In Real Life

by Lawrence Tabak

  Stomp leans around his monitor and hisses, “Hey, noob. Looks like you’re getting good at kissing Korean ass. Now get ready to get your ass kicked.”

  I don’t even bother with a response.

  Then the game starts and I’m too busy to think. Playing at this level, it’s like running six speed-chess matches simultaneously. I’ve got to keep track of dozens of activities at once while trying to figure out what tactics Stomp is employing. The crowd noise fades to nothing and my mind is inside the monitor, beyond the monitor, flashing across this world which is no longer flat and one-dimensional, but as textured and complex as the vertical face of a mountain is to a freestyle climber.

  Although the clock is spinning at the bottom right hand corner of the screen, there is another time that subsumes this monitor of reality. Because despite the frantic action of my hands and the flashing armies and battles on the screen, game time is infinitely slower than real time.

  The thing is, without even knowing it, I’ve slowly adjusted to the pace of game played by my Korean teammates. It’s like when you were twelve and would go to the doctor and he’d say you had grown two inches. You don’t notice it, you don’t feel it.

  And Stomp, he might have gotten better, but I know he wasn’t training like the Koreans train. And I can guarantee that he wasn’t getting regular matches with guys ranked in the top ten of the world.

  Small advantages get magnified over the course of a game. By endgame it’s clear that Stomp is not even close to winning. I can hear him huffing and swearing and can see the mass of him not hidden by the monitors between us shifting, the chair under him creaking with the weight. By the final minutes I’m relaxing. Thinking it would be very cool if his chair broke.

  Then the game is over and I can hear the crowd chanting. They’re chanting my name.

  As the monitor goes back to the Starfare logo I stand, as is Korean tradition. Both players stand and bow. I stand, and so does Stomp, knocking his chair to the ground. Storming off the stage, mumbling obscenities.

  So instead I turn to the crowd and bow to them.

  The cheers are deafening. I wave and back slowly off the stage. Two of our games are still in progress. We’ve won all of the first five.

  Yeong is waiting backstage. Slaps me on the back.

  “Good job, Mr. Seth Gordon. Very, very good job. You beat enormous American and fans love you more!”

  We split the last two matches, with the Swede winning a close one. Yeong asks us to hang around for the second dual, to scout the other teams. But to tell you the truth, I don’t absorb a single thing. All I can think about is getting home and Skyping DT. He’s going to go crazy when he finds out who I drew in my first pro dual.

  25.

  When I get home I try to Skype DT and send out an email message to my family contacts. Telling them about my first big pro event. Then I spend about an hour trying to write something to Hannah. Finally I just boil it down to the facts. I played that obnoxious American guy, won. Hope everything is OK. Please don’t make more of that tabloid story than you should.

  I’m looking at Hannah’s Facebook page when I get a message from Yeong. It says that instead of language lessons on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons I’m going to be meeting with Song.

  “Maybe this mathematics help team,” Yeong writes. I hope so too.

  I’m trying to figure out what kind of algorithm might explain the growth curve of a Surrakan army’s power when I hear a Skype beep on my computer.

  I pop open the window and just about have a heart attack.

  Because there’s Hannah. In the little Skype window, grinning and moving in that sort of herky-jerky way you get from webcams.

  “Hey,” she says. “I got a new laptop for college. High end webcam!”

  “So I see.”

  “Very funny. How do I look?”

  I don’t know what to say. Like Hannah? Like home? Like an angel?

  “That bad, huh?”

  “No, no. You look awesome. It’s just…I don’t know. I’m just surprised.”

  “So how come I can’t see you? So I can make fun of the way you look too.”

  “I’m not making fun…”

  “And I’m just kidding. But am I doing something wrong?”

  “No,” I say, and peel back the tape and stare at the little glowing light.“Here I am!”

  “Ohh. You look so…I don’t know. Korean?”

  I push my bangs back. It’s that stupid Korean gamer cut.

  “So tell me, how’s life in the Far East?” When she looks up from the keyboard my heart just melts. But I figure she’s really asking about me and the picture with Sumi.

  “Far out,” I say, automatically. Then add, “Actually, it’s not all good. Not all bad, either. I’ve made a few new friends. Found some people who I can speak English with.”

  “Well that’s encouraging. Any more action with those hot Korean girls?” Normally I love the way she looks at me when she’s teasing like that, but I’m not sure she’s teasing.

  “As you know, they love having their picture taken with me…”

  “Well, as a photographer, I can say the pose is everything.”

  “We’re talking snapshots on the sidewalk. Nothing like one of your photos.”

  I wiggle uncomfortably, even knowing it will look goofy through the webcam. “Well, you can’t blame a girl for imagining. I get the feeling you’re not telling me everything. I mean, you’re like some sort of celebrity right? And everything I know about celebrities says that means plenty of action.”

  I shake my head.

  “It’s not like that over here.”

  “So let me tell you how I got the laptop. The deal to sell Dad’s company fell through, so he’s still got a job and we’re not moving. The same week we got a firm offer on our old house in Princeton. He’s so pumped that he goes out and gets Zeb a new fifty-two-inch screen. Mom gets to renovate the kitchen. Barkley got a new chew toy. And I got a new Dell laptop! It’s like Christmas in April!”

  I ask her how school is going. She starts talking about the yearbook and how totally changed it’s going to be. And how behind they are on it. And how her environmental club has convinced the school board to take out the vending machines from the school cafeteria. I tell her she’s amazing and not to worry. That she’ll figure out a way to get everything done on time.

  Hannah smiles. “That’s so sweet. You know, that’s why I miss you so much.”

  When she says that I’m really tempted to put the tape back over the camera. Because it just makes me want to cry. Then I hear someone talking in the background. Hannah steps away from the screen and I want to yell out, “Come back! Come back!”

  Then she ducks her head in from the side.

  “Sorry Seth, but I got to go. But now that we can see each other.” I feel myself blushing. “Yeah, we’ll do it again. Soon.”

  We sign off and I look at my watch. It’s late. I walk over to the mirror and muss my Korean-cut hair. As if a haircut will make me a true member of Team Anaconda.

  26.

  On Tuesday I have my first math meeting with Song. He’s got an office at the University, which is about a fifteen-minute drive from our apartment. Choi drops me off at a modern, four-story building that says Seoul University Department of Mathematics.

  Song’s office is on the fourth floor. He’s waiting for me, papers strewn across a table next to his desk.

  “Sit down, sit down,” he says.

  I start to say something but he waves his hand. “Just a second. I’ve almost got this worked out.”

  I sit for a few minutes, watching his pencil fly across the page. Then he slides it across to me. I spin it around, see it is one of the pages from my notebook. Which looks like it had been attacked by a dozen mathematical graffiti
artists.

  “This is really coming together,” Song says.

  Maybe for him. It makes no sense to me. I look up from the paper and he can see I’m lost.

  “OK, I know it’s a mess right now. But trust me. You were absolutely right to tackle this problem the way you did.”

  He stands up, and grabs a piece of chalk and begins writing it out. “Let me break it down for you.”

  I have to ask questions now and then, but it starts to make sense. At one point he does a series of steps and I have to stop him.

  “You haven’t studied Bayesian Analysis?” He looks at me like he was saying, “Never had pizza?”

  I shake my head. Song clears a section of the blackboard and begins to explain. I just nod or say OK when I get it and he goes through it in about ten minutes. It reminds me of basic algebra. I remember thinking I could learn the entire semester in about two weeks if I had had a private tutor and could just say, “got it,” whenever I had absorbed a topic and move on to the next. Instead the teacher would go on and on about some obvious point. Followed by an entire week of doing dozens of problems which were just variants on the same principle.

  So we buzz through it and continue with Song’s notes. At one point I ask what I think is a dumb question, but Song stops and thinks. Then goes back to the page he was working on and adds some notes.

  “Excellent point,” he said. “I think that would be a much more streamlined way to approach this.”

  We’re scheduled for an hour and a half and I can’t believe it when Song says, “Well, that’s as far as we can take it today.”

  He reaches up behind him, takes out a thin text and hands it to me. Algebraic Complexity Theorems.

  “On Thursday I’ll show you how we can use this to get into that problem you outlined about the ratio of minerals to spybot development. Just go through the first three chapters. That will give you everything you need.”

  27.

  That night I draw Sung Gi for our evening round-robins and we play a quick game. I can tell he’s not into it. After I finish him off Yeong wanders out of the room. Sung Gi leans across the table and whispers.

  “This is secret, but I leaving team.”

  “Quitting?”

  “Yes. I have long talk with father this weekend. I go to school. Study engineer.”

  I’m thinking, it’s that easy?

  “Is that what you want?”

  “Oh yes,” he says. “I am very tired of playing many hours of Starfare. And I tell father that I never get so good as Sang-Chul or even Tae-Uk. Maybe you not know. My father is senior vice president with ANC. He put me on team. It is father’s dream that I be great champion. Not my dream.”

  “But who will I talk with?”

  “You will be good. No worry. I think you are getting better and better. And maybe new player will speak English with you like I do.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Anyway. My father will speak to Coach Yeong soon. Say that I will be going back to school.”

  “OK, man. Good luck. I’m actually sort of jealous.”

  “Jealous?”

  “You know. Like I wish I could do what you are doing.”

  “You want engineer too?”

  I shake my head. “No, not really. Just that you’ve decided exactly what you want to do. And I’m still not sure.”

  Then Yeong comes back and yells something and we switch partners and I get Tae-Uk. He grins as he sits down in front of the monitor across from me. I can tell he’s going to be all business. These guys seem to really get a kick out of beating me.

  It doesn’t help that I keep getting distracted. I start my mining operation in the standard Team Anaconda spiral style. I remember that it was one of the first things Yeong taught me. But then I start wondering about whether any spiral is as good as the next, and whether it could be determined mathematically. I remember studying logarithmic spirals as some sort of digression in pre-calc. I jot down the formula.

  When I look up from my notepad I see that Tae-Uk is looking around his monitor at me, puzzled. And when I look at my monitor I can see why. I’ve done absolutely nothing for the last fifteen seconds or so. I’m even more hopelessly behind than usual.

  So I start punching up my development and I hear Tae-Uk sort of chuckle as he steps back into the game and begins the process of throttling whatever I try.

  I’m OK with that, because I’m looking forward to meeting with Professor Song on Thursday and asking him about the spiral thing.

  28.

  I’m just a few minutes late to breakfast Friday morning, but when I get there everyone is looking at me like I just lost the deciding match in a team event against a kindergartner. I head to my regular table, in the corner, where Sung Gi is sitting alone. After everyone has their food, Sung Gi whispers that I should come with him. We both pick up our plates and head back to the kitchen.

  Sung Gi glances back at the closed door and then leans in close.

  “I tell you important thing.”

  I nod.

  “Last night team have big meeting with Coach Yeong. They not happy. Not happy that Yeong has you play against American team.”

  I start to say something, but he interrupts. “Yes, you won. They worry Yeong play you. When we play best Korean teams.”

  I nod, about to say that I’m worried too.

  “You know. Team pay is better when team wins. Korean players worry you lose, they lose.”

  I wait for Sung Gi to continue.

  “Yeong very, very mad. This not happen before. Korean players and coach, you understand?”

  “That players try to tell the coach what to do?”

  “Yes. But more. Players angry that you do not train like them. Go away for many hours.”

  “Hey, that’s not my choice…”

  We hear something from the breakfast room and Sung Gi looks nervously at the door.

  “Not important. Players want you off team. They say you join American team. You be happy. Team Anaconda be happy.”

  I have no idea how to explain the complications here.

  “OK, thanks for the info.”

  “This last week.”

  “For me?” I say.

  “No, no. For me. I start tutor program to get ready for university tests.”

  “Oh. So soon.”

  Because that leaves me with no one to sit with at meals. Or to explain stuff that I miss. Like the team lobbying to get rid of me.

  “I like you ActionSeth,” Sung Gi says. “Yeong likes you. Sponsors like you. More important than players like you.”

  “Right,” I say, thinking, that’s easy for you to say. You won’t have to live with these guys from dawn to dusk, day after day. “Thanks for telling me.”

  Then we hear one of the players leaning into the door to the kitchen and we step apart. Pretend to be trying to make a decision. More kimchi or salted fish?

  29.

  That morning at my gaming station I realize something. It’s not that my place in the world has suddenly changed. It’s just that I suddenly see it clearly. It’s like trying to figure out when, between the ages of eleven and thirteen, girls had shifted from being simply otherly to objects of obsession. At some point, who cares, bring on the girls.

  For a long time, probably months, the hours of playing Starfare have begun to shift from something that was totally fun back in Kansas to something else entirely. I’m putting in my hours, at least as many as my schedule allows. But I can scarcely remember the excitement I used to have, sneaking out of school early, racing back to Dad’s place to fire up my computer. Playing Starfare used to take me to this other place. Like those researchers at the Institute talked about. Transcendence. Now it’s mostly about stress.

  My mind is wandering
as I wait for a practice game to start. I’m thinking about what Hannah is doing back in Kansas. Wondering what time it is at the Institute in California. If Dad is already at the airport. If Garrett is depressed, now that his college basketball career is over and graduation is coming up. He texted he doesn’t even want to go to the ceremony but Mom and Dad are making him. I don’t know. I bet he’ll get a huge cheer from all the basketball fans. Mom will probably give him something stupid for graduation, like a yoga mat. Dad will probably give him his old golf clubs or something. I know it can take forever to ship stuff from Korea so I make a note to wrap up one of my Anaconda shirts and send it to him. I think he’ll get a kick out of it.

  Then I start thinking about the last meeting I had with Song. It was really amazing the way we could get into a problem and bounce ideas back and forth. We’d be scribbling notes and formulas as fast as we could write. And the feeling. The feeling is entirely familiar. It’s the way I used to feel at the start of a Starfare game.

  So I get through the morning and skip the team lunch. Go back to my room. I’ve accumulated some snack food and have Cokes in the refrigerator. I grab a bag of Korean pretzels and a Coke. When I sit down at my laptop I see that there’s a missed Skype call from Hannah. My pulse races as I call her back, first on her computer. No response. And then on her cell.

  “Hannah?”

  “Oh Seth! I just had to tell you!”

  I wait for her to tell me about her new boyfriend. Eloping with the environmentally friendly tall guy.

  “Remember the Nelson-Atkins Museum?”

  I almost say, “Remember afterwards?” But instead just say sure.

  “Well, they have this exhibit every spring. They select art done by high school students from all over the city? And I got three photos in the show! One of them is the sailor kiss. So you’re going to be in an art museum!”