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CHAPTER 4 - Thanksgiving Day

November 27, 2014

Kassandra and I woke to the sounds of a full house.

“Oh shit,” I groaned. There was no way of getting her out sight unseen.

“What’s the matter?” she asked.

“Relatives. There’s like ten billion of them. We’ll never make it out of here alive.”

“Are you ashamed of me?” she asked, her face drooping into a pout.

“No. You’ll be ashamed of me the instant we get accosted, which will be the instant we walk out of the bedroom.”

“Why would I be ashamed of you? I stayed with you all night, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, but wait until you meet my family. My parents are the best of the bunch, by a long shot, but they’ll do their best to ruin my chances of ever getting you to go out with me again.”

Kassi slugged me in the chest, then straddled me. “How about I embarrass you by howling during a fantastic orgasm?”

The girl definitely scared me. She was more aggressive than any girl I’d ever been with. I always thought I wanted a woman like that, one that would take charge, demand things of me. It’s weird how sometimes fantasies come true, but they turn out to be awkward, sometimes uncomfortable, instead of the event you’d built up in your mind for years.

“I have to pee,” I said, using the time-honored excuse to get out of anything, especially immediately after waking up.

She slid off and gave me a fake sniffle. I threw on some shorts and a shirt and cracked my bedroom door open an inch. There seemed to be a million kids in our living room. I cringed but opened the door just enough to slip through, closing it behind me with a soft click. It must have sounded like a double-barreled shotgun firing because everyone in the house turned to look at me. I thanked Judas Priest that my morning wood had gone down as I high-tailed it to the bathroom, then cursed when I arrived at the bathroom only to find the door closed.

I jiggled the doorknob to let whoever know that they were infringing on my right to piss after waking up.

“Go play outside!” the gruff voice yelled from inside the bathroom.

Great. Uncle Marion, my mom’s younger brother. Uncle Marion was okay, I guess, if you liked being constantly annoyed by his loud, abrasive, grating voice and his know-it-all-syndrome. He’d married a nice lady, Melissa, and had ruined her as far as I was concerned. They had five kids, and he was one of those overbearing, annoying types that made sure all of his kids’ names started with the letter M. Marylin, Martin, McKayla, Mindy, and Micah. All of them three years apart.
All part of proper family planning
, my uncle had said to me a couple of years ago.

“Come on, Uncle Marion, I really need to go,” I said with my face pressed to the door.

“Hey, Tyler! How’s it going?” he asked, more shouted, from the other side.

“Uh, not really looking for conversation, sorry. I really need to go.”

“You might want to keep moving. I’m having a family emergency.”

I sighed as he brayed laughter like a donkey at his own joke. I could have gone to my parents’ room and used their bathroom, but I’d have to run the gauntlet of family to get there. I decided to wait impatiently instead of risking that. Almost five minutes later, after I’d nearly soiled myself twice, keeping it away by dancing around in the hallway, I heard the flush of the toilet. A few seconds later, the door opened, and the pressure wave of fetid, rank air made me gag.

“Yeah, I’d maybe wait a few minutes before going in there,” Uncle Marion said as he tried to edge by me.

“You going to wash your hands?” I asked.

Uncle Marion was a picker. He liked to sample every bit of food that was put out on counters and the table. He gave me a strange look and tried to get by me again. He grunted when I wouldn’t budge, then turned to the sink and began to wash his hands. I stared at his hands the whole time, letting him know I was on to his little trick of pretending to wash his hands but really only holding them under the faucet for two or three seconds.

“Ain’t you supposed to be off at college?” he asked as he dried his hands. His expression suggested that it would be just fine by him if I’d died in a burning dorm.

“I am ‘off at college,’” I said, stepping aside.

“Then what are you doing here?” he asked as he passed me.

“I live here,” I said, stepping into the bathroom and closing the door.

I almost didn’t make it, but thankfully Uncle Marion, pig that he was, left the toilet seat and lid up. I did my business, washed my hands, then crept down the hallway to my room.

“Tyler!” my Aunt Jenny said in her typically loud voice. “Come say hi to everyone!”

“I will in a minute, after I get dressed,” I said, slipping into my room, closing the door, and locking it. I thought about jamming the chair under the knob as well.

Kassi’s laugh brightened the start to my day.

“What’s so funny?”

“You. You’re so cute.”

“Great. But you don’t understand, it’s a meat grinder out there.”

“You want to sneak out through the window?” she asked, pulling on her pants.

“I think we might have to.”

“I don’t think that’s going to be possible. I have to pee now.”

“There’s bushes outside of my window,” I offered.

“Funny. Where’s the bathroom?”

I spread my arms across the door behind me. “Please don’t go out there. Please.”

“Come on, Tyler. I have to go. I have a girl’s bladder, not an iron one like you guys have.”

She slipped her arms around my middle and kissed me on the chin. I relented, gently pushing her back until I could crack the door open again and look out. I waited for the right opportunity. I hoped Aunt Jenny would start talking, as everyone felt compelled to turn to her whenever she spoke. I’m not sure why, it’s just always been that way. I felt a tap on my shoulder. Kassi was letting me know I needed to hurry up.

I sighed again, then opened the door and walked out, standing in front of the doorway for a moment until Kassi walked out and down the hallway. Every single eyeball in the house saw her. She smiled and waved at my family, only a few waving back, most looking at her with shock, as if everyone thought I was gay.

“Who’s your friend, Tyler?” Aunt Jenny practically yelled from across the living room.

“She’s a keeper!” Uncle Marion said, whistling like a construction worker.

“Marion!” my mother admonished.

“I’m just sayin’. I didn’t think the kid had it in him.”

“Marion!”

“I guess we know he ain’t gay, right?”

My mom looked like she was about to crack him over the head with something heavy. He gave me an evil grin. In my mind, I flipped him off, but in reality, I slipped back into my bedroom and closed the door, wishing I had a cyanide capsule in a hollow tooth. I sat down in my computer chair, feeling my face burning up.

“What are you looking at?” I asked the sleek black case on my desk.

I reached out and touched one of the strange-looking icons on the screen. A window opened up that had a gear wheel on it, and below it, the words “App Center.” I touched the gear, and the window shifted into full-screen, but went black except for a white search box in the middle, as if it were a generic, negative-Google. I touched the search box, and the cursor appeared. I thought for a few moments about what “apps” would be available for this… thing. And
apps
sounded like what we had on tablets and smartphones, which made me once again wonder exactly what kind of computer I had sitting on my desk.

“Delta-9: Global Conflict,” I said aloud, just for shits and giggles. The game wasn’t due to be released until December 24th, just under a month from now.

An old-style analog clock icon appeared on the screen, the big second hand winding around twice before the screen went back to the star field background, a seventh icon joining the other six on the desktop.

“No fucking way,” I breathed, looking at the Delta-9 icon.

I touched it, some part of my brain still believing that I was still dreaming, or that I was still the butt of some practical joke. The game started, going to the main menu within two seconds. I didn’t bother to set any options. I touched New Game and waited the one second before the cut-scene intro began. I sat stunned, unable to believe I was playing the game. Stunned that I hadn’t paid for the game. I was no stranger to pirated games and movies and music, but this wasn’t even piracy as far as I knew. My computer wasn’t even officially hooked up to the internet, as far as I knew.

I barely paid attention to the dialog of the cut scene. It ended within thirty seconds, and my character was standing in a dusty Middle Eastern city, nothing but brown and tan in every direction. I jumped when I heard my door open, my finger that was hovering near the screen touching the projection. My character’s gun fired, the noise making me and Kassi jump this time. I touched the screen again, and again my character fired his gun.

I brought my left hand up to the screen and touched it. My character moved forward, stopping when I pulled my finger back. I touched the screen again, but this time far to the left to see if I could get my character to turn left, but he only moved forward. I touched with my thumb this time, and he turned right. Middle finger was turn left, ring finger was jump, pinky was crouch. I experimented a bit, getting used to it quickly.

I then checked what my right hand could do. Index finger fired the gun, middle finger aimed down the sights, thumb threw grenades, ring finger reloaded, pinky switched weapons. I forgot about Kassi as I spent another few minutes getting the hang of it. I’d been playing games like this since I could remember, but I’d never felt this much control, this level of response from my mouse or keyboard.

“That looks crazy,” Kassi said from behind me.

“Yeah,” I breathed, my fingers working in quick patterns as my character made his way to the first intersection.

I crouched behind a burned out car, one that looked more like a real burned out car than anything I’d ever seen in a game. Even the sand that blew in the light wind seemed more real. I blinked and looked again, and noticed that the sand seemed to break into light particles on the projection, and flowed across my fingers. Except I could
feel
the sand. I jerked my hand away from the screen, almost elbowing her in the chest.

“What happened?” she asked.

“I… I could feel it.”

“The screen?”

“Yeah. I mean no. I mean I could feel the sand, like it was bouncing off my fingers.”

She laughed and leaned down to kiss me on the cheek. When I barely paid attention to her, my mind lost in both wonder and the feeling of panic I’d had yesterday, she grunted.

“Are you going to play ‘Blow ‘Em Up’ all morning, or give me a ride back to the dorm?”

“I’m sorry, Kass,” I said, finally acknowledging her. “It’s just…”

“New computer and all?” she asked, but with a smile. “You aren’t the first nerd-boy I’ve dated.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, squinting at the black box on my desk again.
I’ll deal with you later
, I imagined my look said to it.

I got dressed properly, grabbed our coats, then stood at the door while I mentally prepared myself.

“One, two, three,” I said, and opened the door.

*

We made it out of the house alive, and without me murdering anyone (Uncle Marion). My mother tried to engage Kassi in conversation, but my father intervened, pulling my mom away, the poor woman’s head turned back and still talking as my father led her into the kitchen. Mom smiled and waved before disappearing around the corner.

I practically begged Kass to stay for dinner, but she wouldn’t. When I offered to stay with her instead, she became angry, and told me I had a family that obviously cared about me, and I needed to be with them. I slipped then, becoming an insecure little boy inside, and asked her if she didn’t want to be with me on Thanksgiving because she had another guy to be with. That stupid question earned me almost ten minutes of silence as we made out way across town to the campus.

I apologized, begged, pleaded, even whined for her to forgive me for being such a tool. I couldn’t keep my mouth shut properly, spilling to her how I felt about her, though I was at least in control enough to not utter the “L” word at all. I didn’t want her to freak out. I was freaking out. Too many weird things had happened in the last twenty-four hours. By the time I pulled up in front of her dorm building, she was laughing at my goofiness again, promising me that if I wanted to hang out tomorrow, she’d spend the day with me. When I hinted that it should include the night as well, she told me not to push my luck.

When I arrived home, it was a nightmare. My father smirked at me the whole time, probably barely able to contain the friendly digs he wanted to take at me for having a girlfriend sleep over. My mother… I thought she’d give me a disapproving frown for it, but she seemed more happy than my father. It made me wonder again if they thought I might have been gay. I’d brought girls home before, but never overnight. I respected my parents too much for that, though that didn’t mean Kassandra was the first to share my actual bed.