Originally Posted by Crushed Dreams 1: Sega Saturn
Alyxander was the richest kid in school. Though we kids don't know shit, we all knew how rich he was. His backpack was always packed with action figures-not the basics, but the airships and accessories and all that extra garbage that no one else had. After school, he'd use a twenty dollar bill and spend it all at the candy shop. His name even, spelled out like a Russian Czar, seemed extravagant. We were all in awe of his wealth, but our respect just went up tenfold in our ten year old minds when he announced that he (his parents) had just purchased a Sega Saturn.
I was the only kid in my school district to get free lunches. In reality, it meant that I was poor, but none of us knew that. Though they had their lunchables and enormous turkey sandwiches with chips and veggies, they were still jealous of my government assistant pizza slice. Standing beside their Starter jackets in my hand-me-downs, it was apparent that I didn't have half the cool crap they did, but it didn't matter since we all felt pathetic to Alyxander and his Sega Saturn. I had dreams about that damn console. I, a little ten year old, would run though pixilated environments, having fun, defeating monsters, finding love. It was magical to me. Whatever Sega did to advertise somehow worked, grinding its importance deep into my conscience. But deep down I knew the truth. I would never, ever, ever have one. It wasn't a surprise, but it still burnt. At some point kids realize that their dream to become an astronaut is impossible and an innocent level of sadness waves over them as they discover disappointment for the first time. That was me and the Sega Saturn. I realized that this missing piece of my life would never come into fruition. So, imagine my glee when out of the blue Alyxander invited me to his house to watch him play. Though he wouldn't let me touch the controller, I happily agreed. Weeks earlier I had watched the movie Aladdin, and I somehow thought a genie had answered my wishes.
One condition: I carry his backpack home. Fine, okay, whatever it took to Pretty much Alyxandersee the system. I nodded in fullagreement as he handed it to me. My frail arms tensed for a second before dropping it to the ground. For some reason he decided that he had to take home all of his textbooks that day. A special project, he said. With a sigh, I heaved the backpack over mine and felt it crush down on my belongings as Alyxander unlocked his bike. It looked like a Harley Davidson. "Look how fast I can go" was the last thing I heard him say before he rode off, leaving me in front of the school with two backpacks. I didn't even know where he lived. I could have, should have, given up, but determined to see the Sega Saturn, I slowly followed in the same direction.
So while he sped off on his bicycle that looked like a motorcycle, I lagged behind lugging his heavy-ass backpack. He quickly disappeared in the distance, leaving me to wander aimlessly through the wealthy side of town. Every ten minutes he'd reappear in the distance, quickly approaching me. I waved and tried to block his path on the sidewalk, but he just zoomed past on the grass, laughing manically before quickly disappeared again. After the fourth or fifth time I saw him pull into the driveway of the biggest house I'd ever seen. I staggered my exhausted body up the brick path and set his backpack on the asphalt. "Don't set that down on the ground." He said. Sweat had seeped through my Goosebumps T-shirt and my hair was slicked back, but I apologized and lifted it back on my shoulder.
Within a second, his mother came out in a pretty dress. She offered something to drink, but Alyxander said we weren't thirsty. I didn't want to disagree. He did, however, want an Italian Ice, and while I had never heard of one, I wanted one too. In front of his mother, Alyxander was really nice, and he told me to head downstairs while he got it ready for me. I giddily agreed and hurried down into the "rec room."
It was bigger than my living room and his television was twice the size of my family's. It was really overwhelming. He had every console and a large bookshelf stacked with games, but, most importantly, there was the Sega Saturn sitting alone on the floor flanked by games. My eyes were transfixed on the black box, my imagination going wild over all the fun we'd soon have playing. Well, him playing while I watched.
After a few minutes he came down the stairs holding two cup. "Lemon or Cherry?" He asked. I said lemon, but he just answered "too bad" and handed me the cherry. I sunk the spoon in and took a bite of the seemingly expensive desert. It tasted hot. Really hot. Like cartoon smoke comes out of your ears hot. My eyes swelled up and my throat burned. Though it was awful, I didn't want to be rude, so I dug in and took another bite. As tears ran down my face, he started laughing. I tried to smile, but my lips felt raw. After my third bite he admitted to pouring hot sauce on top. And, according to him, not the usual hot sauce, but the kind he got when he visited Uruguay the summer before. I wasn't sure where Uruguay was, but I was certain that they made really hot hot sauce. He said sorry, and then went upstairs to get me another one.
While he was gone, I tried to flip through the manual of Virtua Fighter, but I could hardly see anymore, so I just looked at the pictures. The game looked great. He came running down the stairs with a grape popsicle and handed it to me. I hated that color the most, but with my mouth on fire, I had no other option. Again, the second I put it in my mouth, he started laughing, and through his snorts and knee slapping he said he put salt in it. Though my mouth was numb from the non FDA approved hot sauce, I was still frustrated. I set the popsicle beside me, and he offered me another desert, but I quietly turned him down with my swollen tongue and running nose and asked if we could start playing Sega.
"Of course, that's why I brought you here." He said, hitting the power button. The enormous television screen went black and then little white particles flew across the screen to make the logo. My heart swelled up as the game started. With the enormous control in his hands, the other out of my reach on the ground, he quickly flipped through the menus and sent it into a loading screen before I had time to focus on anything beyond the mesmerizing colors. The tiny ticker went across the screen dot by dot. Though it was taking awhile, it was a good kind of waiting. The anticipation was driving me wild. It was foreplay to my childhood desire to play videogames. Alyxander, on the other hand, wasn't so excited. He huffed and yawned. Then when he couldn't stand his boredom any longer, he started spinning the controller around like a lasso. "Watch this" he said as he released the cord, slammed the controller into the wall, chipping the paint. The controller fell limp against the carpet. He continued to complain about load times as he grabbed the slack and smashed the controller into the console again and again. Through his laughter, I watched the image of the load screen flick on the screen. Why wouldn't he just let it load? Why is he breaking the Saturn? Is he not aware of its magic? But instead of stopping him, I just curled up on the sofa and watched him desecrate the item of my dreams.
The game eventually loaded, but Alyxander didn't noticed. He pulled the controller out and threw it against the wall before moving on and grabbing the console. With both hands he bashed it against the floor like a caveman trying to break a coconut. The screen flashed black with every slam, the sounds muffled and cracked. Please stop, I thought. Pretty please.
And just like before, the genie answered my wish. His mother jauntily interrupted the massacre with two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. She asked if we were having fun and Alyxander told a long made-up story detailing the excitement while I sat quietly squeezing the couch with a fake smile. Though he stopped bashing the console, the image still flickered and wavered across the screen, but his mother didn't seem to notice.
The sandwiches seemed to calm him down. He took a big bite and chewed loudly with his mouth open. Through all the food in his mouth he sloppily asked if I wanted to see his favorite game. I nodded. Without hesitation he sprang to his feet and hit the open button. The disk was still spinning around, but he just grabbed it and threw it over his shoulder. Then, to my horror, he grabbed the remnants of his sandwich. Carefully, he pulled the two pieces of bread apart until he held a slice in each hand, peanut butter in the right, jelly on the left. He tossed the jelly behind him just like the disk and then pressed the other slice face down into the disk slot before slamming the lid down. Peanut butter oozed out of the sides.
I couldn't watch any longer. I excused myself from the room and went upstairs. His mother was sitting near the door and she asked if I was going home already. I slowly put my backpack back on and told her that I felt ill. She offered to drive me home, but I said I'd rather walk, rather be alone for awhile.
I don't think I looked up from the sidewalk the whole way home. The following year we covered the Holocaust in history class, and when my teacher told the class about Nazi soldiers raping women in front of their husband, I solemnly understood. No one should have to see what I've seen.
- Ian "Salmon Season" Golding
