Trivia Night

“Son of a bitch!”

The car door slammed. I had hoped we could get out of the parking lot before the expletives started flying, but I hadn’t even started the car yet.

“Lake Athabasca! Who the hell knows anything about Lake Athabasca?”

I briefly considered mentioning that at least one person that night knew about Lake Athabasca, but now was not the time for that particular rejoinder.

Sunday night was trivia night at The Thirsty Turtle, a local watering hole favored by thirtysomethings who no longer had the tolerance for the loud bars out their youth. Each week, teams with names like “Beer Necessities” and “Quizzly Bears” put their respective heads together and competed for the ultimate prize: a $50 Thirsty Turtle gift card.

Trivia night held a special place in my heart. It was where I met my boyfriend for the first time. I had been the only sober member of my team (Les Quizerables), which meant I was responsible for submitting our answers. As I approached the bar, I overheard an animated, and one-sided, discussion between a man I didn’t recognize and our resident Trivia Host and bartender, Sean.

“Kramer vs. Kramer is not an 80s movie, Sean!” Don’t you bother to research these questions?” The man was gesticulating wildly with his arms to support his argument, but judging from Sean’s alarmed expression, it was having the opposite effect. Not one for conflict, I politely submitted my answer sheet and returned to my table.

I saw him again the following Sunday as we both stood in line for a drink. The Thirsty Turtle loosely-enforced a two drink minimum for all trivia players, so the bar was crowded leading up to the start of the festivities.

He was tall, handsome, and well-dressed. His name was Mark. He was a lawyer and had just moved to town after joining a local firm. His trivia team (Quiz Pro Quo) was comprised of several colleagues, all of whom Mark dismissed as “useless” in the trivia arena. I invited him to join my team and we hit it off immediately.

It was clear that Mark was extremely competitive. He insisted on being the one who transcribed each answer, stating that “illegible handwriting will cost you points.” On the rare occasions he didn’t know an answer, he would question any suggestions from the group and dismiss obvious guesses. After a few rounds, I found myself subject to sideways glances from my friends. I brushed off his quirky behavior.

For months after we started dating, the group finished in first place nearly every week. Mark became a celebrity at the bar and people begged to be on our team. We became inseparable and our relationship was becoming increasingly serious. He was intelligent, funny, and successful. Who wouldn’t fall for that? Sunday Trivia was our special night together and I couldn’t have been happier.

Which brings us back to Lake Athabasca.

Entering the seventh and final round that night, it was a dead heat between Les Quiz and a new team (Mr. Wise Guy). Despite the close score, Mark was his usual confident self. Losing wasn’t something he gave much consideration to. But that night, it happened. We lost by one point.

“Who was that guy?” Mark huffed on the ride home. “Was he playing by himself? What a weirdo!”

I laughed at him as I pulled onto the highway for the short drive to my apartment. Mark had been staying at my place most nights and I had considered asking him to move in with me.

“Let it go,” I responded. “We’ve won like six games in a row. People are probably sick of us winning.”

“You mean the other losers?” Mark said scornfully.

“It’s good to have a little competition,” I offered cheerfully. “Every hero needs a villain!” Mark rolled his eyes at me.

One week later we were back at our usual table preparing for that evening’s contest. I was making small talk with the group at the table next to us when I heard Mark speak.

“He’s here.”

I looked up and followed his gaze across the room. Mr. Wise Guy had just pulled up a chair and was sitting down at his table. He was alone again.

“I’m not losing to him again,” said Mark seriously. “He’s going down.”

“Whatever you say, cowboy,” I offered sarcastically. Mark shot me a serious look.

I had to hand it to him. He was on fire that evening. We breezed through each category, and scored a perfect ten for ten in the “90s Music” and “Current Affairs” categories. As soon as Mark would come up with the answer to a question, he would stare at Mr. Wise Guy to gauge how confident he was. But to Mark’s increasing irritation, the lone player seemed to match us category for category. At the end of six rounds, our team sat atop of the leaderboard, but Mr. Wise Guy was only five points behind us. Sean announced the final category for that evening and Mark’s shoulders slumped.

If there was one trivia category Mark did not excel at, it was art. Sure, he knew Van Gogh. He could pick a Monet out of a lineup. He had even visited the Louvre. But that was about it. The category was his Achilles heel and he was very defensive about it.

“You gotta be kidding me,” he mumbled.

The questions were announced one by one and I could tell by Mark’s vacant expression that this was not going to go well for us. We put our best guesses down on the paper and turned the sheet into Sean. Fifteen minutes later, the final scores were posted on the TV screen above the bar.

The Wise Guy: 59 points

Les Quizerables: 55 points

“I’ll meet you at the car” was all Mark said before walking away and leaving me alone at the table.

He sat in silence the entire ride home. No outbursts. No expletives. I tried to break the tension several times, but to no avail. Later that evening we were watching tv on the couch when he finally spoke.

“You know, it would be nice if there were some subjects you knew about,” he hissed, not taking his eyes off the television.

I was confused. I didn’t understand what he meant.

“Trivia!,” he barked at me. “It would be nice to have a little help! I guess you’re not as smart as I thought.”

I was taken aback by his sudden outburst. He had never spoken to me like this before. I didn’t know how to respond. I left the couch and headed for the bedroom, slamming the door behind me to show my displeasure.

The next morning I woke to the sound of my alarm. Typically Mark was up before me, but that day I didn’t hear the usual sounds of his morning routine. I got dressed and found Mark asleep on the couch. I left without saying goodbye.

Later, during my lunch break, I heard my phone chime and looked down at a text from Mark.

“I’m so sorry about last night. That was out of line.” The text message included a red heart emoji.

“Yes, you were,” I texted back. I was still irritated with him, but appreciated the apology. “I’ll bring home dinner,” I added with another message.

That evening, as I walked in the door balancing bags of takeout Chinese on my arms, Mark walked into the room with a prideful grin on his face.

“I found him!” he said, not offering to help me with the heavy bags.

“What are you talking about?”

“Mr. Wise Guy himself!” beamed Mark. He held his phone up to my face. Facebook was open on the screen and sure enough, our trivia nemesis was there staring back at me. The name under the photo read Caleb Holden.

“Pretty good detective work, huh?” said Mark pridefully.

“Did you go to work today?” I realized he was wearing the same clothes from the previous night.

“I called in,” he responded a little sheepishly. “Didn’t feel like going. So anyway, I first went through Sean’s friend list, but didn’t see Wise Guy. So then I went through a few other people I know from the bar and—“

“I don’t care,” I interrupted. I dropped the Chinese food onto the counter and began unpacking the bags.

“I just thought you would want to know who is beating me,” said Mark. “I mean…beating us.”

If Mark continued his cyber stalking, he didn’t talk about it. And that was fine with me. As the week progressed, I found myself dreading the weekend. I knew that by Sunday, Mark would be raring to go for another trivia outing. By Sunday afternoon I had decided I didn’t want to go. I knew I was breaking months of tradition, but I was still feeling uncomfortable after the way Mark acted toward me that night on the couch. I lied and told Mark I wasn’t feeling well. I even faked a cough for dramatic effect.

“I totally understand, babe.” He leaned over and kissed me on the forehead.

I immediately felt guilty for my deception. I had overreacted, of course. It was so stupid to be apprehensive about this whole situation. He was just a little overly competitive. Big deal.

“Well, I’ll see you later.” Mark’s words had interrupted my brief reverie.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

He grabbed his car keys by the door. “I have a showdown with Mr. Wise Guy!” He flashed a wide smile and left the apartment.

I tried to relax while Mark was gone. I ran a bubble bath for myself and read a few pages of a neglected novel. But my mind kept going back to the argument we had on the couch.

I guess you’re not as smart as I thought.

He had said it with such contempt. It was like another person was speaking. I couldn’t shake the feeling that in that moment Mark showed me a part of himself he didn’t intend to. And over what? Trivia! I thought about calling my best friend, Morgan, to vent to her, but it sounded so ridiculous in my head.

My boyfriend of one year is obsessed with a man who keeps besting him at trivia. But otherwise he is a perfect, loving partner.

I laughed to myself.

I had just dozed off to sleep, when I heard the door to the bedroom open and Mark walked in.

“I have good news and bad news,” he announced. I thought about pretending to be asleep, but I responded.

“What’s the bad news?” I asked cautiously.

“The bad news is Mr. Wise Guy beat me again.” He sat down on the corner of the bed to remove his shoes.

“And the good news?” I asked.

“He’s cheating!” Mark bellowed with glee. His eyes were wide like a cat who had been introduced to a new toy.

“It’s the only explanation!” he continued. “I watched him the whole night. I don’t know how he’s doing it, but he’s definitely cheating!”

“Did you ever consider that maybe he’s just smarter than you?” I asked.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I told you he’s cheating and—“

“You’re acting insane.”

“and I’m going to make him pay!”

I wasn’t sure I heard him correctly. “You’re going to what?”

He stood up and stared down at me. Even in the dim light of the bedroom, I could see darkness in his eyes. “No one embarrasses me like that.”

We didn’t see each other over the next few days. Mark told me he had to work late the rest of the week and said he would be staying at his apartment instead of sleeping over. We made plans to have dinner on Sunday night. I thought it would give us the chance to clear the air. I told myself that there was a reason for his bizarre behavior. He was probably stressed from work. Or perhaps someone in his family was sick and he was worried. Either way, he was lashing out for reasons beyond missed trivia questions. I was sure of it.

On Sunday night we met each other at the restaurant, a charming bistro located downtown. Mark was dressed smartly in his work suit and it reminded me of the first time I met him.

The dinner felt like exactly what we needed. The food was excellent and the conversation between Mark and I had a reassuring effect on me. He was his charming self again. It was nice to have a Sunday night away from the confines of The Thirsty Turtle.

We talked for close to two hours. I asked about his work (demanding, but meaningful) and his family back home (happy and healthy). Eventually, I felt comfortable enough to broach the topic of his recent agitation.

“You’ve been acting…differently lately,” I began. I was treading lightly.

Mark took a deep breath. He leaned in closely and held my hand.

“I’m sorry, babe. I know I’ve been a little off.” He paused to take a sip of water. “Everything has been so good between us this past year. Sometimes I worry I’m going to mess it all up.”

I squeezed his hand and smiled. I was relieved to hear his concerns. I told him I felt the same way. I wanted this relationship to work.

We finished our dinner and Mark paid the check. I stood up to put on my coat.

“Tonight’s the big night,” he said suddenly. “Are you excited?”

I had a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. “What do you mean?” I asked.

A thin smile spread across his face. “Time to take down Mr. Wise Guy.”

My heart sank. I sat back down at the table and stared at him. I couldn’t tiptoe around this issue any longer.

“Why are you doing this?” I asked.

“Why am I doing what?” he snapped defensively.

“This obsession!” My voice came out louder than I intended it to. One of the waiters glanced my way. I took a deep breath before I spoke again. “This isn’t normal. This is beyond being competitive. You lose a few games of trivia and you act like—“

“I didn’t lose!” he spat. His voice was heavy with venom. “He cheated!”

I let out a harsh laugh. This was ridiculous. I felt like I was suddenly dealing with a child. “Grow up,” I whispered. “You lost.”

The sudden impact of his first hitting the table made me jump out of my chair. I was stunned into silence. I looked up at Mark and his face was flush with anger. His hands were trembling. This was the person I had seen that night on the couch. I wondered which version of Mark was the real one. What else was he hiding from me?

“We’re going to be late.” He spoke softly. I could tell he was trying to compose himself. I sat still in my seat. The dinner we shared at that table felt like it was from a dream. I didn’t know what to say. I was angry. I was disappointed.

“Please leave,” I said finally.

He looked at me and then down at his watch. Without saying a word, he turned around and left the restaurant.

I went to my car and sat in the parking lot. I kept thinking about Mark’s fist hitting the table. I thought about how quickly he had turned into something else entirely.

I looked down at the clock on my phone. It was 9:30pm. Trivia was in full swing. I picked up the phone and dialed The Thirsty Turtle. This is silly, I thought to myself. I don’t need to call. Mark has a temper, but he’s not dangerous. I put down the phone.

But what if you’re wrong?

I grabbed the phone again and dialed the number. I let it ring for several minutes, but no one answered. I started the car and pulled out of the restaurant parking lot. I calculated the distance in my head. I figured I could be at the bar in twenty minutes.

I drove with one hand and dialed The Thirsty Turtle with the other. Still no answer. I moved to the left lane to pass a slow driver. I cruised through an empty red light. I was minutes away. As I made a right turn onto the street that would take me to the bar, the inside of my car suddenly illuminated from the light of my vibrating phone. I slowed down and looked at the screen. I immediately recognized the number. My heart was racing.

Hello?” I answered.

There was a pause. And then a familiar voice.

“Hey, it’s Sean at the bar.” His voice was soft and timid. “It’s about Mark.”

I could see something in the distance as I drove. Blue and red lights danced around the trees next to The Thirsty Turtle. I pulled into the parking lot and saw a police car in front of the entrance. An ambulance was parked behind it. People were standing outside, their eyes glued to a man in handcuffs.

They were staring at Mark.

I got out of my car and approached the police car. As if he could sense that I was there, he quickly turned his head and locked eyes with me. He gave me a big smile.

“Babe, we did it!” he screamed. “We won!” His words were quick. He was barely coherent.

I stopped next to the crowd and stared at him. His shirt was torn and it was missing a button. There was blood on his fists.

Tears began to fill my eyes. I could hear people behind me whispering to each other. The police officer turned his attention to me.

“Ma’am, do you know this man?” he asked.

I looked at Mark.

The real Mark.

“No,” I said. “I don’t know this man.”