are you waiting for? Let’s play!”

Abuelo slides off the top of the domino box, then pours the fichas onto the table. We flip all of the fichas facedown. No matter how hot the day is, the tiles always feel cool. They click-clack against one another when we mix them.

Each of us turns over one of the remaining tiles. Mr. Perera’s tile has the most dots. “Ah! I go first,” Mr. Perera says. He slams down a tile — eight dots on one half, six on the other — and the game begins.

Abuelo puts down the second tile, and then Mr. Castillo slides one into place. Now it’s my turn. I need a tile with either nine or four dots. I don’t have either. I tap my knuckles twice on the table — l pass.

Oh no! I do have a tile with four dots. How did I miss it? Abuelo smiles at me from across the table. He doesn’t know I messed up.

The others place their tiles, and then it’s my turn again. Mr. Perera drums his fingers on the table and shakes his head.

“Take your time,” Mr. Castillo says with a smile.

I study my tiles, and then relax, sliding a tile into place.

We keep taking turns, adding tiles or skipping when we have none to play. Soon we’ve covered the table with a maze of fichas.

When we’re down to a few tiles each, Mr. Perera places one with three dots on the open end. I squirm in my seat. If no one adds a tile to it, I can get rid of my last tile!

The three-dotted tile remains open. I connect my last ficha to it and yell out, “Domino!”

None of the other players has tiles they can play. The game is over — Abuelo and I win the round.

Mr. Castillo pats my shoulder and smiles, his tanned face crinkling even more.

Mr. Perera frowns as he counts the dots on his tiles, but says, “Good game, Yolanda.”

Abuelo doesn’t say anything. He just winks at me.

Abuelo jots down Mr. Perrera and Mr. Castillo’s points. We will play until one team reaches 150 points. We flip over all the tiles and shuffle them again.

Sunday is domino day for Abuelo and his friends… and me!