In Real Life

by Lawrence Tabak

  ActionSeth: Soon I hope. Lots of red tape and bs over here. I spend half my day going to meetings and signing autographs and taking Korean lessons. It’s driving me crazy because these guys r insane good and if I don’t start training like a madman I’ll never catch up.

  DTerra: Don’t worry. UR the best, man. Hey, gtg or I’ll be late for 1st period. CU later.

  ActionSeth: Right

  8.

  Next morning after exercises, Yeong unveils a complicated draw sheet. He lectures the team for about five minutes in Korean, followed by a few questions, and then everyone breaks for their machines. I spend another couple minutes studying the draw, where I can see my pairing against Sang-Chul Lee, who is currently the top-ranked member of the team. When we go out as a team, he gets pestered the most, because real fans of Starfare want his photo and autograph. Some of them guys as old as my father, not just the teenie-bopper girls like the ones who pick on me.

  Yeong takes me aside for a minute to explain that entries are due the end of the week for the first big national televised tournament on the Mordant Isles map. Each pro team gets to enter three players and we’re playing off for those spots.

  “Big luck!” Yeong says with a smile that seems to contain less than the best wishes.

  “Right,” I say, knowing my chances.

  And guess whose match finishes first? And I’m pretty sure that Sang-Chul slowed down at the end out of pity. Playing this guy is like a race where you’re in the water swimming and your opponent is running alongside on land. When first round matches are done, the draw pits me against another loser and probably because the guy is pissed off about his first round, he takes no mercy on me and pins me in less than twenty minutes. That gives me time to wander around and watch the other matches which are really intense. I can see where I’m failing—these guys know exactly where to go and can manage multiple development sites without any seams. They’re all over the map and they’re typing out instructions so fast that each of their keyboards sounds like a dozen tap dancers warming up. Back in the U.S. tournaments I was one of the fastest guys around and people would gather around and I could hear them oohing and ahhing as I jumped across the maps and pounded out commands. But here, I could see that it was the difference between the speed of high school and pro football.

  It takes most of the day to work though all the round robin matches. Final round I lose to Sung Gi. Which makes me last, and him second to last. Coach Yeong congratulates the top three finishers and everyone gives them a rousing round of applause and many shouted Korean encouragements. The thing is, even though only three players can represent the team, the entire team shares in the winnings. Which makes sense, because the only way the three top players can have a chance is the depth of work that the whole team puts into understanding a map.

  Then Yeong has another long address and everyone cheers some more. When we break for dinner I ask Sung Gi what it was about. He says to get food and then he’ll explain. I get a big plate of grilled chicken and some rice. We get some sort of grilled meat every night. Mom is always asking about fruit and vegetables and they sometimes have little oranges or these pale round things that Mom thinks are Asian pears. They’re actually delicious.

  But when we sit down Sung Gi has trouble explaining. In the end I get the impression the rest of the team gets to play too. Finally I corner Yeong and he says that a great honor has been granted Team Anaconda. We’ve been picked to play a televised exhibition match prior to the big Mordant Isles pro tournament. Against the national high school championship team.

  “First television match!” he exclaims. “Very big audience. Very big.”

  Very big, all right. Very big chance for embarrassment.

  9.

  That night I knock out a five paragraph essay on what I think are the lingering effects of Puritanism in American society for my English class. Writing it, I think of Hannah’s angel picture, which would make a great illustration. If English papers had illustrations.

  When I finally get to sleep I dream about Starfare again. This time I’m playing in front of these giant TV cameras and my opponent is a little toddler. I just can’t seem to get my game rolling and I look down and instead of holding a mouse with my right hand I’m holding chopsticks. Weird thing is, if I squeeze them just right, the cursor moves, but it’s like trying to play pick-up sticks with your toes. Then I realize I’m starving and I call out for food and Coach Yeong puts a big steaming bowl of kimchi right on top of my keyboard and of course there’s a live audience and they’re laughing like it’s not Starfare but Saturday Night Live.

  I wake up earlier than usual. I decide to slip on my headset and Skype Hannah on her cell. It only costs a few cents a minute and I have to start thinking like a working guy instead of a broke student. I’m hoping I can improvise something clever for her voicemail and when I hear her say hello I’m just thinking it’s her recorded message. But then she says it again, “Hello, who is this?” and I realize she’s live.

  “Seth. It’s Seth,” I blurt out, because if I don’t say something really quick she’ll think it’s some sort of bot call and hang up.

  “Where are you?” she says.

  “In my apartment.”

  “In Korea?” Like she was hoping I was back in Kansas and she could run right over and give me a hug.

  “K-O-R-E-A,” I spell. “What time is it there?”

  “It’s three-thirty. I’m just leaving school. But how…how did you know to call?” And even all these miles, I can picture her from her voice. It’s her sad voice, and her sad face means she’s looking at the ground, pulling her fingers through her shoulder-length hair like she’s trying to sift out the troubles.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Silence. Maybe some sniffling, but I can’t tell.

  “Hannah? Hannah?”

  “I’m fine.”

  The way she said it, meant she wasn’t.

  “Hannah? I know something’s wrong.”

  Like I could do something, five thousand miles away.

  “It’s no big deal. It’s just…”

  “Just what?”

  “Well, you know how my father took this job with the company in Leawood?”

  I did, sort of. She had told me all about it, but I had been distracted. Biomedicine start-up blah blah. Looking at her eyes, probably, thinking about touching her.

  “Well, it looks like something is going on. Some sort of buyout and Dad may be out of his job and he’s been talking to the people back at Squibb. They want him back. Which means he’ll be moving back to New Jersey.”

  “And you?”

  “I’ve already told them. I’m not moving again. It would just be impossible. But Dad, he doesn’t want to split up the family. Our old house is still on the market in Princeton. He keeps telling me I could pick up just where we left off, but I know that’s not the way it works. Things change. Things are always changing.”

  Tell me about it.

  “Anyway, I did get some good news too. The Savannah School of Fine Arts? I told you I sent them the portfolio?”

  “Sure.”

  “Well, they loved it. The head of the photography department called me last Thursday personally and told me that I was being offered this big scholarship. And then he talked to Dad and I think he was really convincing because afterward, Dad’s not saying I can go. But he’s not saying no either.”

  I tell her congratulations, which is what I think I’m supposed to say. I mean, what difference does it make? Kansas, some school out East. I’m still halfway around the world.

  “So if your family goes and you stay, where are you going to stay?” Wondering if I should offer her my empty room at Dad’s. Which seems pretty unlikely on all accounts.

  “I don’t know. Really. I’ll come up with something, I guess.”

 
And then we just sort of are both breathing into the phone. Until finally she does that thing, when she clears her throat before saying something important.

  “So, Seth. What’s it like there?”

  “It’s OK. I’ve got my own apartment. Hardly a minute to myself. These guys train like maniacs.”

  “But you like it? You’re happy?”

  “Sure. I guess. I’m going to be on TV. Next week.”

  “That’s amazing. I told you you were going to be famous.”

  “Famous for losing, maybe,” I say.

  “Stop it. You’ll do fine. Anyway, I’ve got to go. But call me again, when you get the chance.”

  When I shut down Skype I feel this weight, like gravity had just doubled. It makes me want to just lie down and go back to sleep. Instead, I check the time, put on my regular T-shirt instead of that itchy team one, my winter coat, and trudge downstairs for my breakfast Tost-us.

  10.

  Just when I’m at peak anxiety about the televised match Yeong comes up to me at breakfast and tells me to come with him. I follow him out into the hallway where Choi is standing.

  “Today big day for ActionSeth,” Yeong says, grinning like a fool. “You tape first big commercial for soda. Very special soda. Named for you!”

  I shake my head. This sounds completely crazy. Even Michael Jordon doesn’t have a soda. So I think maybe I heard him wrong as I follow the two of them to the elevators and down to the parking garage.

  But an hour later I’m in makeup. The rest of the day they have me pose in front of this green background, while I hold a bottle of orange soda. It says ActionOrange. I have to hold it a bunch of ways. First with my right hand. Then my left. Saying, “ActionOrange. Let it power your game!”

  The director of the commercial is shouting at me in Korean and pidgin English. “Orange soda!” he says, over and over. “Very American! Very American! Say again! ‘ActionOrange. Let it power your game!’”

  Like all we do is hang around the soda counter at the local drug store, sitting on round stools, drinking orange soda. Because it energizes us. I’m pretty sure it’s the longest day of my life. I’m so exhausted when we get back I skip dinner and just lie on the couch with my laptop, getting through the lectures on Silas Marner. I type in some nonsense when I have to answer questions like my thoughts on the nature of guilt.

  The next day I feel like I’m hopelessly behind. The team is working the Mordant Isles map like crazy. I’d be shocked if there are any big surprises left on any of the islands. We’re still trying to get a handle on all the underwater resources, because you have to build special equipment and train your troops before they can start exploring.

  Maybe because I’m still lagging the rest of the team, I try some odd stuff. A couple of days before the big event, while the rest of the team is exploring the edges of the map, I decide to see if there’s anything we missed back near the home bases. I gear up my underwater abilities and start working my scuba troops and aquabots through every underwater crack and crevice. That’s how I stumble onto this little undersea hatch which surprises the hell out me. My troops can’t open it at first but when I blow the door up to maximum magnification I see a kind of lock which I manage to cut by transferring a laser bazooka from one of my ground forces to an aquatrooper. The door opens into a tunnel with three passages. I send scouts down each of them and discover that they hyperjump to outer islands that would otherwise take half a game to reach.

  I type this up on the log and within thirty seconds the entire team is gathered around my monitor and I backtrack and show them the door and how I cut it open. They all immediately break into chatter and Sang-Chul, our star player, pushes me aside and sits down. He repeats my exploration and then jumps up, says something that sounds like a compliment and pounds me on the back.

  Then they’re all patting me on the back and laughing and for the first time in the month I’ve been here I feel like I actually might belong.

  11.

  The day before the televised tournament I have my weekly call with Mom. Back in Kansas this was not exactly the highlight of the week, but maybe because I just don’t have anyone to talk to over here I’m actually looking forward to it.

  I have to do the call after our evening practice, so I can catch Mom at the Institute’s office. Which is, weirdly, the morning before.

  “Seth!” Mom says, “Is that you?”

  I never know what to say to that. So I say, “No, it’s an imposter.”

  “Oh Seth, don’t be like that. I’ve been so worried about you.”

  “Mom, no need to worry. It’s like going to summer camp. They keep an eye on me 24/7.”

  “I know, Seth. But it’s just that you are so far away. If anything were to happen…”

  “Nothing’s going to happen, Mom. I’m telling you. They even make us exercise every day.”

  “Well…that’s nice.”

  The thing is, it’s hard to find stuff to talk about with Mom. She doesn’t have a clue about Starfare. I don’t have a clue about Zen meditation. So we talk about the weather. And then she tells me about her studies and how she feels like she’s reaching new levels.

  We hit a sort of gap in the conversation. So I talk about food. Mom’s always interested in what I’m eating, so I tell her how disgusting kimchi is and about these delicious Tost-us which she likes because they’re pretty much vegetarian. And healthy, compared to hamburger and fries, which, I don’t tell her, I really miss. But not as much as pizza.

  When I hang up I check out Hannah’s Facebook page, which she hasn’t updated in a long time. Still that weird picture of her in a costume. And I like to look through her portfolio. Because each of her photos is like a puzzle. I think that if I stare at them long enough they’ll reveal something, some secret part of Hannah that I’ve never known. So I stare for a long time.

  12.

  So the next evening when the team packs up and heads out in a big van, I’m a mess. I’m honestly scared to death about this exhibition and failing epically to some high school kid in front of a huge TV audience. I ride in the very back of a large van. Sitting next to Sung Gi. He doesn’t seem too upbeat either. So we don’t talk much. I stare out the window. Looking at all the parts of Seoul I probably will never see again.

  After about forty-five minutes we pull up to a large building with a milling crowd out front. My face is pressed to the van window, thinking there must be thousands. Huge cloth banners hang from the second story, with Starfare logos and “Mordant Isles” in some sort of old style script, with pirate flags and pirate vessels in the background. I know that the Mordant Isles release hit the Isles public just two days ago. I read online that they’ve already shipped six million copies worldwide. Of course, we’ve been working the map for almost a month straight, but that doesn’t seem to be public knowledge.

  The van lets us off at the curb and about forty policemen in riot gear, including plastic face shields, are keeping open a path to the main doors. Kids are screaming at us from behind the police line and holding out autograph books and trying to take pictures of us. The other Team Anaconda players seem in no hurry, stopping to sign the occasional book and giving out high fives to fans.

  “Seth, Seth, Seth.” I can’t believe that they’re actually chanting my name. I can see the other guys on the team glancing over at me and I know I’m blushing. I try to imitate the other players. Make a foray to the police line to greet some fans, but as soon as I get close I feel someone grabbing my shirt and someone else actually pulling on my hair as if they wanted scalp-deep souvenirs. I karate chop the hand on my head and jerk away from whoever has my shirt and sprint up the stairs and through the doors, breathing like I just ran a quarter mile in gym. I look down at my shirt to see if it’s ripped and suddenly realize the utility of that rough fabric. It must be woven out of Kevlar, the bullet proof ve
st stuff.

  I follow the rest of the team through some corridors and into a back room where they have the standard makeup mirrors. Everyone takes a seat and a dozen makeup girls appear out of nowhere and start slapping on the powder and combing hair. I seem to be getting more than my fair share of attention and chatter, which I suppose is because they don’t get to work on Westerners with blond hair very often.

  Whenever someone comes through the door I can hear the buzzing sounds of a large crowd. After what seems like an hour they get tired of messing with my hair. The other guys are all talking Korean, probably strategy points that I could really use. I decide to sneak out and check out the scene. I follow the noise up some narrow stairs and down another corridor and realize I’m backstage. The curtain is down and the stage is set up with about a dozen gaming stations. Hanging overhead are four giant screens like they have at rock concerts. Still curious, I scoot around the edge of the curtain and work my way to where it meets the side of the stage, crack it just enough to get a thin glimpse of the auditorium. It only takes a glance to see that’s it huge—a fan of seating rising from the stage level and at least two balconies above. Holy crap, I’m thinking. I’m playing in front of thousands of live fans. If Hannah was here she’d flip out.

  Of course, then I’m thinking about Hannah. I look at the time and count back fifteen hours. Three o’clock in the morning back home. So I retreat to a back room where it’s relatively quiet and try to text Hannah on my Korean cell, but either I don’t have the right international codes or the phone is set up to block international calls. I’m trying for about the twelfth time when I hear someone yelling my name and I stick my head out the room.

  Yeong is there, looking at me like I’ve lost my mind.

  “You hiding?”