by Randy Ribay
Her eyes soften. Uncrossing her arms, she tousles Archie’s hair. He pretends to pull away, to dislike it. But inside it makes him feel light and warm.
“You know, I really don’t get you sometimes,” she says.
“Join the club,” says Archie.
“I mean it.”
“Me too.”
“You’re the most intelligent immature person I’ve ever known,” she says. “So if you don’t want to talk about your father, what do you want to talk about?”
“I don’t know,” he says. But he does: Mari.
He blushes just thinking of her. It does not escape his mom’s notice. She watches him squirm for a moment.
“Ooh—a girl,” she says, leaning her elbows onto the counter. “Who is she?”
“Nobody.”
“Ha. Spill.”
“Fine,” Archie admits, pushing around the last grains of rice on his plate. “But she’s nobody you know.”
“Sure. What’s she like?”
“Smart,” he says, meeting her eyes. “She’s a writer. Her stories—they’re so good, Mom. Brilliant. I don’t know how she comes up with all of it. There’s like all this depth to her mind.”
“Wonderful! I knew I raised you to appreciate intelligent women. What else?”
“She’s beautiful,” Archie says. “Not, like, conventionally pretty. I mean—she’s not ugly—just—I don’t know. Not like all super-model skinny and blonde. Anyways, I think she’s hot.” He hates the fact he can’t find the right words.
“So what’s the deal? Are you two an item yet?”
Archie lets out a sarcastic laugh. He drops his eyes back to his plate. “Ha. No.”
“Why not?”
He shrugs. “I don’t think she knows I like her.”
“So tell her.”
He crosses his arms. “It’s not that easy.”
“Sure it is. As a man of logic, I expect you to see that.”
“Maybe for some people. But not for me. Besides, I don’t think she likes me like that.”
“Well, you’ll never know if you don’t make a move. What’s the worst that can happen?”
The severe awkwardness of rejection leads to the end of our gaming nights, he thinks. He does not say it, though, for fear of giving too much away. If his mom found out it was Mari, she’d probably end up sharing his secret the next time they were all in the same room. Maybe it was a requirement of the profession, but the woman was neither indirect nor shy.
They finish the rest of their meal without talking any further about his father or his crush, and then Archie clears the table. He dumps the empty containers into the garbage, ties off the trash bag, and carries it outside, trying not to visualize the rate of change in his life as a steeply sloped graph.
He focuses instead on tasting the air. It is humid and sweet but with the faintest hint of autumn. True back-to-school weather. The sunset is a swath of orange across the horizon. The ice cream truck’s jingle lilts through the neighborhood. A dog barks in the distance.
Archie drops the garbage in the trashcan at the side of the house and then spots a football in the grass. The neighbor’s kid must have tossed it over the fence by accident.
He walks over to it and drops down into a three-point stance. He surveys the lawn, conjuring teammates, a packed stadium, and a scoreboard. His team is down by three.
A field goal will tie the game. But he wants to win. He winks at Mari in the stands, and then glances at the coach who signals a play that Archie shakes off.
“Hut . . . hut . . . Blue 42 . . . hike!” he calls.
Archie hikes the ball to himself and then drops back into the pocket. He scans the field for open receivers, finally locates one, and launches a wobbly spiral into the sky.
The ball disappears over the fence.
The Table Is Simply a Table
Monday
Finally: Dungeons & Dragons night. The grid-based map is laid out across the center of Mari’s kitchen table. The players’ figures stand in the exact same spots as they did at the close of last week’s session. Polyhedral dice wait to be wielded like weapons. Mari is set up at the head of the table. Her tri-fold cardboard shield conceals the notes she uses to run the game from everyone else’s view.
Everything is in place.
Except there are two empty chairs and two missing players: Sam and Sarah.
They had been late before—usually because of Sarah—but never this late.
Archie checks his phone to see if either has texted him back yet. Negative.
Mari jots something down in her notebook, pressing her pen into the page with more ferocity than is probably required.
Dante rises and goes to stand at the sliding glass door, turning his giant back to Archie and Mari. He crosses his arms over his broad chest and silently stares into the early evening.
Mari lets out an exasperated breath. “Where the hell are they?”
“I’m sure they’ll be here soon,” Archie says. “Want to play something else while we wait? Settlers of Catan? Some who’s-got-wood jokes might cheer us all up.” Archie knows it’s one of Mari’s favorite games.
Nobody answers him.
They sink back into silence. Archie picks up his mage figurine and uses it to kick over Dante’s warrior. He rolls his twenty-sided die a few times. He flicks a balled up bit of paper at Mari. It lands in her hair. He laughs. She does not. She brushes it out while muttering something under her breath that sounds like it’s in a different language.
“You know, just between the three of us, I don’t get what he sees in her,” Archie says. When nobody speaks, he continues the conversation on his own. “I mean, yeah, she’s pretty and cool and all that. But I think she’s kind of a terrible person. For one, even after all these years, I get the feeling she doesn’t like playing this game with us. She definitely doesn’t like me. Doesn’t even say hi when I run into her at school. Also, she smokes. Who smokes anymore? Ugh. And you know Sam only does because of her.”
“He probably just doesn’t want to be alone,” Dante says, still turned away from them. “But I like Sarah.”
“That doesn’t count. You like everyone, D,” Archie says. “But personally, I think Sam needs to dump her. You ever notice that he actually smiles and laughs when she’s not around? He just seems, I don’t know, lighter. She’s like this parasite that just sits on his shoulder, dragging him down and draining him of all happiness—don’t tell him I said that.” Archie checks his phone again. “Still nothing. Let’s just play with the three of us.”
Mari shoots him a look as if he knows nothing about anything. “We’re in the middle of a story, Arch. You need to respect the narrative. We can’t just have two characters suddenly disappear.”
“How difficult would that be?” Archie asks. “Let’s just say they were kidnapped by goblins overnight. We look around for a bit and can’t find them, so we continue on our quest and hope they turn up eventually. If they don’t, then too bad, it was nice knowing them. Sayonara. Bam. Problem solved.”
Mari shakes her head. “You’d still die. I designed this quest for a complete adventuring party of four. With no healer and no rogue there’s not a chance you two would survive.”
It is clear to Archie that this is not the night to profess his feelings to Mari. Perhaps it is Sam and Sarah’s no-show, or perhaps it is her time of the month. Whatever the case, he keeps his mouth shut and goes back to rolling his die. It rattles across the table over and over again. He tries to keep track of the numbers he’s rolling, appreciating the dependability of probability—on a long enough timeline, everything falls back into place.
He considers the game pieces that have transformed Mari’s dining table into their shared fantasy world nearly every Monday since the sixth grade. He gets the sense they’re losing this, that he is losing them. With the impending move at the end of the week and college looming at the end of the year, he is not confident that things will fall back into place.
He
gazes at what he can see of Mari as she continues writing behind the shield. Her thick black curls. Smooth brown skin. The startling green eyes behind her glasses that cause hope to bloom in him like a supernova.
Infinite futures blink to life. Most involve playing games with her forever and raising brilliant and beautiful mixed-race babies.
“I’m calling it,” Mari says and starts to gather her things.
“Okay,” Dante says, fishing in his pocket for his car keys.
Archie sighs. He considers bringing up his frustration about moving in with his father just to stall. But nobody ever brings up anything really personal at these sessions. These nights are all about the game, not group therapy. Sometimes he feels like they know each other’s fictional character better than they actually know each other.
He watches them pack up for a moment longer, hoping they’ll change their minds. But they don’t. He helps clear everything away until the table is simply a table again.
Before leaving, Archie tosses his die once more. He rolls a one.
Critical miss.
Relaxed Fit
Tuesday
Archie’s hands freeze over the keyboard when he hears the front door open. He listens, concerned he’s about to be murdered. He has so much life left to live. But he relaxes when he recognizes the sound of his mom’s heels clacking across the kitchen’s tile floor.
“Archie?” she calls.
“Upstairs!” he shouts. He saves the college essay he had been editing and then makes his way downstairs. He finds her at the kitchen counter in a skirt and blazer, sifting through the mail. She is pretty and powerful even when performing such a mundane task. He fears she will start dating again soon.
“Hey,” she says, dropping the pile of mail onto the counter and looking up at him.
He hugs her. She smells nice. He’ll miss that.
“You’re home early,” he says.
“Snuck out so we could hang out together.” She slips off her red heels and places them on the counter next to the pile of mail. “So what do you want to do? Movie marathon?”
“Actually,” Archie says as he opens the fridge and grabs two cans of soda. He hands her one. “What if we went to the mall? You know, school starts in a week . . .”
She gives him the side eye. “Really? You, Archibald James Walker, want to go shopping? At the mall?”
His can of soda hisses as he opens it. “Yes.”
Realization dawns on his mom’s face. She smirks and makes her way around the counter to poke him in the heart. “The girl. You want to look hot for her.”
Archie tries to brush her hand away. “No, that’s not why.”
“Then tell me why.”
“Because.” He cracks a smile.
She pokes him in the heart.
“How do they fit? You need me to grab another size for you?” His mom’s voice lifts over the fitting room door louder than necessary.
Striking various poses in the mirror, Archie examines himself in the jet-black, skinny-leg jeans that all the kids are wearing these days. Unfortunately, they make him look like a giraffe in black yoga pants. He turns and turns, but it’s giraffe from every angle.
“Uh, maybe the same size, different style? Maybe relaxed fit,” he says.
“Okay. Be right back!”
Archie steps out of the pants and folds them. While waiting for his mom to return, he flips through the T-shirts he picked up. Most of them are simple graphic tees with logos from the various games and fantasy series he knows Mari likes.
Satisfied with his selections, he steps back and examines himself in the mirror. There he is, standing in his boxers. That special sadness of self-pity washes over him. He knows he’s not the ugliest kid in the world, but he’s disappointed that his summer routine of pushups and protein shakes had not resulted in the bulging muscles he’d expected. If only leveling up in real life were as simple as in a game. Complete a few quests. Gain some experience. Develop special abilities.
He sighs.
Suddenly, the changing room door bursts open.
“What about these?” his mom asks, holding up a pair of jeans. Behind her, angled mirrors reflect into the store where Archie sees shoppers flipping through racks of clothes.
“Mom!” Archie pushes his mom backwards, slams the door, and locks it.
“It’s just your body,” she says. “Be proud of it.”
Archie scrambles to put his clothes back on. “Yeah, okay. Will do.”
“Well, sorry. Here are the jeans,” she says, passing them over the top of the door.
“Awesome. They fit perfectly. Let’s go.” He emerges from the changing room, his new clothes bundled against his chest.
“I didn’t get to see how they fit,” his mom says.
“Like a glove.”
Archie walks past her toward the registers. Thanks to back-to-school sales, the place is packed with droves of customers, mostly teenagers. They wander the store like vultures, clicking through the hangers like bones. Archie steps into the lone cash register line, which winds back on itself a couple times.
“Sure you want that pair, sweetie? The black ones seem more stylish,” his mom says.
“I’m sure.”
After a couple minutes, the line has not moved. Archie cranes his neck to get a better view of the delay’s source. A young Hispanic girl with big hoop earrings and lips shiny with gloss stands behind the register. An ancient woman is on the other side of the counter, fishing through a change purse. She takes out three coins and places them on the counter. Just when Archie is about to celebrate her accomplishment, her shaking fingers return to the purse for more coins.
After a few moments, Archie’s mom nudges him with her shoulder. “So do you not want to move in with your dad because he’s gay?”
“Geez, Mom,” Archie says, glancing over his shoulder. “Do you have to say it so loudly?”
“What? He is gay. I know this. You know this. He knows this. Granted, it took everyone a while to figure it out. The thing I still can’t understand is why it’s such a big deal to you, a man of science. I’d never thought you’d react like this.”
Archie shifts his weight to his other foot. “Can we just talk about this later?”
“Fine. But we’re going to eventually.” She looks at the line, which still hasn’t moved. She pulls out her credit card and hands it to Archie. “Here. I’m going to run next door. Meet me when you’re done.”
“Okay,” Archie says, relieved to be let off the hook.
She tousles his hair and then walks away.
Not a moment later someone calls to him. “Hey, it’s Skeletor!”
Archie winces at the return of his old nickname, given to him the first time he had to change clothes in front of his peers for gym class. Sure enough, he turns around to find a group of four guys from school. The “cool” kids. He forces a smile, wondering if they overhead his mom.
Archie decides to play it cool. “What’s up?”
The guy who called out to Archie offers his fist for a bump. Archie considers the gesture as if it’s both disgusting and amusing, perhaps amusing in its disgustingness, like a two-headed kitten. Archie frees a hand by shifting all of his purchases to one arm and then bumps the guy’s fist.
The others snicker.
The first guy looks around, grinning. “Is your mom coming back? She’s kind of hot.”
“Yeah,” says one of the other guys. “I’d hit that.”
Archie feels his face reddening. If he were Évariste—or even Dante—he might be able to do something. But he’s not. He’s just Archie. “No,” he says. “She’s not.”
“Damn. I’ll catch up with her later,” the first guy says. “Hey—you, like, know a lot about science, right?”
Archie nods.
“Awesome, ’cause I have a science question for you. Genetics, to be exact.”
Archie blinks slowly, trying to wish them away. But they remain, waiting for his answer. “Okay.”
“Yes.” Archie clenches the new clothes to his chest. His heart rate increases.
The guy smiles. “Here’s my question, bro: since your dad is gay, and your mom is straight, does that mean you’re, like, half gay? Like, you like blowing dudes but you don’t take it up the ass? Or are you just full gay too?”
Archie does not know what to say, so he says nothing. He does nothing.
A few of the other customers in line turn to look at him.
The four guys burst with laughter. Thankfully, they don’t stick around for his answer. Archie watches them leave the store, still cracking up as they merge with the endless stream of mall shoppers.
Archie glances at the register. The same old lady is still paying. She drops some coins. With glacial speed, she stoops to retrieve them. Archie looks around for a nearby hanger so that he can stab himself in the eye.
Instead, he waits a few more moments and then steps out of line. He drops his clothes in a heap on top of a random shelf and walks out.
The Ephemeral Existence of Squirrels
Wednesday
B-O-O-B.
Archie smiles at the floating letters he’s managed to save until the end of his bowl of cereal. Their tiny oat forms start to drift apart in the milk, so he nudges them back into place with his spoon. Hesitant to consume his creation, Archie snaps a picture with his phone, sends it to Dante. He then finishes his breakfast.
A couple of minutes pass. There’s no reply. This strikes Archie as strange. He could always count on Dante to humor him even when he makes lame jokes.
Archie puts his phone in his pocket and carries his bowl to the sink. A moment later, his cell vibrates. Expecting a message from Dante, he’s surprised to see that it’s his father calling. He lets it go to voicemail and feels relieved when the phone stops buzzing.
Archie pours the milk into the sink, turns on the faucet, and watches the white bleed into the water as it spirals into the drain. His mind starts to drift, but then his phone starts vibrating again. His father.