“Yeah,” Devonte says without smiling.
Chapter Ten
Here’s a brief history of Lewis in games:
When Lewis’s mother brings her first boyfriend home, she buys Lewis Kid Pix, which all of us certainly know about, but those of us who are currently in high school aren’t familiar with in an end-user way. It’s a painting program directed at children, made for the friendly-looking Macintosh living on a dusty table in their basement. Perhaps we can’t entirely call it a game, but she parks her son in front of it while she partakes in adult activity for the first time in years. It is 1992 and he is four. He draws a portrait of her. Red lipstick, curly brown hair, big smile with all the teeth showing. He is mesmerized by the things he can do. When it comes time to show her the picture, he can’t find her anywhere in their lightly run-down Brooklyn home. Some doors are locked, so he can’t be sure. But he is not afraid, being the man of the house and all. He grows bored and uses the mixing tool to swirl the colors in her face, her lips, her hair, all together as if he is finger painting. He doesn’t have the words to say it yet, but he thinks the essence of her is still present in this whirling new likeness.
Math Blaster: In Search of Spot, 1994. In first grade they have a computer in the classroom, perched on a desk set atop the corner of the blue storytime rug, and everyone can sign up to use it during free enrichment. Lewis signs up the most out of everyone so he can play Math Blaster. As a result, he aces quizzes left and right. He is promoted to Gifted and Talented Math come second grade and, as a reward, his mother buys him Math Blaster and one other game—Are You Afraid of the Dark? The Tale of Orpheo’s Curse. A spooky point-and-click mystery that occupies hours of bright Sunday afternoons. He has to know the end of the story, he just has to. He is so angry with himself every time he dies. He doesn’t notice he is playing as a girl; or he doesn’t care. The drowned magician in the tank, a victim of his own hubris with his inability to escape his self-imposed confines, gives him nightmares. But even when he wakes in the middle of the night, covered in so much sweat he is convinced he’s been submerged in choking water, he doesn’t cry out.
When his mother brings her third boyfriend over, that’s when he gets the console. A Super Nintendo, with The Legend of Zelda: A Link to the Past, Super Mario World, Super Mario Kart and Star Fox. He’s never seen such a treasure trove, and the last is his favorite. It moves so fast and Lewis is fascinated by his ability to operate in three dimensions on a two-dimensional screen. It’s magic, he thinks, and: this is what I want to do.
He subscribes, then, to Nintendo Power. He wants to learn everything he can (and we should step outside our timeline once again to mention that he remains a subscriber until the last issue, December 11, 2012. A regret: that he was not subscribed at birth so he could have owned the first and the last, slipped reverently into plastic sleeves).
When the Nintendo 64 comes out, that’s when we calculate that Lewis manipulates his mother for the first time. He throws a fit about the boyfriend. (It isn’t a difficult fit to throw. Lewis doesn’t like him anyway; the strange adult yells, looks right at him and accuses Lewis of things he’s never done.) The tantruming child receives the newest console as consolation. When Star Fox is released, he does it again. He has to experience the Rumble Pak with its vibrational feedback—it is gaming history. He must continue James McCloud’s lineage with the new character, Fox McCloud, and the flying; oh, the flying! He bonds with boys over barrel rolls. They draw the characters for the games they promise each other they will make one day. “You’ll be the first one to play it, pinky swear.” If they are not doing that, they sit under the overhang by the cafeteria, Game Boys in hand, trading Pokémon and helping each other through Wario.
Let’s skip a few, because we have made our point. Lewis loved video games. He loved the same ones we loved.
World of Warcraft, 2004. Argent Dawn server. He and his lost boys lose entire weekends to role-playing and drinking soda out of liter bottles. They are a player-versus-player guild; as long as it serves the story, there are no rules. This—this is a feeling deeper than love. It is an obsession. A second life. A way to attempt feats they would never have the strength or courage to do in physical space. There was a sweetness to their face-splitting cruelty; it was imaginary, consequence-less. A product of boyhood. Fuck anyone who calls it toxic.
Chapter Eleven
DAleb: Okay so its like
EBrig: …
EBrig: what?
DAleb: dude, trying to figure out how to say it
EBrig: Devonte, don’t make me guess.
DAleb: okay, okay, this is not a big deal. they’re just being stupid
DAleb: I just hate to be the one to tell you
DAleb: have you looked at it carefully?
EBrig: what?
DAleb: the number? the code they’re tagging with?
EBrig: what code?
DAleb: 80085?
EBrig: what do you mean carefully? ive seen the number
DAleb: look at it
EBrig: Devonte, what am i not seeing?
DAleb: write it down
EBrig: oh god.
DAleb: do you see it?
EBrig: it says boobs
DAleb: yeah. it says boobs.
EBrig: all my code was marked with this. i went back and looked. and then this afternoon it wasn’t anymore
DAleb: yeah.
EBrig: devonte. are you telling me Lewis and JP marked all of my code with the word boobs?
EBrig: that is what you’re telling me
EBrig: they marked all my code with boobs. 80085. boobs.
EBrig: this is because I’m a girl
DAleb: I think so. They don’t do it to any of the guys who have boobs.
EBrig: Devonte.
DAleb: and it’s a company full of nerds, there are plenty of guys who have boobs
DAleb: you’re making the sex patch. is it possible they’re referring to actual boobs?
EBrig: i don’t think so
EBrig: they commented on those bits with the actual word boobs
EBrig: this feels different than that, now that i know
DAleb: listen, they’re just being idiots, okay? i dont think theyr used to working with women
Chapter Twelve
EBrig: IT MEANS BOOBS, SUZANNE
SChoy: what now?
EBrig: Boobs. 80085. Boobs.
SChoy: of course it does
SChoy: didnt you ever have a calculator? what did you do during math class, actual math?
EBrig: jp and lewis marked all my code with it
SChoy: o shit
SChoy: on the work server?
EBrig: yep
SChoy: thats dumb as shit, someone could see it.
EBrig: theyre never going to take anything i do seriously
SChoy: did you honestly expect them to?
EBrig: suzanne, i’m like three steps away from crying rn
SChoy: dont cry
SChoy: youre in their line of sight, right?
EBrig: yeah
SChoy: you cant cry. if anyone sees you, theyll think you cant handle your shit rn.
EBrig: what do i do about this?
EBrig: suzanne. are you still there
SChoy: nothing
EBrig: what?
SChoy: you don’t do anything
EBrig: what do you mean? i hafta do something. shouldn’t i, like, tell HR?
SChoy: all theyre gonna do is slap them on the wrist, maybe make them do, like, sensitivity training or something
EBrig: well good! they need the training
SChoy: but like, what are the odds its gonna make a difference?
SChoy: and then they know it was you, that you reported. who else would’ve looked at the code?
SChoy: and you still hafta work with them after
EBrig: well shit
EBrig: i didnt think of that
SChoy: reporting someone is why i left my last job
EBrig: no shit, rly?<
br />
SChoy: yeah. made it real weird.
SChoy: would have been better if i hadnt said anything
Chapter Thirteen
Eliza needs to go to the bathroom. She needs to go to the private bathroom, so she can cry alone. In her hands, she clutches two things—her phone and a printout of the Career Tree she filled out with Preston just last Friday. We aren’t sure why she grabs it. She intends to rethink it? Or she wants to stare at it for a while. Perhaps she wants to rip it up and flush it down the toilet; we hope for the third option. She repeats to herself that this might not be a big deal, that she is making something out of nothing, that this only feels so shitty because it’s never happened before, that a heap of tears and a splash of cold water can make everything fine again, that all new jobs are hard for a while. We think she’s being a little bitch. It’s not a big deal! She’s making a mountain out of a molehill, and at the first sign of actual gaming culture, she’s running away and crying. If she can’t do the job, she doesn’t belong here. But whatever, cry alone. Go for it.
Using that bathroom means passing the glass wall that does a bad job of hiding Preston’s office. When asked why he designed it that way, Preston’s answer is always, “Transparency!” She sees him in there, gesturing to no one, practicing some presentation or another—probably for the big announcement. Beyond is New York, darkening quickly with office buildings reflecting what remains of the harsh winter sun. For a breath or two, she thinks she is in Windy City. She’d rather be. If she were, she’d be tall, tan and blonde instead of short, skinny and rat-faced; she feels certain that she’d know what to do if she were a superhero. She wouldn’t be running to the bathroom to sob if she were Circuit Breaker, hardwired to ignore rules in favor of chaos, all to further what is good. What is right. What is fair.
We should interrupt here to clarify: we don’t know exactly why she does what she does next, especially since all of us agree, even those of us who have a molecule of sympathy for her, that of the million ways to handle this, what she chooses is the worst one. Eliza herself will say the same after it all happens. But we do know one thing for sure: nerds like us, like who she’s trying to be or pretending to be, love a Chaotic Good protagonist. A hero who can say “fuck the rules!” Someone whose moral compass is greater than the law, than a bureaucratic government or social propriety. Chaotic Good is romance. It’s standing up for the little guy. It’s robbing the rich to give to the poor. It’s bold. It’s big. Our mythos is built on the individuality, the genius loner nobility of Chaotic Good. The Robin Hoods, the Wolverines, the Kvothes. Perhaps it is a moment of weakness or insanity, but most of us think this stumble-step moment is a simple—if ill-advised—realignment, a wish that life was a little more like the world she helps to build, where her own personal idea of justice is served and consequences are pixels. It is the only explanation we can offer for how she changes her mind, midstep. Or perhaps she’s just an idiot. That could work too.
So, let’s continue.
Eliza examines the last few minutes—she’s taken a swing into Lawful Neutral and has been coasting, stuck. Or perhaps, she thinks, she’s transformed from a superhero into someone who needs rescuing. When had she gotten complacent? she wonders. When had her alignment shifted without her noticing? When did she start taking the safe option instead of the brave one?
Instead of bursting into Preston’s office like the Chaotic Good badass she wishes she is, she retains the good sense to knock. She longs for a proper wooden door—it would make a good smacking sound and she could use a hearty thwap; she could imagine an in-game bubble stating her sonic results, like a comic book, one made of candy-colored polka dots and bold, satisfying outline. Knock! Bam! Thwap! But the glass makes a hollow clink against her knuckles. “Preston?” she asks, fighting the prickly pins behind her eyes threatening to push tears out.
“Yes?”
“I’d like to have a Conversation with you. Is now a good time?”
Preston’s smile falters. Fancy Dog corporate culture says that Conversations (capital “C”) are a gift. But no one ever has Conversations for positive stuff (even though it is encouraged). Good things are reserved for regular conversations without the capital letter, and what is left over is critical feedback. So Eliza knows that Preston knows that what’s coming isn’t anything super. And you are supposed to give the recipient control over when they hear it, except everyone knows that’s bullshit: no one can ever say “not fucking now” even if it isn’t the right time, because Conversations are gifts and one should always be willing to receive a gift.
“Yes, of course! Did you want to talk some more about your Career Tree?” Preston asks.
“No.” Eliza hesitates. Suzanne’s words rattle in her brain. But—and we truly do not understand why—she keeps going. “It’s about— I think I’m experiencing some sexism? On my team?”
Preston’s eyes widen. He is shocked. “Come in, come in. Close the door.” He remembers that his office is glass. He wonders if either of the two deaf people on staff can read Eliza’s lips. Would they tell anyone? Should they both face away, toward the windows? Or could sound travel through glass? He thinks about the collaboration rooms, but they’re glass too. And accusations like this—they spread things. Things he doesn’t fucking need.
“No, wait.” Preston pushes Eliza back out the door and closes it behind them. “Let’s go to dinner. I mean, I’m taking you to dinner. My treat, obviously. Well, the company’s treat. A business meeting. Let’s talk this out.” He walks two steps forward and remembers it is cold out. He backs up and grabs his coat from the spiny coatrack.
“I don’t have my coat,” Eliza says because there is nothing else to say.
“We can stop by your desk, not a problem.”
Eliza considers saying she isn’t much hungry, or that she has a ton of work to do; she considers saying she just found out about all this, and she needs a minute; she considers backing down entirely, but she doesn’t. Preston accompanies her to her desk. She puts on her coat and they leave in the elevator together.
Chapter Fourteen
LFleis: did u see that
JPDes: yes
LFleis: we were right
JPDes: are you sure?
LFleis: she just left with him!
JPDes: i know
LFleis: i bet theyre not coming back
JPDes: we dont know, tho
LFleis: of course we do
LFleis: she totally fucked her way to the middle
JPDes: i guess your right
JPDes: sad
JPDes: i thought more of preston than that
LFleis: me too
LFleis: well at least we know
JPDes: i feel like i felt when i found out père noel wasnt real
LFleis: ?
JPDes: pere noel.
JPDes: father christmas
JPDes: santa claus, you asshole
LFleis:
Chapter Fifteen
And now A Brief History of Eliza In Games narrated by only those of Us who Love her and want her to succeed which means a collective of queers and folks without genders that at this point has very little to do with the story but who will become Very Important later on—We have Temporarily Expelled the others
Her first one: Star Fox on the Nintendo 64 though We suppose if We’re being technical it was Stunt Copter on her mother’s old Macintosh computer—she doesn’t think of it as a game in the same category as Star Fox when she gets the Nintendo 64 for her birthday because to our Plucky But Realistic Heroine a game is only such with a Dedicated Piece of Machinery on which it is played—she rips open the package and slots the cartridge in while leaving the Rumble Pak by the wayside and noticing it later after she’s gone half through it—the controller feels like a Hug between her fingers and the relationship between joystick and flight is seamless and Elating—Eliza has never felt so free
When her next-door neighbor who is of course a boy (for now) comes over to see the system he sneers and
says “that’s a boy’s game—let me show you how to really play it”—and the very first mission—which is one that she’s only completed but not won—turns into a success when he shows her how to rescue Falco and make it to the Cornerian waterfalls—she still plays occasionally after that but only casually and We are in Mourning with her—the fervor evaporates—the Joy gone from joystick until she feels stuck
Pokémon in 1998—first, she sees the show and the monsters are cute but she fears it might be another “boy thing” (Our Heart, it Breaks!) and then she sees Misty—Misty with a side ponytail and a shirt that Shows Her Midriff and a Sisterhood of feminine girls in bathing suits by her side—she begs and begs her mother to get her a Game Boy for the video game’s impending US release—“But you barely play the Nintendo as it is” her mother says while driving the red minivan to ballet
“This’ll be different” a small Eliza replies and she doesn’t follow it up with “Girls play this even if it’s called a Game Boy” because her mother’s response won’t be helpful—her mother would say “Girls can do anything that boys can do” and her eyebrows would knit together to make one long eyebrow—and We Agree!—but Eliza knows better—perhaps that is true in her mother’s world, but everything is gendered in the language of ten-year-olds—girlhood matters (We Feel Compelled to leave a footnote here that not everything Eliza thinks as a ten-year-old Reflects Our Opinions but in the interest of Honesty which is a Core Value of Ours We must tell it like it is even though We wish We could go back into this History and Reparent her a little bit)
In the end it is her father who caves and she wakes one morning and discovers both items—the Game Boy and Pokémon Red—on the little white desk where she does her homework—she isn’t the only girl who plays—but she is the only one in the Early Kids program—her high-powered advertising executive parents drop her off in the gymnasium each day on their way to work a full forty minutes before school actually starts and that forty minutes is spent on hard blue bleachers playing Pokémon with ten-year-old boys (for now) in backwards ball caps and white-soled, gym-teacher-approved shoes and she’s right there alongside them in a Laura Ashley floral dress with a side ponytail like Misty’s and no one cares—the memory of boy games and girl games begins to fade (Huzzah!)
We Are Watching Eliza Bright Page 4
