by Matt Moss
What are you doing, John?
Whatever I can to get by. Whatever it takes to get my mind off of everything else.
This is my life now.
You don’t have to do this. Money isn’t an issue. You don’t need to work.
It’s not about the money.
It’s deeper than that.
And besides, work is a good thing, right?
Right.
You don’t believe that. You’re just doing this to fill the void.
I know.
The engines cut off and everyone goes to lunch break.
I follow suit and tag along at the back of the line as we make our way to the break shack. Inside the tent, I take a seat at one of the picnic tables. A guy sits next to me wearing bib overalls and sporting a full ginger beard.
“New guy?” he asks.
“Yeah, first day. Steve,” I introduce myself and shake his hand.
“Mike. Nice to have you with us.” He opens up his oversized lunchbox. “You got anything to eat?”
I wave a hand. “No. Wasn’t really expecting to go straight to work today so I didn’t pack anything.”
He grabs half a meat sandwich, Saran wrapped, and plops it down in front of me. “Here.”
“I don’t want to take your lunch. Really, I’m fine.”
He turns to me and puts a hand on his stomach. “Does it look like I need to eat more food? Eat the sandwich.” He unwraps his half and takes a bite.
I smile and unwrap my half. It feels good to be back on the job site. Even though these people will never be my friends, and we’ll never invite each other over for drinks or barbecues because of my situation, I feel like I know them more than anyone else. I’m one of them. I’ll always be one of them.
The sandwich ain't half bad, and I offer my gratitude after a couple bites. “Thanks, bud.”
He opens a pack of crackers. “Don’t mention it. I figure you’re a good worker or else you wouldn’t be here working right after an interview. Must have impressed the boss man.” He belches, takes a drink of soda and grins at me awkwardly.
I never said they weren’t an odd bunch.
If the shoe fits…
“I can hold my own,” I say and take a drink of water from the paper cup.
“How long have you been pushing dirt?”
“Fifteen years, give or take. You?”
“Five.”
“You like it?” I ask.
He shrugs. “It pays the bills.”
And that’s the point of everything, isn’t it? To pay the bills. What can I do to pay the bills?
He pulls a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket. “You smoke?”
“Nah.”
The wood flexes as he rises from the bench, leaving me alone in a tent full of strangers as he makes his way to the smoke shack.
I watch as the others eat, laugh, and bullshit with one another. It’s easy to tell what kind of person each one is by the circle they surround themselves with. To my left, four guys are talking about pussy, bragging and making jokes. Across the way, three more are talking about fighting and how badass they are. To my right, there’s some guys bitching about their wives and kids, and talking about what television shows they’re currently watching.
Then you have the loners who sit by themselves. Hard to get a handle on them, other than the fact that they don’t want to be around anyone else, which does indeed say something about them as a person.
Of course, my observations don’t sum any of them up as individuals, just as I wouldn’t want someone judging me in turn. It’s just a general observation in the moment, and something that I do by default sometimes. But, for the most part, I’m pretty good at it, and it doesn’t take a lot for me to get an accurate impression of someone. Usually, I can tell what kind of person they are after watching them for about five minutes.
But who am I to judge?
You’re more fucked up than any of them.
Did you not just hear what I said? Shut the fuck up.
STFU, got it.
People start to leave the tent, indicating that break time must be over. I follow them out and fill my paper cup from the orange cooler one more time before going back to work. The water’s hot and tastes like old plastic, but that’s okay. It’s familiar to me.
You don’t have to put yourself through this.
Yes. Yes, I do.
By the way, sorry for my foul language.
I’m working on it.
Back at home, I walk into the kitchen to meet Jenny and the enticing aroma that she’s got wafting through the house.
“Hey, baby. How was the job interview?” Jenny asks, cooking supper over the stove.
I give her a kiss. “It was okay. Didn’t expect to actually go to work.”
“You got the job?” she asks, excited.
“I got the job.”
She squeals and kisses me again. “Oh my gosh, that’s amazing! You must have impressed them.”
“You could say that.” I go to the fridge for a glass of milk.
She stirs the chicken. “Well, that doesn’t surprise me. You’ve always been very good at whatever you do.”
Don’t say that. No, I haven’t.
“Where’s Carla?”
“Playing in the backyard.”
I walk to the sliding-glass door with milk in hand and watch my baby girl as she plays on the swing set. She’s so beautiful, so carefree, trying her best to push the pain aside and live her best life with a big smile on her face, her blonde hair blowing in the wind as she swings. What I wouldn’t give to feel that way again.
Then go do it.
I drain the glass, place it on the table, and go outside to join Carla.
“Daddy!” Carla greets me like she hasn’t seen me in years, and her voice is like music to my ears.
“Can I swing with you?” I ask, reaching for the swing next to her.
“You’re too big to swing,” she tells me with a giggle.
I squeeze my butt into the seat and take hold of the chains. “You know, I think you’re right. It’s been a while for me. How do you do this again?”
“You pump your legs like this,” she tells me and demonstrates.
“Okay, let me try.” I backpedal to gain a little momentum, then lift my feet from the ground. “Like this?”
“Yes. Higher.”
“Alright, I’ll try.” I pump my legs and pull on the chains, rising higher and higher. The motion of the swing is exhilarating, and one that I haven’t felt in many years. “Woohoo!” I begin to laugh, and Carla laughs with me. I throw my head back and make my body straight as a plank. Close my eyes and feel the sun on my face. Rise back up and go higher. “Is this high enough?”
Carla giggles, trying her best to go higher herself. “Yes!”
I keep rising. Higher. Higher.
The braces in the back begin to rise, threatening to flip the swing set under my weight. As soon as I feel it start to rock, I throw my feet down to break the momentum. Carla does the same, and we look at each other, wide-eyed.
“I was going so high I almost flipped us!” I tell her. “Did you feel that?”
“I told you that you were too big,” she replies, and we both share a laugh. I stand up and take her in my arms, swinging her around in the air. As we share a magical moment, I see Jenny standing in the doorway with a big smile on her face.
“You need a shower, daddy. You stink,” Carla tells me.
I bury my nose into my armpit. “Shew, I think you’re right,” Set her down and kiss her on the head. “I love you, Carla.”
Strolling towards Jenny, I hold my arms out. “Carla says I stink. What do you think?”
Jenny points a finger at me. “I didn’t want to say anything earlier. But you really do stink.”
“Come here and give me a hug,” I say, and run towards her with arms wide open.
She laughs and runs away. “No. I don’t want your stench on me. John, no…”
I catch h
old of her waist and wrestle her from behind, spinning her around to face me. We share a long, slow kiss.
“You know, I kinda like the way you smell,” she tells me with a grin.
“Really? I guess there’s no need for me to shower then.”
She shoves me in play. “I’m kidding. I don’t like it that much. Go take a shower.”
I give her another peck on the lips and do as I’m told.
The hot water and the steam feel good, and it does wonders for my spirit. I breathe and close my eyes as it washes away the toils of the day. In the past, the shower was where I would entertain my thoughts and focus on what I needed to do, or brainstorm a new idea. Not anymore. I’ve changed my routine and now use the element of water to make my mind go blank. It’s about the only time I can silence my thoughts, as even sleep and the darkness of night doesn’t seem to keep them at bay.
Those are some of the worst times.
As the hot water beats down on my back, I do nothing but breathe and feel. That’s it. Wash it all away. Focus on nothing else but the…
John…
My eyes snap open and my breath quickens. “You again. Deakins.”
Hello, old friend. Why won’t you talk to me?
“Because you’re not real. You’re gone.”
It doesn’t feel like I’m gone. As a matter of fact, I’ve never felt more alive.
No. I’m done.
“I’m not doing this. This is just a part of my mind that’s dealing with the grief. You’re just a figment of my imagination.”
Is that what they taught you in the group therapy class?
“How do you know I’m going to those classes? No. Shut up, I’m done.” I turn the handle on the shower and blast myself with cold water in an attempt to shock my body. I stand there and focus on my breath.
He’s gone.
I cut the water off, shake my head and dry off with a towel. Stand in front of the mirror and look at myself.
It’s alright, John. You’re fine.
No, you’re not. You’re hearing voices in your head.
I hear his familiar laugh—the one that came when he would play innocent pranks on certain newcomers that joined Alterlife for the first time.
What do you want, Deakins? Why can’t you just leave me alone?
I’ve been trying to tell you what I want for a long time now, but you won’t listen to me.
If someone’s ignoring you, one would think that you might take a hint.
I’m persistent. And for good reason. Life as you know it is in grave danger.
Yeah, yeah. The virus, right? I don’t give a shit about that.
You should give a shit about it.
Because it’s soon going to take over your world in a way you can’t imagine.
I thought it was being handled in Alterlife. Pretty much fizzling out as the guilds are fighting it off, and that less people are playing, anyway, because they’re afraid of getting the virus.
The loners in Alterlife don’t have much of a chance.
It’s true that only the strong survive now, and those who have banded together were wise in doing so.
But all their efforts to stop the virus are just a bandaid on a wound that’s festering under the skin.
A pause.
John, you need to become Ace again and finish what you started before it’s too late. You must kill the gods to destroy the virus.
“No. I told you that I’m done.”
“John?” Jenny calls my name from outside the room. “Who are you talking to?”
I break my gaze away from the mirror.
“Nobody, dear.”
Nobody.
4
Sharing Secrets
The next day, I go to work and keep my mind on the job, afraid that if I let it wander, Deakins will creep back in.
How is he even able to talk to me? He was AI, and part of a game, so I don’t understand how he can communicate in the real world…
Maybe it’s part of the virus. Could it be that, somehow, Deakins can talk to me because I’ve had the virus before? Are they somehow connected?
At lunch, I sit by myself in the same spot and notice that the big guy with the ginger beard is out of work today. He’s not big on talking, but at least he’s somebody. And I wouldn’t mind to talk to someone, just for the sake of keeping my mind off of Deakins, the virus, and everything else related to Alterlife.
Despite all efforts, I keep thinking about Deakins and how he’s urging me to finish my mission; to kill the gods. I’ll have to admit that a part of me, the biggest part, wants to do exactly that. But every time I think about logging back in, I see Ben lying comatose in that hospital bed, and that seals my resolve to never play the game again.
The work day ends, and Mr. Fisher catches me before I leave. “Hey, John. I’ve been watching you work and have been talking with the foreman; damn, son, you’re a hell of an operator. I’m beginning to think I should pay you a little more money.”
I smile and wave him off. “Thank you, sir. What you’re paying me is fine.”
He puts both hands on his hips and looks at me over the top of his glasses. “Thirty dollars an hour is the base pay for a mediocre operator, not an expert like yourself. I don’t want to lose you to someone else who’s willing to pay you more.”
“I’m not here for the money.”
He shakes his head and spits a mouthful of tobacco to the side. Chuckles. “That beats all I’ve ever heard; a man who works a construction job, but not for the money.” He puts his hands up, at a loss. “Alright then. Well, if you change your mind, let me know.”
I nod. “I appreciate that.”
“Keep up the good work” he says, then walks away and begins talking to someone else.
I get in my car and wait until everyone else leaves the dirt parking lot before turning the engine over and driving away.
I walk into the group meeting late and am the last to arrive.
“Sorry,” I apologize and take my seat next to the smoking girl who put me on the spot last time. She raises an eyebrow at me and smirks.
“It’s quite alright,” the group leader says. It’s Tarin again today. “You’re just in time. We were just about to release all the negative energy in our bodies by doing a couple of simple breathing techniques.” He claps his hands and looks around the circle, accentuating the movements with his arms. “Okay. Deep breath in. And exhale. Three times in rapid succession.” He does it for demonstration. “One more full breath in, hold and count to twenty.”
Everyone watches as he holds his breath, and at least half of them are already doing it with him, enthralled. Inside, I’m shaking my head.
This is the longest twenty seconds ever.
He exhales. “Now let it go, slowly.” Holds three fingers up. “We do that three times, and focus on feeling the negative energy leave. Feeling and embracing the positive that flows into our bodies. Everyone ready?”
The snarky woman beside me raises her hand.
Tarin rolls his eyes and extends an arm towards the door. “Go ahead.” He looks around. “Anyone else need to use the bathroom? No?” He speaks as the woman goes to leave. “Alright, let’s get started then.”
Let the healing begin!
For the hell of it, I do like the monkeys do.
From the outside world, we all look like a bunch of weirdos, no doubt. A spiritual cult that’s into self-love, worshipping the planet, hallucinogens, and group orgies.
I wish I had a video of this.
We finish the breathing exercises and, to my surprise, I feel a little better. Less anxious. Maybe there’s something to this hippie stuff.
I’m not nearly as aggravated when Margarette goes on with her usual, self-absorbed bullshit. Today, it’s about her cats and how one of them broke one of her collectible Christmas figurines the other day. And the craziest part is that nobody even asked her why she has Christmas decorations out in the summer.
She finishes talking, and everyo
ne else encourages her and thanks her for sharing, enabling her even more.
“Margarette, we’re all so sorry about your broken Santa figurine. But you learned to let go and to not hold on so tightly to a material item. I’m so proud of that personal growth and thank you for sharing that with us today,” Tarin says, then presses his palms together and bows, like some karate zen master. “Who’s next?” he asks, looking for a volunteer.
Sure. Why not…
My hand slips up.
“Steve,” Tarin calls out and points at me. “What would you like to share today?”
Anytime someone speaks, they introduce themselves to the group, even if they’ve been here for weeks or months. It’s part of the process. And it’s for the others who are new to the group. I’ve been here for over a month now, and this is the first time I’ve introduced myself other than saying that my name is Steve.
“Hello, everyone. My name is Steve, and I’m addicted to virtual reality.”
“Hello, Steve,” they all reply. Some sit at rapt attention while others just stare blankly. And yes, there are even a few who really don’t want to hear me talk, offended that it took me this long to be part of the group, I suppose. Either way, it feels weird saying that I’m an addict.
But it’s true.
“Go ahead, Steve. Unload your burdens,” Tarin says.
I look at him then stare at the floor.
Where do I start?
I begin to talk, wary to not say too much about who I am or why I’m here. Basically, I just tell them about how I’m struggling with the absence of VR in my life and how I’m starting to hear voices in my head that aren’t mine.
“Wait a minute. You’re actually having a conversation with this voice inside your head? And it’s a character from a video game that has a mind of its own?” a man asks, intrigued. His name is Tony.
