Page 47 of Our Sadie
To this day I remember completing my college applications and her making me pause.
“Under skills add in all those swimming techniques that swim coach taught you.”
“But I didn’t do that as a school or community activity.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Mom insisted. “It counts as physical education, and it’s true. You are a highly accomplished swimmer.”
She’s the reason my academics stood out and why I had so many strengths to list. She’s also why I can speak to others—even at a huge party—without coming across like a social pariah despite being such an introvert.
True, my mother wasn’t the type to be doting or soft. She had plenty of sharp edges. For example, I love cats. I discovered this due to the volunteer work at the humane society my dad encouraged me to do. But we never had any pets during my childhood because Mom refused to allow any “mangy flea-ridden beasts” into our home.
Still, I automatically follow the precepts she engrained into me, which makes her responsible in part for why I’m a success today in my career.
Got to give credit where credit is due.
“Do you know how much I geeked out once I saw all these retro consoles?” Zach says, snatching me back to the present. “These are the classics. Frogger. Tetris. Galaga. Ms. Pac Man. Donkey Kong. This is like...” He grabs both sides of his face in elation. “The most extensive collection I’ve ever witnessed. You even have neon lights along the walls.”
“My parents were Gen-Xers,” I explain, glancing at the lines and swirls of bright green, blue, and pink ambient lighting Dad told me were meant to look like lasers. “My dad grew up in arcades and wanted to share the experience with me.”
“These games are in mint condition, too.” Zach trails a hand along the original Centipede artwork on the side, one displaying a rather intricately detailed yet alien-looking insect. “Where did he get them all?”
“He bought seven or eight from some fastidious collector who kept them as immaculate as a surgical ward. The rest he found in various locations all over. A couple weren’t even in the country. But he knew a guy who restored them. The result is what you find here.”
Dad had gone on and on about how he tracked these down. He adored waxing poetic about Jim, his restoration guy, as well.
“Shit, I didn’t even notice that you had Mario Bros. Is this the original?”
“Yes.”
“It’s two-player,” he says in a sing-song voice. A clear invitation.
Out of habit, I take my place at the left set of controls, just like always, taking the joystick in hand. For once, I don’t have to change my approach because this is how I always played, the joystick in my right hand with my left on the fire and jump buttons. I won’t of course have access to those buttons and the joystick at the same time anymore, but I guess I can make do.
I manage the first level okay because I’m able to angle my right thumb so it can jab at the buttons without having to reach too terribly far. It’s not a foolproof system, yet I’m making it work. Sort of. But just as I begin to get more frustrated Zach switches us over to Frogger.
And on it goes.
If a game proves super difficult for me, my date moves us to another console. He even feigns boredom or ineptitude on his part. I’d call him on it, but I’ve realized he’s doing this not to condescend to me, but so I can have a nice time. We stay at Tetris for a while because I can do it one-handed. But eventually, we move on.
Ms. Pacman is next.
We’ve just cleared the first level when I glimpse over at him.
Dad and I played this game—played all these games—constantly, with him standing where Zach is. Maybe that’s why I get such a vivid sense of my father being in the room. I swear I can detect his Old Spice cologne and feel him hovering nearby. Not in some macabre or sinister way, but as if his spirit is here. As if he’s watching over me.
And without warning, my eyes well up.
Not wanting Zach to catch on, I mumble, “Bathroom.”
Speeding toward the half-bath two doors down, I lock myself in, leaning against the door as my breaths saw in and out of me. I will not ruin this date. I will not.
Splashing water on my face, I glare at my drenched reflection. “Get it together, Sadie,” I order myself in a silent whisper, all the while hearing my mother’s voice. “Get. Yourself. Together.”
My eyes are blazing like an inferno, so I hold that glare, letting the sting of the tears threatening to erupt be replaced by white-hot anger. Anger that grows and expands until I quell it, wrestling it to the ground and smothering it, like a thick blanket over a kitchen fire.
And once it’s out, I’m in control again. I’m so in control that I’m half numb.
I return to Zach. We play some more games I can’t seem to concentrate much on, then he leads me into one of the rarely used guest rooms near Max’s quarters. I expect it to be musty since it’s usually closed off, but it’s not. I don’t know if Zach somehow talked Max into cleaning it or if he did it himself, but he’s transformed this small room into a romantic dining space.