by Ray G.
Late night gaming marathon. Cheap wine. Two bottles apiece. One dark, one light. Awake the next afternoon to laughter and sex.
Perfect. Beautiful.
Like that...everyday. I want that...everyday. This is the time for it. Right here. Right now. That’s why things are getting tight. Getting dense. It’s nerves. I’m hyper-aware now. I have to be. Love is there. Right there. It’s time for it now. It has to be. So what if it’s all happening too fast...sometimes it has to happen too fast. Like when it needs to happen. Like when it’s burning to happen. This is burning to happen.
At least that’s what I keep telling myself.
No. Scratch that. No more at leasts Eve. This is for real. This is the real thing.
Damn. Why did I destroy my iPod?
Higher Ground, Weekend Players. I need that right now.
Damn. Why did I destroy—
Oh yeah, because it felt good. But I need it now.
My life was in there. Memories were in there.
And since all the music came from my actual records, tapes and CDs all the pops, hisses and scratches were there. The heart was there.
Why did I smash that thing? What was I thinking? I need my music now. I need—
Gettin’ a flashback...
Two years ago...
Georgie—used to work in the shop, early 40-ish, tubby, smart, huge manga fan. He was really into one called Crisis Robo. It actually had a pretty interesting storyline. Took place right after World War II. Japan builds a nuclear warhead-equipped super mech to prevent anything like Hiroshima and Nagasaki from ever happening again, but things go awry. The mech ends up turning on the Japanese people. Results in a massacre much worse than the bombings. The reason why this happens...well, here goes Georgie...
“It’s all about the glitch. No matter how advanced the programming there will always be room for a glitch. Oddly enough, the more complex the machine the more susceptible it is to glitches because of the ridiculous amount of virtual synaptic connections complex artificially intelligent systems possess. There is no way to comprehensively understand the ‘nature’ of all of these connections. As a result there will always be room—or voids—for glitches to exploit.
“After the attack the machine’s creator, Nobi Mika—still very much in love with his creation—says all Crisis needs is a little bit of reprogramming. He suspects someone tampered with its discernment engine. Someone who wanted to make it more like us: vindictive, spiteful, confused.
“Mika designed the machine to see Japanese people only—like literally—they are the only life-form it can ‘read.’ So why would it atta—”
Whatever.
Didn’t really make sense then, but I get it now...now I have a void to fill.
When are we going to face the fact that we aren’t as divine as we think we are? That we’re just as synthetic as the machines we create. Nothing but programmed beings with no ‘real’ control over our lives. A woman swims across the English Channel and we marvel. An autistic kid plays Beethoven’s 5th after hearing it just one time and we gasp. Why? Why the shock? That’s just the way they are programmed. Even a mother’s affection for her newborn child is assisted by a program. Saw a show about it just the other day. It was called The Love Bug. It was all about oxytocin. Blew my fucking mind. It explained how damn near everything is governed by some sort of genetic program. Even the drive to subvert the programming is programmed.
No free will.
No control.
No nothing.
Just voids.
Walking, talking, bullshitting voids.
That’s why we’re so hungry for something else. We know this is all a game. We know we’re being played. And we fucking love it. We labor. We toil. We destroy ourselves just to fucking play. I waste my life away at a job I hate to pay rent for an apartment that is no more than a goddamn storage facility. Just a place full of shit I thought would fill the void.
What’s the fucking point?
What’s the point of this friction clusterfuck we call existence?
Who the hell am I asking these questions to?
Who the hell knows what the point is?
Maybe shit’s just supposed to happen...for eternity.
Or...
Maybe the glitches are the point. The true divinity. The something else. That’s actually kind of—
Hold on.
What the hell am I doing?
I need to chill with all this Carl Sagan shit.
I’m wasting time.
I have a point.
I have Amy.
IT’S DEAD in here. Deader than last night. Polynesian Smiles is absent. Some deathly skinny chain-smoking type is in her place. She’s sweet though. Asks me what I’m having with genuine unforced enthusiasm. I go with my usual. Deniece Williams’ Free is goin’ on the jukebox. Nice. It’s not the ‘same time’ yet. Eight minutes until then. That’s if she shows up on time. I doubt she’s going to show up on time. She’s too cool for that. But that’s okay. I’ll wait. All night if I have to.
I’m ready for this.
I’m ready for a change.
For the change.
But what if I’m expecting too much?
What if she just wants to hang out, have a couple drinks? What if she isn’t looking for something else? Or worse…what if she already has it?
There’s no way. She wouldn’t have been that flirtatious if she was involved.
Eve, come on, you’re not that naïve.
She’s different. She has to be.
Don’t bet the farm Eve.
I have to. There’s nothing left. I’ve been exposed...
I wonder if she’s been exposed. What if she doesn’t show up because of it? What if she jumped off a bridge? That would be horrible. I couldn’t deal with—
“Pretty crazy what’s goin’ on, huh?” Looks like Skinny wants to strike up a convo, “Did it affect you?”
Let’s bend the truth a little, “Not really.”
“Oh, well you’re lucky. I broke up with my girl because of it. Found out she had a boyfriend the whole time we were together. Ain’t that fucked up?”
“That’s pretty fucked up.”
“It hurt, but it was worth it. Better sooner than later.”
Someone walks in. Not Amy. Some box-shaped woman. This joint’s specialty. She sits at the other end of the bar. Skinny rushes to her. Thank God. I’m gettin’ tired of talking about that damn game. On one hand it’s cool that a videogame is a big deal again. Reminds me of the 90s when my beloved MK was all over the news. And this game is as big a deal as you can get. The veneer of bullshit we’ve been hiding behind all these years is being wiped away. And it’s all because of this damn game. A game that you don’t even have to play to get fucked over by.
Patrice Rushen’s on now, Where There Is Love.
I should go play some Street Fighter. Practice a little. I don’t wanna get my ass kicked again. Yeah, let’s do that. This waiting is making me anxious.
No.
No fucking way. This can’t be.
The screen is frozen. On an uppercut no less.
I flash a look to Skinny. She shrugs, “I think it’s broken.”
No shit, but how? And more importantly...why?
Why tonight?
Fuck.
Why tonight?!
It’s okay. It’s not about the game. It’s about her.
But what if this is a bad omen? What if—
How the fuck did the damn game break?! Who did this?! It was working fine yesterday. We were just playing—
No.
I’m not going to do it.
I’m not going to acknowledge you.
I’m done with that shit!
I know that’s what you’re trying to do with this though. I’m hip. I know what’s up. But I’m not going to do it. I’m staying here.
Don’t bug out Eve.
It’s not about the game.
It’s about her.
Damn, why am
I about to cry? It’s not that serious. It’s not that fucking serious! But I can’t stop it.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Why?
WHY???!!!
Suck it up Eve. Just suck it up. Don’t crack. Think about her. Think about—
It’s the ‘same time!!!’
My eyes lock on the door. Don’t know why. I didn’t see her come in yesterday night. But other than the fire exit it’s the only way in this place.
Eve, you’re doing too much. You need to slow down.
No. It’s time to believe in something. This is all that’s left. Please let me have this.
What if she doesn’t show?
That’s not how this is supposed to go down. She’s gonna show. She’s gonna walk through that door with some fashionable clothes draped over her wonderful body. She’s gonna lightheartedly chide me. I’ll laugh and sarcastically reference the broken game. That’s what’s gonna happen. Probably in about fifteen-to-twenty minutes. She’s gonna be here. She has to be here.
It’s not real Eve. It’s all in your head.
Fuck! Who are you working for? Me or them?
Sorry, but it’s the truth.
No it isn’t. It can’t be.
I don’t want you to get hurt.
Fuck this neurotic shit!!! She’s real. I need her. She’s all I have right now.
You don’t have her you pathetic fuck. Do you even know what you’re doing you simple bitch? Do you even know where you are right now? Look around you. You’re in a bar where dykes go to die waiting for your chocolate princess to save you from the sad joke your life has become. She’s not coming. She’s not even real.
She has to be.
Okay, fuck it. Go ahead and wait for your ‘meaning’ to show up.
I will. All night if I have to. Come on Amy. Walk through that door.
I need to calm down. Don’t rush things Eve. She’ll be here. I just gotta—
Door opens.
Damn.
Another refrigerator box.
Where’s my Amy?!
Fuck.
This could kill me. This could really kill me.
But that’s probably what you want to see.
You wanna watch me die.
What the fuck am I doing?! Goin’ back-and-forth with myself, with you. What is this shit?!
What the hell is going on?
Fuck it…
I’m gonna wait. She’s coming. She has to.
Come on Amy…
Walk through that door.
Why didn’t she just give me her number? Why did she have to be all mysterious?
Come on Amy. Please.
I need another drink. Back to the bar.
I go with another usual.
This one’s a little stronger than the last.
Ella Fitzgerald’s Midnight Sun begins. I wonder what box-dyke selected these cuts. Great taste.
I should ask the bartender if she knows Amy.
No. That would be too stalker-y. Just wait it out. But for how long?
It’s only been six minutes since the ‘same time.’
Feels like forever.
I don’t think she’s coming.
It hasn’t been all night yet. You said you were gonna—
I was being poetic. I don’t think she’s coming.
Fuck.
More water in my eyes. This shit is stupid!
Just think about something else. Like what?
Like...
Who programs the glitches?
Georgie never explained that part to me.
Does the glitch just happen? Like some random anomaly.
Or is the glitch an act of—
This isn’t working.
She’s not coming.
That’s it.
I can stare at that door all night. She’s not coming. All the positive thinking in the world ain’t gonna change that. This is it. The dream ain’t comin’ true. I can’t believe I bullshitted myself like this. I’ve never been a big fan of hope. Deluding yourself into believing you’re not deluding yourself has gotta be the most deceptively self-destructive thing a person can do. And here I am doing just that. Falling fast down the hope wormhole. But I get it. I so get it. Ignorance is fucking bliss. You gotta delude yourself with something. You gotta get so wrapped up in it that when you find out the something is really nothing the shock is genuine. You want the shock to be genuine. If it isn’t then the blissful lie wasn’t divine enough.
What am I talking about?
I’m still bullshitting myself. I’m not jaded. I’m not above it all. I want the good shit to happen to me. The transcendent shit. The poignant shit. Why am I acting like I—
Fuck it. Let’s just cut the nonsense.
You can admit it.
I’m not even going to be mad. I’m just tired of the bullshit. So go ahead—admit it. Just tell me that you’re tired of me and we can move on. Seriously. You have given up on me. All this talk about Amy. That was just to get it all back on track. But we all know this is falling apart. This ruse. This lie. Why don’t we just stop it right now? Stop beating around the bush and just speak frankly right now. Say exactly what’s on our minds right now. We can’t do that though. We have to maintain this. But we all know the truth...
The truth is you hate her. You hate what she represents. She doesn’t fit inside your well-crafted little world. She wasn’t going to hurt me. She was probably gonna be everything I hoped she would be. Everything I dreamed she would be. She was good and you can’t have good in your well-crafted world, can you? You need conflict. You need tragedy. You need worry. You need anxiety. You need this.
But if you hate her so much why did you let me see her?
Why did you let me feel that way? It felt real.
It felt like you wanted something better for me.
It felt like everything happened for a reason.
That’s what it felt like then.
But now...
Now it feels like you’re just fucking with me.
Now it feels like—
WHERE IS SHE???!!!
Why would you do this to me?! You knew precisely what I wanted.
I poured my fucking heart out to you.
And you give me this?!
This nothing?!
WHERE THE FUCK IS SHE???!!!
She is supposed to be right here. In this place. Instead we’re here.
What am I supposed to do?
Walk up to the bartender, say, “...she was really pretty. Had a frohawk. Have you seen her?”
And then she says...
“There’s no way you could’ve seen her. She died last year. Car accident. Left here with a girl who had been drinking. They didn’t even make it down the road. But that’s crazy you said you played that game with her. She was always playing that game. She was real good at it too.”
You know that would be stupid as hell, right?
A ghost.
A fucking ghost?!
Is that what she is?!
That would be the stupidest shit ever—
But really, why did you put her there? Was she just a carrot for me to chase? Something to keep you interested? I know you’re bored with me. Fuck, I’m even bored with me! But I don’t think you are that cruel. I know you had high hopes for her and I. So why didn’t you try? Why didn’t you make it work? Perfectly, beautifully. You were supposed to make it perfect, beautiful—my brown girl fantasy becomes long-lasting fulfilling romance reality. But instead you give me this. Did you hear me? When I was going on and on about believing in something else. DID YOU FUCKING HEAR ME???!!!
Wait.
Let me take a—
You were trying to redeem yourself, weren’t you? So what happened? Why didn’t you go through with it? There’s no point to any of this bullshit if she’s not here. Are you just that despicable? Or are you ashamed of your desire for redemption?
Look…
I’m not going anywhere.
That’s how much I�
�m committed to this.
Damn it. Do you not see what you’re putting me through?!
I get NOTHING from this.
I’m just here for your amusement.
I’m your whipping girl.
You’re punishing me...
But why? Why me?
Because I don’t get the big ‘it?’ I’m ignorant. Just a lowly flesh dilettante. A fetish collector. A privileged white bitch with entitlement issues, right? That’s me in a nutshell, huh? You got me pegged, don’t ya?
But guess what?
You don’t know me you sick twisted voyeuristic fuckface! You have no goddamn clue who I am!
But that doesn’t matter...
I mean nothing to you.
WHERE THE FUCK IS SHE???!!!
WHERE THE FUCK IS SHE???!!!
WHERE THE FUCK IS SHE???!!!
I’m not going anywhere until I see her.
You’re not gonna get rid of me that easily.
I will always be with you.
We went this far already.
There’s no going back.
Fuck.
This is futile.
What the hell am I fighting for? A possibility? I don’t even know this girl. I’m fighting for the fantasy of what I want her to be. Or more accurately—need her to be.
I’m scared.
I don’t want to be here alone.
Fuck. I’m losing my goddamn mind! No, let me take that back…I’ve been losing my goddamn mind. I don’t know shit anymore. What the hell is the point of all of this? To drive me mad? Is that the point of all this magnetized spinnin’ around? To drive us all fucking berserk? I’m tired. I’m so goddamn tired of whatever the fuck this is...
So let’s just call it quits.
Go our separate ways.
It’s time.
