In Real Life

by Lawrence Tabak

  So Tuesday I’ve got the night off at Saviano’s and I’m resolved to avoid distractions. No work. No Hannah obsessing. I’m catching up on some forum chat about a new map that’s scheduled to be released in a few weeks when I get an IM from DT.

  DTerra: Hey, check this out.

  He’s attached a URL from GamerNews.com. I cut and paste it into my browser window and open up the website.

  U.S Corporation Announces Plans to Break Korean Pro-Gaming Stranglehold

  Mountain View, CA., July 2: Xerus Systems, one of the world leaders in connectivity technology has announced plans to form the first non-Korean-based Professional Starfare Team. The world’s most popular computer strategy game, with over six million active players worldwide, is the backbone of the pro-gaming culture centered in South Korea.

  “We have some terrific players based in the U.S., where Starfare was invented,” announced Kai Butan, the team’s new captain and manager. “Plus we’re looking at talent in Europe and Southeast Asia as well.”

  The team will be solely sponsored by Xerus Systems. Andrew Gold, the founder and chairman of Xerus, was cited in the corporate press release as saying, “We see this as a golden—pardon the pun—opportunity to showcase our brand, which has, for twenty years, been at the forefront of one of the most challenging and competitive technology businesses in the world.”

  The team is planning to have a complete roster in place and be in Seoul, Korea, in time for the upcoming Starfare season, which begins in earnest in September.

  ActionSeth: Holy crap

  DTerra: No shit

  ActionSeth: Who are they going to get to play?

  DTerra: Kai Butan, he’s that German guy that got to the final eight at world’s a couple of years ago.

  ActionSeth: Heard he burned out

  DTerra: Well, u know one guy on the team for sure

  ActionSeth: Yeah, who

  DTerra: You’re punking me, right?

  ActionSeth: Just tell me

  DTerra: Xerus—doesn’t ring a bell?

  ActionSeth: STFU and tell me

  DTerra: OK Andrew Gold, the guy who founded Xerus? He’s got this kid who plays

  ActionSeth: Oh no

  DTerra: U got it—Morris aka Stompazer

  So I spend the next two hours trying to find out more about this new team and how they’re going to put it together. The forums have a bunch of threads going but they’re all speculation and rumor.

  I’m about to give up and just get some gaming in when an IM pops up.

  STOMPAZER: HEY NOOB HEARD THE NEWS?

  I really don’t want to get into it with him, but my curiosity overcomes my revulsion.

  ActionSeth: Yeah congrats, I guess.

  STOMPAZER: We already got the number one European signed, Mutant007. We invented the damn game and now we’re going to shove it up those stuck-up Korean’s asses

  ActionSeth: So why u telling me

  STOMPAZER: Because now you’ve got something to work for. Maybe if u bring your game up a couple of notches we’d consider u

  ActionSeth: If ur playing I should b playing

  STOMPAZER: LOLing…like at Nationals, you noob. If u can’t even make it to the finals there how u going to keep up with these Korean superstars?

  The next message I send him is pretty straightforward. And crude.

  STOMPAZER: Be nice little man or ur never getting that try out

  I shut down the IM platform and simmer for a while. Thinking my entire life is just some big setup to see how much humiliation one person can take. I’m so pissed off I’m in absolutely no shape to try to play and that means another day with my game sliding. Another day with the clock ticking. Another day closer to that moment when I find out I’ve been living in a dream world. When all my plans prove to be just other case of a kid who thinks he’s setting himself up for glory, when the only thing he’s lining up is a series of one disappointment after another.

  24.

  Next morning I sleep really late and when I finally drag myself into the kitchen Dad has left and there’s a letter open on the table. It’s from Mom. I read it while I eat some Crispix. Mom was always insisting that I eat non-sugared cereal, so I guess seeing her letter inspires me.

  It’s a long letter. She has lots of details about how the programs are going and her job working with a summer camp they run at the Institute. I’m really glad I didn’t get hooked into working there. I have no idea what I could possibly have done.

  After I fold up the letter and put it back in the envelope I see a note from Dad. He wants me to clean up my room and vacuum the whole place before he gets back in two days. So that gives me plenty of time to procrastinate.

  I look online for more information about the Xerus team, but there’s nothing. I send an email to Garrett telling him that we got a long letter from Mom. That she seems to be doing great. I ask him when he’s coming back to town, because even though he told me once, I forget that sort of thing immediately.

  Then I IM DT but he’s not at his computer.

  When I run out of stuff to look at online I put myself into the queue for a Starfare game, even though I don’t have my normal, blood-pumping anticipation. The first game is a joke, but at least it takes my mind off of Stomp and his new team. By the second game I’m in the zone and time just evaporates as I win three straight. When I glance at the time on the computer I realize I have to get ready for Saviano’s. If my memory is right, Hannah is on duty too. Just that thought sends a wave of adrenaline through my body, a sinking sensation and heavy heartbeat—the same sort of delicious anxiety I get before a big Starfare tournament.

  I shower up and head outside. As I step out the front door it feels like I just put my face a foot too close to a campfire. It must be at least 100 degrees. It makes me think how nice it would be if I were pulling out of the garage in an air-conditioned car.

  So I’m pretty pitted out by the time I get to the restaurant. Which sucks because I just took a shower. The first thing I do is check the schedule. And Hannah’s not on. Which turns the whole shift into slow motion. What makes it worse is I get stuck working again with ricer boy, who keeps bugging me to come out on break and look at his new wing. So I go to humor him and resist the urge to tell him it looks like he just welded an ironing board to the back of his car. Because I have to admit, as stupid as it looks, at least he has a license and a car.

  25.

  Friday night, I’m off work. Around seven I hear the garage door opening and I realize Dad’s back. Luckily I’m between games so I race downstairs and pull out the vacuum while he’s unloading his car and I’ve got it humming by the time he steps through the kitchen and into the living room.

  He rolls his eyes when he sees me vacuuming, but at least he can’t start right off yelling at me. By the time I’m winding the cord back up he’s got the door shut in his study and I figure he’s lying back in his favorite chair, sipping some sort of martini or bourbon or whatever he’s drinking these days.

  When I get back to the computer I check my IMs and see that I missed one from DT. He wants to know if I have time to play some two-on-twos. I’m about ready to say sure when I hear a text coming in on my cell. My heart skips as I begin to read. Hey can’t believe we both got Friday off…I’m going crazy around here. Let me know if u want to do something H

  Hannah. I love texting because no one can hear you stuttering. I write sure, thinking that I’m lucky that she’s new in town and doesn’t know many people yet. Because I’m not getting a whole lot of offers like this. I mean, this past semester I’d have been in heaven for a week if Brit had just stopped in the hall and chatted with me.

  While I’m waiting for her answer I send DT a message saying I can’t play. Of course he wants to know why not, since I never say no. I tell him I’ll talk to him later
and sign off.

  Hannah says we could go to Westport and hang for a while. Which is fine with me because I’m starving and there’s this place there with really good pizza. She writes that she’s got the car for the evening and I give her directions to my place and have just enough time to jump in the shower. I actually worry about which T-shirt to wear. Which is not like me at all.

  I wait for her outside and after about five minutes a blue mini-van slows down and then I see Hannah waving. I jump in. She’s got her hair tied back so I can see at least three golden studs in her ear and she’s wearing this white frilly blouse with some sort of needlework design. I’ve never seen her behind the wheel and she looks out of place to me. Which is the way I still feel when I practice driving.

  “Sorry about the car,” she says as we pull out. “They won’t let me drive the sports car.”

  “Hey, this is great,” I say. And I mean it. She could have picked me up in a semi and I would have been happy.

  “You can help navigate,” Hannah says. “I still get lost every time I go anywhere.”

  I get a wave of hot anxiety because I’m the worst at finding places. I’ve been trying to pay more attention about how to get around, knowing that I’m going to get my license before long. But for years I’ve just spaced out between departure and destination.

  But between the two of us we find our way to Westport and get lucky with a parking place behind the pizza place. As we step through the double doors we get hit with a wave of pizza smell which is somehow totally different than Saviano’s.

  “I’m pretty sick of pizza,” Hannah says.

  “Me too,” I say, although I’m not. Even though I should be.

  “Don’t worry,” I add. “They have a lot of different stuff. I saw they got a ‘Best of Kansas City’ for their subs.”

  “Oh great,” Hannah says. “Where did you see that?”

  I point to a framed poster on the wall across from us and Hannah laughs. “Yeah, I saw that too.”

  We have to wait for a table in the front of the restaurant next to this long deli counter filled with all sorts of salads that I wouldn’t eat if I were starving. Standing there I want to stare at Hannah but I know that would be really lame so I just glance over at her and try to think of things to say. It’s noisy and they’re playing some sort of old rock music.

  “I bet this place reminds you of home,” I say.

  She nods and as she looks around she lights up with a smile.

  “This is just like Conte’s. This place we used to go to downtown in Princeton. When I was little I used to go to the pool with Iris, my best friend back then. The pool was just across the street. And Mom and Dad would pick us up at the pool and we’d all just walk across the street. Our suits would still be wet and we’d be starved. You know how hungry you get after an afternoon at the pool? Like you haven’t eaten in a week. We’d sit on our towels and order these giant pizzas and start shivering from the air conditioning. The wait was just excruciating. It would feel like hours.”

  A waitress is calling out a name and at first I think it’s ours but she calls again and she’s saying “Smith,” not “Seth.”

  I’m just standing there fidgeting when someone taps me on the left shoulder. Surprised, I glance to see that it’s not Hannah, who is looking the other way. I turn around the other way and there is the broad, pock-marked, sporadically hairy face of Big John Dauber. He’s an older guy I’ve known for years. We used to play Magic together at the local card shop, Netherland. Next to him is his buddy Mark, aka Murk, who has shoulder-length hair held back by a red bandanna. Both are wearing some sort of goth-style black T-shirts.

  “Hey,” says John.

  “Hey, man,” Murk chimes in.

  I glance towards Hannah who has turned around, so we’re all facing each other.

  “Man, nice job at Nationals,” John says.

  “You should hear the guys at Netherland,” Marks chimes in. “It’s like you’re some sort of celebrity or something.”

  “Yeah, and not just the average dork we know you are!” John adds.

  Hannah takes a step closer to me and both of the guys look at her simultaneously.

  “Holy shit,” Murk says and he’s actually blushing.

  “I take it back,” John says.

  There’s a moment of awkward silence and it’s Hannah who speaks up.

  “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friends?”

  “These two?” I blurt out. Like I might still have a chance to disown them. Both of whom are momentarily mute.

  Hannah rolls her eyes.

  “OK, sure. I mean this is Mark. Although we usually call him Murk. Which is too complicated to explain. And this is Big John.”

  They’re both staring at Hannah.

  “And this is my friend Hannah.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Hannah says. And then, as if my prayers have been answered, the waitress is calling “Seth, party of two.” I tell the guys we got to go and before another embarrassing word can be exchanged I’ve grabbed Hannah’s hand and we’re following the waitress into the back of the restaurant.

  But I can manage to hear Big John say, “Holy shit, how the hell did he manage that?”

  26.

  As soon as we get seated it starts.

  “OK, Mr. Seth Gordon, what is this about your secret life?” I can’t tell if she’s seriously angry or fake angry. But she’s leaning towards me, across our little booth. She’s got a scowl and she’s drilling me with her eyes. All I know is it feels intense.

  “It’s no secret,” I say. Which is true. If it’s on the net, then it’s public knowledge.

  “Well, it’s a secret to me. You got some sort of Bruce Wayne thing going here or what?”

  “Talk about secrets,” I say. “I had no idea you were into Batman.”

  “Don’t try to turn this into a conversation about me. What are you, some sort of king of the Goths?”

  “Not a king,” I mumble lamely.

  “A prince? Come on. Just come clean. What makes you famous among whatever Dungeons & Dragons underworld those guys live in?”

  The waitress steps up and saves me for a moment. We order drinks and subs even though I’m thinking pizza. When the waitress steps away Hannah is right back on it.

  “Nationals? Didn’t I hear those guys say ‘nationals’? What’s that all about?”

  I see no way out now so I just tell her. As quickly and as simply as possible. Hannah has both elbows on the table, cradling her chin and she seems completely absorbed as I tell her about my sordid life as a competitive gamer.

  When I finish Hannah seems satisfied. She brushes a strand of hair behind her ear and says, “So this gaming thing, exactly how good are you?”

  I tell her that I’m pretty good, compared to most people. But that I suck when compared to the pro-gamers.

  “Pro-gamers?” Hannah says. “You mean someone actually pays people to play those games my little brother is always begging me to play with him?”

  I explain that it’s not every game and that the pro game is mostly a Korean thing. She has another dozen questions before the food comes. I try to steer the conversation elsewhere, so I ask her about school.

  I must have hit a hot button with the school topic because as we eat our subs she has a bunch of questions about North. I can tell she’s matching it up against her old school.

  “You know,” she finally says after I do my best to describe North to her. “Back in New Jersey I was really into that whole high school social thing. Had a bunch of friends I’d hung out with forever. And we’d do stuff with these guys. And I thought they were all the best friends ever and that I wouldn’t get into that boyfriend, going steady thing…”

  She’s looking through me now, thinking about that world. Th
en she blinks hard and she’s looking at me again.

  “But you’re not interested in all that. What do you know about your yearbook?”

  She tells me about working on the yearbook staff at her old school and how she was all set to be photo editor. How she is never going to forgive her parents for moving the summer before her senior year.

  “Not that I have any real interest in that sort of hack work,” she says. “But I got access to a lot of equipment. Lighting and stuff. Plus the darkroom and printers.”

  Unfortunately I don’t know anything about North’s yearbook or photographers or equipment.

  “The only good thing about moving is we have a lot more room. So Mom and Dad let me take this attic space and make it into my studio. It’s actually worked out really great. I need a large format printer and I’m hoping the school has one…”

  “Your stuff is so far ahead of what they’re doing they’ll be begging you to work with them.”

  “You really like my photos?” She’s rolling and unrolling a paper napkin.

  “Yeah, I do. It’s not like the other crap people put up. You know, fuzzy stuff taken with a cell phone that’s probably funny to the five people who where there when it was taken.”

  The waitress comes over and asks if we’d like something for dessert. We both say no and she says she’ll bring our check.

  As she walks away I say, “But one thing I didn’t really get…”

  Hannah is waiting.

  “That portrait of you. With the weird eyebrows. And the shell necklace and the little stuffed monkey…”

  Hannah laughs, nervously, I think. “Oh God, that was something I worked on last year. It’s probably totally lame. It’s based on a famous self-portrait by this Mexican painter. Frida Kahlo?”