by Baron Sord
One night after dinner, I had told Dad about those kids playing D&D at school.
“They played on their phones?” Dad had said skeptically.
“Yeah,” I’d nodded. “Do you think maybe I can get a phone? So…you know… so maybe I can play with them?”
“Hell no,” he had scowled and shaken his head. “We don’t have the money and you don’t play D&D on your phone.”
“Yeah you do,” I’d said, irritated. Like any 11 year old, I was starting to sense that maybe I knew everything and my Dad didn’t know anything.
“No you don’t,” Dad had chuckled as he walked into his and Mom’s bedroom in our old apartment and came out with a cardboard box and set it on the kitchen table. “This is how you play D&D.”
I could still remember Dad pulling out his old D&D rulebook and handing it to me to read while he unpacked the box. “Back in the 80s when I was your age, your grandpa bought this for me at a thrift store for a dollar. Do phones cost a dollar? No they don’t. I’ve had this book 40 years, and I can tell you, you don’t need a damn phone to play D&D.”
“Language,” Mom had said from the couch in the living room where she was reading a paper book. Mom never read anything but paper books. She bought them at garage sales for pennies on the dollar. Sitting on the floor in front of her playing with a bunch of second-hand Bratz dolls was my sister Emily, who was 6.
“There are sensitive ears in the vicinity,” Mom had said.
“Darn phone,” Dad had corrected with a grin.
Mom had smiled and gone back to her reading.
“Mommy,” Emily had said thoughtfully, “what’s a damn phone?”
Dad had chuckled.
Mom had glared at him and said to Emily, “Nothing, sweetheart. Go back to your dolls.”
Meanwhile, I had been busy looking at Dad’s rulebook. It had been practically falling apart in my hands. It wasn’t a fancy hardbound full-color D&D 6e rule book. It was a ragged old black and white paper booklet with a one color cover. I could still picture it: a white Dungeons & Dragons logo floating above the head of a big blue dragon (which I would later learn was actually a red dragon). The dragon sat on a pile of blue treasure in a blue dungeon somewhere. Standing in the foreground was a blue wizard with a sparkling blue wand and a blue knight with a blue bow and arrow, both of them ready to slay the shit out of that dragon and take home the huge horde of blue gold.
“What’s this?” I had grimaced, not at all impressed with the scuffed old book.
“It’s a gateway to adventure,” Dad had said seriously.
“A what?”
By that point, 8 year old Jason had joined us at the table. “What are you guys doing?” Back then, Jay and I got along great and had been the best of friends.
“Playing D&D,” Dad had said as he pulled out a faded Nike shoebox which he set in front of Jason. Dad lifted off the lid, revealing a mountain of metal and plastic miniatures, some painted, some not.
“Wow!” Jason had been instantly fascinated, clawing through them and setting them up on the kitchen table like rows of soldiers. He was careful to arrange them in perfectly straight lines. When he was finished, he hunched over and rested his chin on the table and stared at his platoon of metal men and monsters, his face only inches away.
“Make sure you don’t lick them,” Dad had joked. “The metal ones have lead in them.”
“What’s lead?” Jason had asked innocently, his chin still resting on the table.
“Something you don’t lick,” I’d said, smiling at Dad for approval.
“Right,” Dad had winked at me and rubbed my shoulder.
Curious, Emily looked up from her Bratz dolls and said, “What are you guys licking?”
Mom sat up from the couch and said, “Are you sure this is a good idea, Walt?”
“It’s fine,” Dad said. “I never licked miniatures and I got the metal ones when I was Jason’s age. So Jason won’t lick them either, right Jay?”
Jason nodded his head vigorously, “Right!”
“Okaaaay,” Mom had said. “Just be careful, you three.”
Emily got up from her dolls and came to the table. “Are you guys eating candy or something?”
“Walt!” Mom had laughed with frustration.
For the next five minutes, Dad sat Emily in his lap and explained to her that she wasn’t allowed to touch the figures until she was older. Emily had a meltdown. Mom was furious. Exasperated, Dad put away all the metal figures and we just used the plastic ones. Fortunately, we had plenty.
Once everybody had settled down, Dad unrolled a faded and stained erasable mat on the table. It was covered in gridlines. He also took out a pack of markers, and tossed me a Ziploc bag full of colorful polyhedral dice.
“What are these?” I’d asked.
“Dice.”
“I thought dice were square.”
“And every other shape you can think of.”
“Lemme see!” Emily said, reaching for the bag.
I opened it and handed it to her across the table and said, “Don’t eat any of them.”
Dad winked at me.
“I won’t!” Emily frowned as she dug her hand into the bag. “They’re so sparkly!” She grinned. “Are they diamonds?”
Dad had chuckled, “No, they’re plastic.”
Jason glared at Emily and parroted Dad like he already knew, “They’re plastic, Mem. Duh.”
“Hush,” Dad said.
“Can I play with them?” Emily asked.
“Of course you can, sweetheart,” Dad had said. “But keep them on the table.”
She went nuts rolling them. Several fell onto the floor, which I picked up, and the rest knocked Jason’s soldiers over like bowling pins.
“Dad!” Jason hollered. “She’s killing my men!”
Dad chuckled and scooped up the dice. “We’ll play with these later.”
“I’m not done!” Emily bawled.
“In a minute, Mem.”
The next thing Dad did was have me, Jason, and Emily pick miniatures for our characters. I picked a plastic HeroClix of Colossus from the X-Men, Jason picked Captain America, and Emily picked Batgirl. Dad didn’t bat an eyelash at our choices. We didn’t even roll up stats.
On one end of the map, Dad drew a square room with an entrance and an exit in the back (which would lead to the rest of the dungeon later that night). He also drew a squiggly square in the corner of the room before reaching into his pocket to grab some spare change, which he handed to me.
“What do I do with this?” I’d asked.
“Stack it on the treasure chest.” He’d pointed at the squiggly square drawn on the mat. “You get the treasure if you beat all the monsters.”
“I want the money!” Jason said.
“You have to earn it first,” Dad smiled. He set a few random monster figs in front of the treasure and told us to place our HeroClix figures at the entrance facing the monsters. Then he told us we were under attack.
I remembered asking him, “Don’t we need phones to play?”
Dad had scoffed and said, “Phones make you stupid. Books and dice worked just fine when I was 11 and they still work now.” He’d smiled at that point and said, “Besides, book batteries never run out. Ask your mom. She’ll tell you.”
Mom had giggled but kept on reading.
And I was like, “Books have batteries?”
“Your dad is making a joke,” Mom had said without looking up from her book.
Dad had merely smiled at me in reply.
While we played that night, he basically walked us through everything and we learned the rules as we went along. I’d never had so much fun in my entire 11 year old life.
Turned out Dad was an epic Dungeon Master. He always made the game exciting, constantly improvised, and always put on a show like he was playing to a sold out crowd. He’d get into character as the NPCs and the villains and all the monsters. It didn’t take long before Dad had taught us all the rules an
d we’d made proper character sheets for our characters, on notebook paper of course. Dad had said it was important because it made math fun.
After playing frequently for weeks, I’d read the rules enough to figure out how to roll up a character on my own (a fighter, of course) and helped Emily roll up a thief. Jason rolled up a cleric because he was fascinated with the idea of casting spells, but wanted to be able to fight too.
Man, we used those characters for years.
Dad DMed us through tons of adventures. Mom would play sometimes, but she’d always make me or Jason figure out all her stats and keep track of them. She was happy to roll her own dice, but never had any idea if she scored a hit unless she rolled a natural 20. She knew that much. And she never kept track of her hit points. Just charged right into whatever adventure awaited. I grinned thinking about it.
One thing Mom was a master at was role-playing. She would get into character like crazy, which often caused us to get caught up in hilarious adventures. Jason, Emily, and I loved all the funny conversations Mom and Dad had when they were in character. It was a riot. Sometimes I missed those days so much it hurt.
I sighed to myself.
When Mom died, family game nights stopped for good.
Dad never talked about D&D ever again.
Me, I couldn’t bear to play the game. Reminded me too much of what we’d all lost when we lost Mom. Playing card games like Magic: The Gathering with my neighbor Ben was fine because I never played any growing up. Same with reading comic books with Dad back then or nowadays with Ben: Mom was never into comics, so there was no connection.
As for Emily, I don’t think she ever played D&D or any RPGs ever again. Couldn’t blame her.
Yeah, my days of family gaming were dead and gone. The only gaming anybody in the Byrne family did anymore was Jason with his Reternity addiction. Nothing about that had anything to do with family, which pissed me off. Maybe a part of me thought Jason was disrespecting Mom’s memory by playing without the rest of us. If she couldn’t play, we shouldn’t either. It didn’t make any logical sense, but emotions never did.
Thinking about it made me sigh with sadness.
It was what it was.
Jason was an adult and I was old enough to know life didn’t always turn up roses. But I didn’t have to be happy about it.
—: o o o :—
After I got off the monorail and walked to Dad’s apartment building, he opened his front door and winced, “Hey, son.” He tried to downplay his pain.
“How’s the back?” I asked.
“Oh, you know. Fucked.” He winked at me. “Come on in.”
Dad had been living off workman’s comp ever since he got hit by the bucket of an unmanned backhoe that glitched out on a construction site and shattered his spine. Jason had been living here rent-free and leeching off Dad the whole time. Yet another reason Jason’s Reternity addiction drove me nuts. He should’ve been out working and helping pay Dad’s bills instead of playing a damn game. Me, I gave Dad money whenever he needed it and I didn’t even live here.
I walked inside the tiny rundown apartment. Same old shabby living room, same old shabby furniture I grew up with. It was old then. Now it was falling apart. Except for his elevator chair. That was sturdy and brand new. Well, nearly. I bought it second-hand for him after he busted his back. Cost a big chunk of change, but it was worth it. He couldn’t get out of a regular chair anymore without help.
“You want a snack?” Dad puttered into the tiny kitchen.
“Nah,” I said, glancing at the kitchen table. It always reminded me of Mom and D&D nights and the days before Jason turned into a waste of space. Part of me wanted to reminisce with Dad about how much fun we’d all had, but talking about Mom always made him want to cry and talking about Jason before he’d turned into a leech always made me want to cry. With a grimace I shoved the good memories down. Me and D&D and the good old days had long since parted ways. Times changed, and not always for the better.
“I got fresh strawberries,” Dad said.
“They Frankenfood?”
Dad opened the refrigerator and smiled at me over the door. “Nope. Not these.” He held up a one-pint blue-green cardboard basket.
I took the basket and looked at them. Deep red, real ripe. I could smell them. My mouth was already watering. “Whose dick you have to suck to get these?”
Dad chuckled and grinned, “It wasn’t a dick.”
I laughed big. “You still dating that hydro-farmer woman? What was her name again?”
“Nicole.”
“She still a screamer?” I kidded.
“When I want strawberries, she is.”
We both laughed while Dad prepped half the strawberries. He uncapped a bottled of trucked-in water and poured about a quarter cup into a bowl, put the strawberries in, and swished them around with his fingers. These days, most American tap water was reclaimed and nobody wanted to drink waste water if they didn’t have to. After he laid the strawberries on a plate, he offered me the bowl with the water.
“You want this?”
“Nah, I’m good.”
“Drink it. I had a glass earlier.”
“You sure? It’s your water, Dad.”
“Yes. You drink it.”
“Okay.” I took it and swallowed it down. Clean water was precious.
Dad leaned against the counter instead of sitting down, which was too much of a production. His back brace was visible beneath his button-down shirt. It was a hard chest piece of plastic, form-fitting like the new lightweight kevlar body armor I saw cops wearing. When the doctors and robo-surgeons replaced Dad’s L2 and L4 vertebrae with 3D printed cloned bones (which were sourced form his own DNA), they promised us they’d last at least 20 years. That was 3 years ago. They were already starting to dissolve. I’d seen the X-Rays. In another ten years, they’d start to crumble. So much for modern medicine. We should’ve had them put pins and rods in his broken vertebrae. Those would’ve lasted. Now, he was in pain all the time, but he wouldn’t admit it. Refused to take painkillers because he said he didn’t want to ruin his brain too. I couldn’t argue with that.
“How’s work?” he asked.
“Same old.” I chomped on the strawberry. Heaven. “Damn, that’s good.”
“Yeah,” he smiled. “How are the ladies treating you?”
“At work?”
“Yeah.”
I grinned, “What, the girls who come in? Or the waitresses?”
“Either.”
I shrugged, “Fine.”
He smirked, “You know what I mean. You boning anybody?”
“I wish,” I chuckled.
Dad grunted, “Forget I said anything. If I was your age today, I’d shoot myself. We didn’t have the super clap when I was young. All we had was AIDS.”
“Don’t remind me.”
All the old STDs you used to be able to cure with antibiotics now had mega-resistant strains. Having sex with a stranger was a dangerous game. It was safer to be monogamous or celibate. I was monogamous when things went my way, celibate when they didn’t. Usually, they didn’t.
Changing the subject, I said, “When’re you gonna make Jason get a job? He’s 26. Don’t you think it’s about time?”
Dad shrugged. Same answer every time: no answer. In all his life, Dad had never taken nothing from nobody. But when it came to Jason, he was a pushover.
I rolled my eyes, “If Jason would stop playing Reternity Online for half a minute and get a real job, he could make bank as a programmer. More than I’ll ever make tending bar.”
“He likes it.”
“It’s a game, Dad. Not a job. Jason has the brains to get himself out of this neighborhood. He’s wasting his talent.”
“He’s not hurting anybody.”
“Yeah, but he isn’t helping anybody either. The least he could do is pay you some rent.”
Dad gave me a pleading look, wanting me to stop.
“Forget it,” I said. Jason was ne
ver going to change. Making Dad talk about it only bummed him out. I chomped another strawberry.
Dad sighed, “So, what can I do you for, Logan? You didn’t just come by for strawberries.”
My stomach gurgled. I wasn’t ready to tell Dad about Emily until I had some good news to share. I didn’t want him freaking out. He had enough shit to deal with. I grunted, “I need to talk to Jason.”
“What?” Dad chuckled. “Are you messing with me, son?” He knew Jason and I rarely talked these days, mainly because Jason never logged out.
“Nope. I need to talk to him.”
Dad tipped his head toward the back of the apartment. “He’s in his room. But he’s logged on. You might have to wake him.”
“My pleasure,” I smirked. I didn’t know from experience, but I’d heard being yanked out of an immersive game like Reternity was about as fun as being in the middle of sex and having your parents walk in the room.
Jason’s bedroom was five feet from the kitchen. The door was closed. There was a stolen STOP sign nailed to it. Written across the bottom of the sign in a black shellac tagger’s marker was the phrase, “Gamers Only.”
That sign had been there since Jason was 12, when I’d stolen it for him, back when I’d do anything for my brother. Almost got caught by a drone running facial and gait recognition. I’d had to pull my T-shirt up over my head and fake a limp for 10 blocks before it stopped following me. Lucky for me it was too stupid to detect the octagonal STOP sign stretching out my shirt. Ahhh, memories. Now I wanted to tear the damn sign down, but I didn’t want to upset Dad.
I twisted the doorknob. It was locked. I turned to Dad. “You have a key?”
Dad rolled his eyes. “Hold on.” He wandered into the kitchen area and pulled a key off a hook. I grabbed it from him and opened Jason’s door.
