and cubism and all this stupid stuff that no one needs to know.”
“My dad died when I was one,” I said, and his shoulders sunk suddenly and he went back to his regular voice and said, “Whoa … that’s heavy. … Anyway, you’re not missing much, dad-wise. They suck the big one, especially a-hole art historian ones. And then there’s nagging, alcoholic manic-depressive mothers—what a nightmare,” and then he laughed like the devil. “So, anyway, enough about my depressing, pathetic family life and back to the lesson at hand,” he said, now like a teacher, but his eyes were wild again, and I suddenly thought maybe he was high on angel dust or something.
(We saw a movie in health class about angel dust, which is a drug, Sam, and it makes you jump off buildings, because you think you can fly. At least that’s what happened in the movie.)
“So,” he continued, “I figured out this much on my own: a Ms. Pac-Man artist should play balls-to-the-wall. No effin’ pat-terns, no effin’ rules, just go for it, right?” and I was sitting there nodding, looking at the screen as he played Ms. Pac-Man balls-to-the-wall, and he was finally quiet for a bit so I croaked out a question, “Don’t you go to school?” and he shrugged and said,“Sometimes,” and then I got a little confident and said, “Don’t you get in trouble for not going?” and he laughed and said, “Naw … the teachers don’t really care about you as much when you’re a senior. They consider you an adult or something, and when you are an adult, people stop caring about you,” and I said, “Really?” and he said, “Yeah … they just set you free and say, ‘Figure it out, man. You’ve had all the training we’re gonna give you, you know how to do algebra and how to write an essay, now go out into the—’ Damn!” he said suddenly, smacking the table. “I never die on the second screen.”
And suddenly it was my turn, so I tried to just focus on the game, and when I did, I could tell I was getting better, because I kind of copied how Byron moved, not in a pattern, but using different escape moves. I was about three-quarters of the way through the first screen when Byron said, “So what year are you in?” and I said, “Freshman … at St. Clair,” as I ate my last big pellet, the ones that let you eat the ghosts for a while, and he said, “Freshman year is pretty tough. … You gotten laid yet?” and this made me sort of go red, and I didn’t answer for a while, but there was no way around answering, so I finally just said, “Um … no,” as I ate one of the blue ghosts just before they all turned back to their original colors.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I got laid only a month before my fifteenth birthday. It was with Debbie Bronson in her parents’ bed. I’ve got a way with the ladies, so really, don’t worry— you don’t want to have to keep up with Bionic Byron,” and out of the corner of my eye, I saw him doing the slow Bionic Man arms, and then he said, “A little squirt like you has lots of time,”and I wanted to argue that I wasn’t a little squirt and I guess this distracted me because I got eaten by stupid Sue the Stoner.
“Damn!” I whispered, smacking the table like Byron, and then this made him howl. “Maybe, you should go after Sue the Stoner. She’s pretty cute, and you seem to really like her,” and I didn’t say anything, because this basically pissed me right off, so I just stared straight at him and I was dead effin’ silent.
“Okay, okay, tough guy,” he said, putting up one hand, pretending to be scared, as he started his next man. “I’m just messing with you. It was a pretty good board for a little guy.” His eyes were on the screen. “But keep this in mind: the key to the game is to clear the board and eat the pellets. It’s the key to life, too. Yeah, like my life, well … until a month ago,” and I said, “What do you mean like your life?” and he said,
“My dad died when I was one,” I said, and his shoulders sunk suddenly and he went back to his regular voice and said, “Whoa … that’s heavy. … Anyway, you’re not missing much, dad-wise. They suck the big one, especially a-hole art historian ones. And then there’s nagging, alcoholic manic-depressive mothers—what a nightmare,” and then he laughed like the devil. “So, anyway, enough about my depressing, pathetic family life and back to the lesson at hand,” he said, now like a teacher, but his eyes were wild again, and I suddenly thought maybe he was high on angel dust or something.
(We saw a movie in health class about angel dust, which is a drug, Sam, and it makes you jump off buildings, because you think you can fly. At least that’s what happened in the movie.)
“So,” he continued, “I figured out this much on my own: a Ms. Pac-Man artist should play balls-to-the-wall. No effin’ pat-terns, no effin’ rules, just go for it, right?” and I was sitting there nodding, looking at the screen as he played Ms. Pac-Man balls-to-the-wall, and he was finally quiet for a bit so I croaked out a question, “Don’t you go to school?” and he shrugged and said,“Sometimes,” and then I got a little confident and said, “Don’t you get in trouble for not going?” and he laughed and said, “Naw … the teachers don’t really care about you as much when you’re a senior. They consider you an adult or something, and when you are an adult, people stop caring about you,” and I said, “Really?” and he said, “Yeah … they just set you free and say, ‘Figure it out, man. You’ve had all the training we’re gonna give you, you know how to do algebra and how to write an essay, now go out into the—’ Damn!” he said suddenly, smacking the table. “I never die on the second screen.”
And suddenly it was my turn, so I tried to just focus on the game, and when I did, I could tell I was getting better, because I kind of copied how Byron moved, not in a pattern, but using different escape moves. I was about three-quarters of the way through the first screen when Byron said, “So what year are you in?” and I said, “Freshman … at St. Clair,” as I ate my last big pellet, the ones that let you eat the ghosts for a while, and he said, “Freshman year is pretty tough. … You gotten laid yet?” and this made me sort of go red, and I didn’t answer for a while, but there was no way around answering, so I finally just said, “Um … no,” as I ate one of the blue ghosts just before they all turned back to their original colors.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I got laid only a month before my fifteenth birthday. It was with Debbie Bronson in her parents’ bed. I’ve got a way with the ladies, so really, don’t worry— you don’t want to have to keep up with Bionic Byron,” and out of the corner of my eye, I saw him doing the slow Bionic Man arms, and then he said, “A little squirt like you has lots of time,”and I wanted to argue that I wasn’t a little squirt and I guess this distracted me because I got eaten by stupid Sue the Stoner.
“Damn!” I whispered, smacking the table like Byron, and then this made him howl. “Maybe, you should go after Sue the Stoner. She’s pretty cute, and you seem to really like her,” and I didn’t say anything, because this basically pissed me right off, so I just stared straight at him and I was dead effin’ silent.
“Okay, okay, tough guy,” he said, putting up one hand, pretending to be scared, as he started his next man. “I’m just messing with you. It was a pretty good board for a little guy.” His eyes were on the screen. “But keep this in mind: the key to the game is to clear the board and eat the pellets. It’s the key to life, too. Yeah, like my life, well … until a month ago,” and I said, “What do you mean like your life?” and he said,
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