Backward Compatible: A Geek Love Story

by Sarah Daltry

  “I don’t want anything. Shut up. Maybe we can win a shirt,” I tell him. I don’t actually want to win a shirt. I don’t even like the book. I just want him to stop trying to buy me things with the money he magically had after I let him slip his tongue into my mouth for a few awkward minutes.

  The usher guy gets the crowd to quiet down. I notice no one makes a move for the cake. Why do they even have cake? I feel like they bought cake just to pander to us. I hate pandering, almost as much as I now hate Jeff, his slobbery kisses, and his knee that keeps brushing mine.

  “Our first question is for a Thor t-shirt. The Argonath along the River Anduin represent Isildur and Anarion. What land were these two from?”

  “Numenor,” I mumble, amid hundreds of cries of the same.

  “Why didn’t you yell it out?” Jeff asks.

  “I hate Thor.”

  “Do you want cake?” he asks again.

  “You know what? Yes. Yes, I do want cake. Give me money.”

  He hands me a twenty and I maneuver my way out of the theater to concessions for, apparently, cake. I’m nearly taken out by Gimli and Thorin. The Ent that was stuck earlier is finally making his way in as well, now carrying his stilts.

  I decide to use the bathroom, loving these rare moments when the lines to pee are stretched out of the men’s room instead. I get in, pee, wash my hands, and make it back out, noting that Elrond hasn’t moved from his spot across the hall. He stares at my boobs.

  The cake is, of course, a lie. Because movie theaters don’t have cake. I can’t decide if I’m entertained by the irony of it all, or just annoyed at the whole setup. But I have twenty bucks and I already came this far. I get Twizzlers and a giant root beer, which costs twelve. I pee again on the way back in, because, why not? Elrond is still leaning against the wall.

  “Where’s the cake?” Jeff asks when I get back and hand him his change.

  “The cake is a lie.”

  He laughs. “No. Really.”

  “Really. It’s a lie. They said it wasn’t a lie to trick us into thinking it wasn’t a lie, but it’s a lie.”

  “Wow. Brilliant.”

  “Yeah, sure.” Brilliant? I think he means stupid. Stupid is the word he’s looking for.

  The trivia, which is mostly sad and way too easy, ends and the lights go down. The first trailer is for some dumb family movie. I will never comprehend how hard it is for these studios to do even the slightest bit of market research. We collectively mock the trailer until it’s over. The second trailer is for a romantic comedy. Someone shouts, “Show Star Wars,” which gets a laugh, even though it’s nonsensical. I settle back and eat my Twizzlers, almost comfortable until Jeff yawns, stretches his arm out, and rests it over my shoulder. His fingertips brush my tit. I am seriously regretting this entire evening.

  The movie starts and the theater grows silent. Jeff’s hand is frozen near my boob and then, he does the unthinkable. We’re ten minutes into the movie. The entire audience is focused intently on the screen, and Jeff leans over and kisses me, both obscuring the film and catching me mid-licorice chew. I cough, swallowing a chunk of Twizzler, and bash the back of my head on the seat. He finishes licking my teeth and returns his focus to Bilbo.

  That’s it. I’m only dating Browncoats from now on.

  George

  “Balls on a jellyfish. I’ve been Fontained.”

  Lanyon looks away from the movie. “By whom?”

  “By Arwen. Or Katie. Both, I suppose. Look.”

  He looks and I can’t stop looking. Seynar is lung deep in her throat and going all topography for the blind on her tits. So much for me having a girlfriend.

  “Shit. Not cool. Making out at the movies is for twelve-year-olds and dickheads.”

  I nod. “It wouldn’t have been so bad if she’d just given me back my money and been like, ‘that’s all folks.’ But no. She was all, ‘oh, George, you’re so sexy. I love our date. I totally can’t wait to pleasure you in a variety of imaginative ways.’”

  “Not sure she said that exactly.” Lanyon tucks popcorn under his warg face and chews. For a thin dude, he eats a lot.

  I keep up my mockish female voice. “‘And Lanyon can watch. I’ll dress up as Harley Quinn and let him film it and add director’s commentary for the DVD.’”

  “That bitch. That would have been awesome.”

  “It would. It would have been awesome. But now, she’s too busy wiping the slobber from her face to do us that favor.”

  I stare in rage at the screen. An endless list of names streams across it as the camera soars over a picturesque forest and mountainscape. Mountains. Like the one that hidden boss came out of. Oh, the memories. “This is what I get for hanging around with girls. That’s it. I’m going the Yoda route. Empty planet, lots of woods and such. No girls at all. Good times.”

  “Do you want some Junior Mints? You know, to cleanse out some of that bitter taste.” He smiles.

  “You, sir, are a satyr’s scrotum.”

  “Perhaps. But it was one date,” he reminds me. “I’m not sure that’s good enough reason to move to Dagobah. Besides, where would I stay? I don’t like humidity.”

  “Who says it will be humid?” I ask.

  “It’s a swamp. Those things are like the headquarters of humidity.”

  “You’re right. I suck. I can’t do anything right and everybody hates me. I’m like the Jar Jar of humanity.” I slump down into my chair and jab the dwarf – Balin, I think – on my other side with my goblin sword. “Sorry.”

  “Vengryn,” he says with a chuckle. Revenge in Dwarvish. This dude is committed to character.

  I pull off my goblin face. Lanyon sees this and de-wargs.

  “I pulled out the staple,” he mentions. “It was not pleasant.”

  I watch the rest of the movie in a cloudy mist of hatred. What’s the big deal? So I dated her one time. She didn’t like me and moved on. That’s normal, not a big deal. I hardly know her. Then why am I so goddamn angry?

  On the screen, something shrieks and gets chopped in half. “This shit isn’t in the book. Fuck Peter Jackson. Fuck him right in his medically reduced ass,” I bitch.

  It wouldn’t be so bad if she didn’t choose Seynar over me. I don’t mind playing games with him, but Christ. He’s a tool in the online world and, perhaps worse, he’s a frickin’ hipster in the real one.

  Lanyon pipes up around what must be hour fourteen of this jambalaya of ass we’re watching. “It’s a shame that Mr. Jackson did not have some kind of script type thing from which to draw plot structure and character from. That would have been helpful.”

  “Yes, I sure am glad he thought that he was good enough to add eighty percent of a story to a man’s book. A man, I might add, who basically constructed the basis for the most popular book trilogy, roleplaying game, and video game genre in history. Why follow what he wrote, when you can add worthless shit?”

  “Hate leads to suffering,” Lanyon says.

  “Go fuck a wolf.”

  “I am a wolf.”

  “Makes sense then. They can’t be any more bloodthirsty and evil than human girls,” I complain.

  Some guy taps us on the shoulder. I turn around. “Hey, do you guys know where I can get some weed?”

  “Fuck my life,” I say. The dwarf next to me nods.

  “Are you on Live?” I ask the dwarf.

  “Yup. Balin1616,” he says.

  “Good costume. I’ll friend you. Have you played FDX?” He nods. “Do you have a sister?” He nods again. “Is she hot?”

  “Not sure. She’s my sister. But she looks a little bit like Galadriel, if Galadriel had a shit ton of acne.”

  Sometimes I wish I was a cube.

  Katie

  I don’t know how, exactly, Jeff/Seynar intends to write his blog post that nine – okay, eight – people await with bated breath, since he watched approximately 78% of the stupid movie. The rest of the time, he tongue bathed my face.

  As we’re leaving,
I see Lanyon and George pass by us in the aisle, but they’re lost among the shuffle of Fellowship rejects. I almost call out to George to save me. How is it even possible to make an attractive goblin? I have it bad. Meanwhile, Jeff is not so stealthily eye-fucking my ass while I stand and wait for the tides of people to part so I can get out of here. It’s got to be March by now.

  “Do you want to go to Denny’s?” he grunts in my ear.

  “No.”

  “They have those red velvet puppy things again,” he says, as if this changes my mind. As if two dollars’ worth of balled up pancakes, red velvet or not, is going to win me over to the Dark Side.

  “Still no.”

  “I’ll buy.” He’s begging now. It’s sad. I look down the stadium seats and contemplate throwing myself to my demise.

  “And then again, no.”

  “But you’re my girlfriend,” he says. “I want to spend time with you.”

  I try to turn around to explain to him how girlfriends work, that there is a formal application process and all, but my dress gets caught on the armrest and rips. The whole damn back of my dress rips. Not only is my Arwen costume now ruined, but my green and pink striped granny panties are showing as well. I fucking hate everything.

  Jeff, obviously, uses this chance to check out my now almost naked ass. He’s not even subtle. He just gets all gapey-mawed and shoots lusty hormonal laser beams at my Hanes briefs. To ensure that tonight is, in fact, the worst night of my already embarrassingly pathetic life.

  I gather my dress around myself and push past the crowd to the bathroom, mumbling about a female emergency. Nothing parts the Red Sea faster than, well, the Red Sea.

  In the bathroom, I cry. I hate myself for crying. It’s stupid and girly and everything weak and dumb that girls do, but I can’t help it. Why did I come out tonight? Why is Jeff such an asswad? Why doesn’t George like me? I’m scrunched up in the bathroom stall, sitting on the toilet seat and bawling like a loser, when someone knocks.

  “Hello?”

  “Go away,” I whine.

  “Are you okay?” a girl asks.

  Now, normally, my interactions with my gender are less than positive. If I didn’t have Anna, I would probably never speak to a girl. As it is, Anna doesn’t exactly redeem womanhood. However, a girl at the midnight release of The Hobbit could potentially not suck. Plus, I don’t have enough safety pins to cover my undies and she probably has a bag. Which might contain additional safety pins.

  I unlock the stall and kick it open, nearly knocking her back against the wall. “Do you have a safety pin?” I ask.

  “Of course,” she says and proceeds to break out an economy size box. Long live girl power. She’s dressed as a Little Sister, which makes absolutely no sense here but I think I develop a girl crush.

  “Nice costume.”

  “Thanks. There are like no girl characters in this stupid series. Except elves.” I look down at my costume. My ear falls off. I don’t know where the other one even is. Jeff probably ate it while he was devouring my head. “Sorry,” she adds.

  “No. You’re right. I didn’t even want to come tonight.”

  “Why did you?”

  “Bored,” I reply. “And everyone I know on Live was going to be here anyway.”

  “Me, too,” she admits.

  We fix my dress and, although it doesn’t look good per se, my underwear is covered. And that’s all that matters.

  “You should add me,” I tell her.

  “Cool. I’m CassandradeVries64.”

  “You’re my new best friend.”

  She laughs. “Hey, a group of us are going to Denny’s. Wanna come with?”

  I sigh. “Yeah. I just need to bring this guy.”

  “Boyfriend?” she asks.

  “He wishes,” I tell her.

  George

  “For a girl you keep saying you don’t care about, you sure want to go through an awful lot of hassle for her,” says Lanyon.

  “Hassle? Are you fifty? Besides, what else do we have to do? We might as well run a little covert spy op.”

  “She’s going to recognize Crimson Lightning.”

  “Nonsense. The darkness is our friend. We shall be enshrouded by its dark mystery.”

  “What about all the streetlights? Maybe you should turn the headlights off,” he suggests.

  “Yeah, that would have us blend in. People always drive around with their headlights off on narrow roads at 4 am.”

  “Whatever. Not sure why you’re bothering.” He bites a Snickers.

  “You have no sense of adventure. Besides, don’t you want to see where Seynar lives?”

  “Nope.”

  “Well, too bad, because I’m your ride,” I say.

  I decided on the way out that we’d shoot past Katie and Jabba the tongue rapist and use our keen spy skills to track them to their car. Then, we’d follow them so that we could learn more about Seynar. Also, maybe so that I can be sure they don’t spend the night together. I’m not really sure why that matters, since they exchanged so much spittle during the movie that they’re like Spidey and the black costume by now, but still… I can’t help it.

  “They’re going right,” Lanyon chips in.

  “Wow, thanks. You’d make a hell of a detective, boy. I tell you.”

  “Who are those random people they’re following?”

  “Not sure,” I admit. “They were in costume, though. Maybe they’re friends of Katie’s or Seynar’s. Probably Katie’s. I feel like he doesn’t have friends.”

  “Meow, hiss.”

  “Shut up, pussy.” I give Crimson Lightning a bit more gas, which is when she decides it’s time for a nap. “Ragnarok on toast. Not now, you bastard.”

  But the car’s having none of it. It sputters, lurches a few times, and then dies. It has just enough momentum for me to glide over to the side of the street.

  “If you listen closely, you can hear the sound of my soul dying,” I say.

  “No, I think that’s Splinter. This alleyway here looks like a rat jamboree waiting to happen.”

  I tap on the dashboard but nothing happens. “By the power of Grayskull,” I shout and we both smack the dash. Still nothing.

  “Goddamn, we’re fucked,” Lanyon says.

  I agree. “Not sure we should be pissing off any super powerful entities just now, though. What with being stuck in a less than ideal part of town.”

  “At least the drugs are probably cheap here,” Lanyon says.

  “We don’t do drugs. And if we did, we could have scored some from the guy at the movies.”

  “Nah, he was shopping, not offering. Why was he dressed like Kirby anyway? That was a disturbing sight.”

  “I don’t think he was dressed like Kirby. I think he was just fat.”

  Lanyon shrugs. “So what do we do?”

  “Our options are limited. We can sit here and wait for good ole Crimson Lightning to have a change of heart and work. We can wait for someone to rescue us. We can wait for someone to kill us. We can call one of our parents to come get us. Or we can walk to Denny’s. Which is just around the corner, I think.”

  Lanyon weighs the many less than great options. “I’m not down for the wait for death part. If we’re going to die, I think we should seek out death, not sit around for it.”

  “So you want to go door to door and pretend to be Mormons? That should get us shivved real quick.”

  “Maybe.” Lanyon scratches at his head. “Denny’s has those cheap pancake ball things, right?”

  “I always knew you liked balls.”

  “That’s a yes?” I nod. “Let’s lock up the crimson mistress and head over there. Then we can call our parents and they can save us.”

  “They won’t save us. They’ll treat us like Samus in her last installment,” I tell him.

  “Nobody wants that. Fine. Maybe we can just eat pancakes shaped like balls and then come back?” He shrugs.

  “I suppose. Ms. Lightning does have a tendency to
work again if you give her a break.” I open the door. “Jesus, it’s like Hoth out here.” I lock the car and we start down the empty, filthy street. “If we get killed, I’m not talking to you again.”

  “Hey,” Lanyon counters. “You’re the one who made us come out here.” He points to a dark rusty-looking trailer nearby. “Is that Trevor Philips?”

  “I hope so. I could use a good getting killed.”

  Katie

  It’s warm in Denny’s. Too warm. I take off my hoodie and shove it in my bag. Why didn’t I just change in the bathroom? I’m a moron. My new friend, Ally, and her group gets seated across the restaurant after Jeff insists we’re not all together, leaving me yet again alone with him. So much for that plan. They seat the two of us in one of those horseshoe booths, which would be great if he’d stay on his damn side, but he keeps sliding closer and closer to me. I’m nearly falling out of the damn booth.

  He rests a hand on my thigh casually and then opens his menu with his other hand. The menu is giant, though, and falls closed, smacking him in the face, and he has to remove his gropey paw to hold it open. I stare at my menu. Why is Denny’s so cheap? And if they can be so cheap, why can’t anyone else?

  “Do you want to split something?” Jeff asks.

  “No.”

  “How about a milkshake?”

  “No.”

  “A Cherry Coke?”

  “No.”

  “Mozzarella sticks.”

  “Fine,” I say.

  “Mozzarella sticks?”

  “All three.”

  He beams at me, like I just agreed to give him a blowjob. Oh, shit. Are mozzarella sticks blowjob-worthy? Did I just seal my doom? I look at the menu. Seven dollars?! Denny’s has entire meals for three, yet mozzarella sticks are seven whole dollars?

  “No mozzarella sticks,” I correct. I’m not sucking anything.

  “Milkshake?”

  “Whatever.”

  “Strawberry, chocolate, vanilla, coffee, peanut butter…” He continues, but I stop listening. How many milkshake flavors are there? I yawn. What is this feeling? Am I tired?