The Game That Refused to End
Once upon a time there were three children — Mark, Ada and Will. And one afternoon they invented the best game in the world.
The living room was the ocean.
The carpet was an island.
The sofa was a pirate ship.
And Mom was a fearsome octopus. She just didn’t know it yet.
“Ten more minutes, kids. Then it’s time to stop,” Mom called from the kitchen.
“Sure!” all three answered.
But in kid language, that means something completely different.
Roughly this:
We hear you, but we’re busy saving the world, so we’ll see.
Ten minutes later Mom appeared in the doorway.
“All right, time to stop.”
Mark looked horrified.
“Now?!”
“Yes. Now.”
“But we just found the treasure!”
“Then hide the treasure somewhere safe, and that’s enough for today.”
“We can’t!” Ada cried. “A giant crab is guarding the treasure!”
Will nodded.
“And it’s very dangerous.”
Mom looked at the stuffed rabbit on the cushion.
“Is this the crab?”
“No,” said Will seriously. “That’s a thief.”
Mom closed her eyes.
Then she opened them again.
“All right. Five more minutes.”
Five minutes later she came back.
“Time to stop.”
“Just one more minute!”
“You’ve already had one more minute.”
“Then one last minute.”
“You’ve had that too.”
“One very last minute?”
Mom began to suspect the kids had a secret one-more-minute factory somewhere.
Probably behind the sofa.
Another ten minutes went by.
And then five more.
Then Mom called:
“Dinner.”
Nobody came.
“Dinner!”
Nothing.
“DINNER!”
From the living room came:
“MOOOM, WE CAN’T! WILL IS TRAPPED IN THE VOLCANO!”
Mom came into the room.
Will was sitting under a blanket.
“Will, come and eat.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Lava.”
Mom stared at the blanket for a long time.
“Dinner’s ready,” she said. “I’m sure the lava can wait a minute.”
Then she left.
After a while, though, she came back, sat quietly on the end of the sofa and opened a book.
The kids didn’t even notice and kept on playing.
And on.
And on some more.
Until suddenly Mark said:
“I’m hungry.”
“Me too,” said Ada.
“I’m really, really hungry,” announced Will from the volcano.
Surprisingly, the lava let him go.
All three ran into the kitchen. Dinner was on the stove, but the table wasn’t set and Mom was nowhere to be seen.
They ran back.
“Mom, can we have dinner?”
“Just one more minute,” she said.
The children stopped in their tracks.
“But we’re hungry.”
“Then one last minute.”
Mark frowned.
Ada put her hands on her hips.
Will whispered:
“I don’t like this at all.”
Mom turned a page.
“One very last minute.”
“But Mom!” Mark cried. “You keep saying one more minute!”
Mom looked at him over the top of her book.
“Do I? That sounds familiar.”
A suspicious silence fell.
Ada looked at Mark.
Mark at Will.
Will at his tummy.
And his tummy said:
“GRRRUMBLE.”
“That wasn’t my tummy,” said Will quickly.
“It was,” said Ada.
“Okay. It was.”
Mom closed her book and stood up.
“Come on. Dinner’s gone cold in the meantime. I’ll warm it up, and you three can set the table.”
The kids got busy setting the table.
“Do you know what’s annoying about waiting?” Mom asked.
“That we’re hungry?” Will suggested.
“That too. But mostly it’s when someone keeps saying ‘one more minute’ over and over. Then you never know when that minute will really be over.”
Mark put a plate on the table.
“But our game was important.”
“I know,” said Mom. “And I was looking forward to eating together while dinner was still hot.”
“But we were almost at the end,” said Ada. “The real one.”
Mom smiled.
“I believe you. It’s hard to stop when you’re having fun. I feel exactly the same about the book I’m reading.”
The kids figured a lecture was coming.
But instead, Mom said:
“But there are some things you’re glad to see end, right?”
“Like what?” asked Will.
“Like brushing your teeth. Imagine if it never ended. All evening. All night. On and on.”
Mark went pale.
“We’d never get to stop?”
“Never.”
“Not even at Christmas?”
“Not even at Christmas.”
“That’s crazy!” said Ada.
Mom laughed.
“Luckily, brushing your teeth always ends. And so does a game. Or at least it takes a break.”
“And carry on tomorrow?” asked Mark.
“Exactly.”
Mom served dinner.
And the kids ate as if the food were trying to escape from their plates.
The next day they played again.
This time the sofa was a spaceship.
The carpet was planet Zog, the toy figures were the crew, and the stuffed rabbit was… an alien teacher.
After a while Mom came in.
“Ten more minutes, kids. Then it’s time to stop.”
Mark sighed.
“Okay.”
Ten minutes later Mom called:
“That’s it for today!”
The kids looked at each other.
Nobody wanted to stop.
Not even a little.
Mark was just about to say:
“Just one more minute!”
Ada was already opening her mouth to join in.
But Will suddenly whispered:
“Brushing our teeth. All the way to Christmas.”
All three froze for a moment.
Then Ada laughed.
“All right. Planet Zog will still be here tomorrow.”
They parked the spaceship.
They put the alien teacher away.
Mark left the figures in place so they could pick up exactly where they’d left off.
Mom smiled.
“So, is the game gone?”
Mark looked at the figures.
“No.”
“Then what is it doing?”
Will shrugged.
“I guess… it’s waiting.”
And that was exactly how it was.
A good game doesn’t have to last forever.
Sometimes it just needs a rest until tomorrow.
And at least there’s something to look forward to.
And from then on, whenever one of the children called, “Just one more minute!” everyone else would say:
“Uh-oh. The one-more-minute factory is working overtime again.”
Usually everyone burst out laughing.
And sometimes they even stopped.
Not always right away.
That would have been a little too fairy-tale, even for a fairy tale.
The End.