I flipped the top card over. Three of aces, still no good. Flip. A King of hearts. That would be useful, if I had any open spots on the field. I glanced at my row of aces. I had all except for the spade. I had a sinking feeling that all of the cards I needed were under the far stack, which I had yet to displace the seven of spades from. I sighed and glanced out of the window at the deluge. I hadn’t needed to look to see that it was raining; the drops pounded the roof of my bedroom on the top floor. I went back to my game, pointedly avoiding my abandoned chemistry homework. I wondered where my friends were, what they were doing. It was probably too late to call them, 9:30 on a Wednesday. I stared apathetically at my game until I realized that I hadn’t made a single move for a good five minutes. I turned over another card. It was a four. A four of hearts. My heart pounded as I scanned the cards excitedly. There it was, the five of clubs. I slapped down the card and had a moment of small inward celebration before returning to my lull. Suddenly, a thought returned to me. It was a memory. It didn’t slam into me, like some claim memories can. It was more like a trickle of maple syrup. It came to me, slow and sweet. It was the moment that began my diligent return to solitaire whenever I felt down.

I was sitting on the floor. It was in an area that was out of the way, and I was setting my cards. I vaguely recalled that this was a church. I believe I was there to acolyte for the induction of a new priest. I think it was after the ceremony. An older gentleman approached me as I scanned the worn cards. My forehead was furrowed in concentration. He squatted next to me, and I barely acknowledged his presence until he gestured to a possible run. I looked up and smiled my thanks, moving the cards. I was familiar with his face. He had been a physicist at one point, but I think he was retired now. He opened his mouth to speak.

“You know, you can never get lost playing solitaire. Even if you’re all alone, or stranded in a dark forest somewhere, and cannot find your way back. As soon as you pull out the cards, somebody will always come along and tell you to put the red four on the black five.”

At the time, I laughed politely with him. I thought it was cute advice, not really important in any way, just a fun adage to share. He left me to my game, and I tucked away the moment while I stored my aces in the corner and flipped over my cards.

I have never really played the game to win. As I gazed blankly at my hand, I realized that that moment in the church unconsciously chose my preferred pastime. I only played solitaire when I needed companionship. As my friends sat in their homes across town, and I sat in my bedroom with my worn cards, I knew that I played solitaire for one reason: I was lost, and I desperately wanted one of them to come and find me. I wanted them to tell me where to put my next card.