Separated by their hectic work schedules, the two long time friends decided to start up a blog meant for their eyes only. What will they learn about each other's hopes, dreams, fears? Will they find out something deeper?
Vinyl travels the world to spin the wheels of steel. Octavia takes her skills as a cellist to wherever her orchestra needs to. They've been rooting for each other's success for near a decade, finding that the more they achieve, the more packed their schedules become, leaving little time for them to hang as they did when they first met. To remedy this, they decided to start a blog just for the two of them to share their thoughts, feelings and experiences as they work to achieve bigger and better things in their industry. What will they learn learn about each other when it comes time to put digital pen to paper? What they learn from each other about what it means to live? How will this shape the course of their relationship?(from the Rainbow 8 universe iteration of their characters)
Vinyl, on Finding a Super Expensive Piece of Amazing
So I was talking to someone I spar with at the gym, when she brings up my best friend, and how I feel like I don't chat with her as much as I should. My friend and I both keep mega packed schedules, so it ain't often we get to shoot the breeze, like we did back in the day. My sparring partner, who I'll refer to as The Egghead, then suggested my friend and I could either write letters to each other, or start private blogs about the stuff we want each other to know. I thought it was kinda cool to be able to keep that sorta junk in one place, but before I could do anything, she took me aside, and told me this
"If someone wants to see it bad enough, they will find a way to get through whatever security measures you set up."
After we chewed over the deets, we agreed to the blog idea, which brings me to now, where I'm sitting at my laptop remembering how we first met.
During one of my bike cruises back in the day, I found a small, black portable fun machine just lying around under some tree in the park near my family's old place. Wasn't just any ol' portable fun machine, either! When I saw the curved corners and the bell pepper with a bite taken out of it on the back, I knew it was the then current generation of the iPlayer, the portable fun machine that lets you play music, watch videos, use tons of awesome apps, and a whole lotta other stuff, too(shoot, part of this was written on a current gen one I keep with me for long trips, and junk!). After seeing all the dancing shadow ads for them on TV, I wanted one so bucking bad, but between my folks struggling to keep up with bills and me taking side gigs to help 'em out, I didn't think any of us could ever foot the 300 bit price tag. The second I saw it, I knew it was too hot not to get nabbed, so I pocketed it myself, and thought about what I'd do with it.
If I kept it, I'd have an awesome new everything device ready to do whatever I wanted; if I sold it, it would've gone a long towards helping out around the house, and generally easing things up a bit. The longer that thing burned a hole on my pocket, the more those two options were taunting me like dangling jewels in front of a hungry dragon, with keeping it looking more like the best option...until I looked at some of the stuff it had. Sure, there were the typical LOOK AT HOW COOL I AM selfies in there, but there was also family photos, personal writings, and a ton of stuff that told me it was that person's everything machine, too...one that probably helped them do a lot of the crap I wanted to do with it.
No matter I looked at it, I was basically taking that away from them, like that pick pocket took my mom's wallet during our trip to Las Pegasus, and I started realizing how doing it would make me a total jackhole. As I thought about how to return it, I saw that the owner's email was in there, so I contacted them as soon as I could access the library computers, which eventually lead to me meeting you there, Ms. Strings and Things. I'll never forget the first time you tapped me on the shoulder and asked for me while I was browsing Canterpedia
"Are you Ms. Scratch?" were the first words you ever used with me, if I'm not mistaken
You were rocking the white button up and gray pleated skirt they made you wear as your uniform, and were totally looking away the whole time I told you about taking better care of your crap. I figured it would be over and done after I popped that thing outta my jeans pocket and gave it to you, but I sensed you had other ideas after I walked towards the exit, and you grabbed my sleeve. When I looked back, I heard you ask me something I never thought I'd hear from someone as high up the ladder as you.
"I know we've barely met, but do think we could be friends, Ms. Scratch?"
To be perfectly honest, I didn't think I'd jive that well with you, based on what saw on the phone, but I figured "Eh, ain't no harm in it," and was subsequently shocked speechless from both the big ol' hug you gave me and the iPlayer I got from you. Minus the photos, and such, it was pretty much like the one I just gave you, and before I could thank you or ask why you were giving it to me, you bolted for your Cello lessons. Wasn't until I looked at my new iPlayer that I got something more than a word edgewise from you, in the form of that Read Me on it, which said, if memory serves, how I could get in touch with you, and this:
"Thank you for taking the time to get my iPlayer back to me. Just knowing you'd even go that far means the world to me, and speaks volumes about your character. I'm glad that out of anyone who could've found it, someone as dedicated to doing the right thing as you got to it first. I do hope we get to meet again soon and become even better friends, Ms. Scratch"
(P.S. I still have it, and the first pic we took together on it in a little glass case in my workspace)
Octavia, on Meeting the Woman who Found her iPlayer
So I'm supposed to write about myself, am I? Can't say it's part of my everyday routine to introspect in this manner, and definitely not in such an open forum. To be perfectly honest, I thought I'd be writing about brekkies, cello practice and industry networking, not about things like how we first met. After seeing that bit about what went into you returning my iPlayer, however, I thought I'd do you the kindness of revealing more about how I felt then. After all, it represents a rather pivotal point in our friendship, wouldn't you say, Vi?
At any rate, I grew up in a state of affluence, never having to worry about the essentials, but never getting to spend much time with my family(recently, I've even heard of it referred to a Affluenza, whatever that means). With a business tycoon as my father and an art dealer for a mother, I often found my time being shared more with the help than it was with them, Why, my earliest memories were of how the maids taught me how to dress myself, and the chef showed me how to prep bacon, hash browns, and chocolate chip pancakes for my mother on her birthday (her favorite dish, by the way!).
That isn't to say they didn't try to be parents, though. They left me notes and such for me about the house before they left to manage their affairs, and did what they could to make me feel happy and loved. That iPlayer was a prime example of how much they thought of me, and remains one of the most meaningful gifts I've gotten from them. As you noted, there were many photos and such on it, and I was able to pack so much on it because my father got it for me many months before it was to be released. He saw how much I lusted after it when the first ads dropped, so, according to the maids I asked about it later, he used his connections to finagle one straight from the company in time for my birthday.
In time, it did grow into my everything machine the more I fiddled around with it, and I was gutted when it slipped out of my bag that day in the park. Although I was able to replace it with the money I saved away, it just wasn't the same, and I was growing more comfortable-if not heartbroken with the idea of never seeing it again. Really, I imagine many others would feel the way you did about stumbling upon such an advanced and highly desirable device. Considering all that, I was astonished to get that message saying you were actually going to return it to me, and when it struck me that people as considerate yourself existed on this world, I went right my father's home office and thanked him for his thoughtful acts. The smile on his face stayed with me as I got ready to meet you at that library.
I must confess, I was exceptionally nervous about what I wanted to say to someone like you, and the first time I saw you, I was unsure of what to think. Even now, I'm used to seeing cobalt and cyan places other than in someone's hair, not to mention the lack of tact I saw in your messages(along with the lack of proper grammar.). Regardless, though, I knew I wanted to repay your kindness somehow, and since I no longer had use for my replacement iPlayer, letting you have it seemed the suitable course of action at the time, even if you had refused my offer of friendship. Naturally, though, I was, and still am glad you accepted, and wish I could have been there to see the look on your face when got it(a look I hope to see again someday, Vi!)
When I was in school, I expected a lot from myself, and so did my folks. To us, B's were barely cutting it, and although they didn't believe in spanking and all that...let's just say I didn't plan on showing them anything below a C. I remember one time I had a D in Gym about half way through the year, and the next day I woke up to find I was enrolled in a training program. For boxers. With a special focus on sparring. The repeated jabs I took to the eye were a stinging reminder that failure had consequences, something I learned more about as I got to know you, Ms. Strings and Things.
Your parents wanted the same performance, with about 1/10th the grace my folks gave me towards failure, and 10 times the amount of other crap they wanted you to nail. I was lucky my folks realized that while folks can do more than they think, you can only ask so much before something slips through the cracks. For example, I was hanging out at your place one weekend, watching you plug away at your homework while I bummed off your wifi. Out of nowhere, I hear you scream, "Bloody Tartarus, I still haven't started that writing assignment!"
Turned out you had a 500 word paper due the next morning, along with a pile of other crap they assigned for weekend homework, and you hadn't even seen the movie it was suppose to summarize yet. Before you threw yourself into full on grind mode, you looked dead at me and asked if I could help you with it, knowing I had academic writing on lock, and that I was fully against cheating. The 3 things that kept me from flat out saying no were the pleading(especially those puppy dog eyes. Such a sucker for those), the promise of cash money, and what my mom told my dad about that kinda stuff, e.g. that there's nothing wrong with profiting by easing the burden of a student trying to survive a highly unfair and highly nonsensical educational system that teaches few of the skills they'll need in the real world. With a cleansing breath, I said, "Alright, don't trip. I got this on lockdown," and went to work.
Couple days later, I get a message from you saying it got an A(as I knew it would), and that I should expect something very good very soon. I was expecting, at best, a trip to a fancy restaurant or some high brand dress, or whatever, given how easily I breezed through it. That weekend, when we met up at the tree I found your iPlayer at, though, I saw you carrying something big in your shoulder bag, which you quickly gave to me to examine. Inside, I saw something white with rounded corners and a bitten into pepper logo on the back, and knew it was that stupidly expensive laptop, the iPepper(plus the crap you'd need to run it, natch). I remember being kinda mystified, and asking, "So, you want me to write you another paper, or you gonna give me that something good?" To which you said,
"This is your something good"
At first, the only things I could say were...man, I don't even know if a baby would call it intelligible speech. I mean, this was my something good? This? THIS!? After the shock wore off, I straight up told you I couldn't accept it, not only because I thought it was part of my pay for helping someone fleece the system, but also because even if it was legit work, it's getting a bucking laptop for a 500 word paper I basically yanked outta my butt; as soon as I told you as much, you sat me down and told me this,
"Did you think I wouldn't take note of all the times you expressed frustration at using your parent's old Madobe? Of when the computers at the library ate your homework after you ate through your time? Of all the times you wished for a private workspace? The entire reason I went to you over the paper mills my classmates speak of is because I've seen the quality of your work, of how much effort you put into it, despite those setbacks. My parents taught me that none should ever have their potential caged by their means, so to help you open up yours, I'm giving you my old laptop, loaded with everything one needs to sharpen their academic mind... along with a few others odds and ends. Go on, power it up, and see for yourself"
Sure enough, there were a buncha educational programs, some neat music, a few old school games...and a document file titled "Ghostwriting Need to Know Info" After I saw the definition, the instructions, the list of names, the password for the debit card you gave me and the info for the Pon-3 dummy e-mail account you set, I could tell you had something big in mind for me, especially when you said "Have you ever heard the saying, 'Teach someone to fish, feed them for life?'"
Not long after I took the plunge, my iPlayer shook like it was chilly from the emails Pon-3 was getting...and it turns out that just as many of those kids looking for a paper were also looking for a listening ear, a shoulder to cry on from all the stress that got put on them by school and junk they were going through with their folks. Even if I wasn't bound by that confidentiality contract you set up, I'm not sure I could put into words how crappily they were treated by their folks, teachers and peers(and how crappily they treated you, in some instances, but that's another matter for another time). It's good to put importance on how you do, but basing your sense of self worth on it like they did is like building a house outta cards, and is just as easy to blow apart
Felt mighty sketchy stuffing my wallet that way, but hey, if the demand is there, they're willing to pony up, and it's easy enough to crank out the work, a gig's a gig. Don't hurt that it felt great to help my folks with stuff, like, say upgrading the family computing situation. My mom was mad jelly when she found out I got this from you, so I decided to make a few investments to help it grow (if you call hustling folks at the pool hall an investment. And I do!), and help her get her own, so she'd stop hogging mine to do her "work," *cough* Photoshocking *cough*. The day we went together to the local Pepper store for her laptop, I could feel something real in that hug she gave me, and I had no doubts that for everything she and my dad did for me, I wanted and still want to do for them, no matter what it took to do it
During my anthropological studies, I learned much on the Magika, the Aeros, the Terran and Archeon, the 4 base genetic classifications each of us fall under. I know such things are not what strike your fancy, but if you give me a moment, I promise there's something...juicy, I believe the term is? For you to dig into. I've listened to you blather on plenty about your journey for the perfect bass drop and set list, you can at least do me this kindness.
At any rate, the Magika, from my understanding, are coded with immense potential to channel the energy that flows within and around us, transforming it to their will, as I'm sure you've done many times before. Why, from what you've personally demonstrated, I know they can control matter from great distance, teleport certain distances, manipulate many things at once, focus it into an offensive projectile, along with who knows how many other applications (perhaps some can even peer into the flow of time, itself)
The Aeros, in comparison, carry an innate relationship with the elements, and work with them to direct where they may be needed. Because of this relationship, they can focus their energy as needed into wings granting them the power of flight, that same energy regulating the pressure their body feels as they rise into thinner air and push their aerial abilities to the brink (I've heard some Aeros can even break the sound barrier while not turning their insides into jelly).
Terrans, like myself, are closest to our biological ancestors, and as such, are built to be much more hearty than the others. We may not be able to fly or use magic, but the ingenuity of our forerunners has produced many tools to make up for it, such as...well, just about every modern marvel you can think of. I'd like to think our strongest trait is to tap into the potential held not in nature or in the energy around, but in our own two hands, driving the world forward with our own two feet.
Archeons, like the royals, have found a way to tap into the potential of their Terran, Aero and Magika coding to achieve unfathomable things, such as working with the cosmos, themselves, but the secret to how seems to be under lock and key-and is likely that they have no bloody clue, either, and happened to strike upon the genetic jackpot to end them all
I bring all this up because recently, I've been deep in thought about the divide between those of different classes, nationalities, and social standings. Before I met you, I didn't give much thought to how people from other ranks got along, and grew more horrified as I discovered the kinds of struggles your family went through...along with how flippant my peers were of them. I was chatting with some family friends recently, and when the subject of crime in the Manehatten boroughs came up, this is what they had to say(to help distinguish the two speakers, Speaker A will be between [these brackets], and Speaker B, {these})
[Nah, trying to force education on those primitives over there just makes them angry. You can see how well inner city kids do when people try to educate them. You get one or two who are already above and beyond their peers, and move on while the rest of the monkeys fight over bananas.]
{That's because they're raised from birth to oppose education. Not that I'm seriously proposing this as a solution, but if you were to take every single child born in such a situation, including any small portion of unrefined Terrans that might end up like that, and gave them to foster parents, within one lifetime today's bastardry will be all but gone}
[Maybe that would work, but as you said earlier, its not a feasible solution. And it would still be a maybe, at best. If we want to actually get rid of todays bastardry, you have to somehow remove them from it. Kick them out of the country, reinstate slavery, etc. The easiest way would probably just be to load up swat teams and start clearing out the ghettos. Sure, you may get a few innocents who are just getting by, but thats true of any war. Changing society requires drastic steps, and once all is said and done the eradication of this plague would be nothing but good for society. When confronted with a problem, the easiest solution is to remove what is causing the problem. Its the same as wiping out insect infestations or mold. Left alone it will ruin the surrounding area, but with the right tools we can clean the mess up for good.]
{But wiping out an entire species of insects in the animal kingdom would have far-reaching consequences. Society works close to an ecosystem than you think, and you are suggested disrupting that ecosystem. You can't seriously be this unaware.}
[I'm suggesting the removal of a localized infestation, not wiping out a whole species.]
{Aren't you? Psychological differences are this ecosystem's diversity. They think differently than us, and are more violent. They are classified differently because of this.}
[Ideological differences are more this ecosystem's diversity. Their ideologies are self destructive at best and detrimental to others at worst. This isn't to say there aren't outliers, I work with a lot of Terrans, and they seem just fine. Well adjusted, calm, professional, even fun to hang out with.]
{On the whole though, these differences are terrible to the society this country was built upon. Hard work, respect, honesty. At one point, all of these things were at least something to strive for, and respected as universally good. now, with the way these people effect our children (fight the power by buying our illicit substances and telling your elders to buck off because clearly they know nothing of the world!) is effecting our future in a negative way. The current administration's pandering to them through welfare and the like doesn't help either, teaching younger generations that its ok to get by on the backs of others without doing any work yourself. I'm not saying that there aren't some of them that contribute positively to society in some way, I'm saying in general it just isn't worth it. I'm not racist, I just see a problem and try to find the easiest solution. Bullets just happen to be cheap.}
[Still, pushing them out of the country wouldn't solve anything. It's like if we just stopped letting foreigners jump the border. They're taking the jobs we don't want, and aren't educated enough to get jobs we do want. Change how they think, not where they live.]
{The difference here is that the ghetto people don't want to work. they want free money so they can live as lazily as possible. the only way to change this thinking would be to cut welfare off completely and let them figure it out on their own.}
[The real issue here is that we already know how that will pan out, we have a whole continent of these people who just don't care about what tomorrow will bring]
{We should cut off welfare completely. Many people think it would be bad for us, but only in the short-term and only for those who rely on it. This country was founded on the idea of freedom, and all the things that come with it. A true capitalistic society would be better long-term than what we have going on right now}
[But what happens if suddenly (some ghastly percentage, i'm sure)% of the Terran Manehatten community has 0 income. They would start rioting and looting and it would come down to a show of violence anyway. At least, thats how I would expect it to go.]
{That's where it becomes a matter of national security. Those that riot will be forced to deal with the police and the military, if it gets bad enough. It's not genocide, it's a police action. After the initial turmoil, the country will be stronger with a higher percentage of the population working. I can't claim to be a racist. What I can claim to be is pro-capitalist. When I think "Terran" I think "low or no income citizen". And that's bad.}
I had become quite cross by that point, so I felt it best to excuse myself before I said anything too regrettable. Mind you, my parents used to be that way, as well, towards those of lower social ranks, but when they got to know you, I could see their stance start to soften. I remember when you played a piece for them on our baby grand, and they said, "Who knew people of your station were capable of such elegance?" It probably helps that you knew more about proper etiquette than even I did at that point, and that you acted like a highly refined young madam...until the wine started going about.
As the only one who abstained, I remember clearly how you freely discussed the shortcomings of people you've met in your comings and goings, along with how well you held your liquor(it turned out to be so well, you drank them under the table). Seeing you share a drinking song with them brought a smile as wide as the isles to my face, and gave me hope for a future where Terrans, Aeros, Magika and Archeons can unite as one for a common goal: to get absolutely smashed in an atmosphere of peace
When I was a kid, my dad, a DJ at the local radio station, always made sure to take me along when he went record shopping, introducing me to a lot of neat little hole in the wall joints. While we bonded, we discussed junk like how I was doing in school, and I always appreciated how no matter much of a moron I was about it, he talked with me, and not at me, even when I asked stuff like "Can boys give me cooties?" Anyways, once he settled on what he wanted to add to his collection, coming home to listen to his hauls was always the highlight of my day, so when I met up with you, I knew I eventually wanted to share that kind of joy. I still remember that wide eyed look you gave me when you asked, "Is this what they call a record store?" and took in the full spectrum of music that Stacks served up to its customers(including me, when I got into the business).
Lucky for us, they had the sampler machine and its accompanying app fully set up, so all we had to do was pick our selections from that funky looking menu, and groove. I was expecting to have to enlighten you on some of the more soulful stuff there, but the more I heard your selections coming through the cans, the more pleasantly surprised I grew at your musical range, more so when we strolled through the R&B section, and you mentioned how much your dad enjoyed pumping The Stylistics when you were little. The chat that sparked feels like it happened yesterday, with how fresh it is in my mind. Me being as unenlightened to how the upper crust got down as I was in those days, I busted out, "Yo, I didn't know they played that kinda music where you come from"
"You would be surprised how worldly some people can be, as I'm sure plenty would be shocked someone like you is capable of not shoveling your food into your craw amongst company"
"Says the woman who let out thunder burps after her first plate of Chili Cheese Fries. Seriously, it was like someone set your mouth speaker to eleven"
"It's not my fault you enjoy such gaseous foodstuffs. I'm used to more refined fare at my school"
"Like what? A tiny plate of Filet Mignon? C'mon, now, I know that ain't how it goes for you at school."
"Heh, I suppose. May I ask how your own schooling is going?"
"About as well as you'd expect for someone hustling for gigs while trying not to fail too hard"
"Oh goodness. Is Pon-3 not getting enough customers these days?"
"On the contrary, that side hustle has been consistent for me. But the more I watch my dad work, the more I feel like I should embrace my musical side, you know? A couple of Pon-3's contacts even hooked me up with Fruity Loops, and a couple other music making programs for my iPepper. Now I'm just bucking around, and see what I can pop out. How about for you?"
"Well, I can't really say for certain whether it's good or bad. I have a few chums I speak with in between classes, but I also seem to have drawn the ire of a few other classmates"
"What do you mean by 'ire'?"
"Recently, a couple of the nouveau riche students were being picked on for their manner of speaking, so I invited them to sit with me for lunch, so could show how a few things on proper etiquette. Ever since I did, the people who were picking on them started picking on me for associating with them"
"So they make fun of 'em for how they talk, you try to correct them, and decide to pick on you because of it? Yeah, that makes total sense."
"Quite. I only wish I knew what to say in kind, though."
"In a perfect world, you wouldn't have to. Of course we both know that's as likely to happen as a pig doing a flip, so I'mma give you give you the skinny on how to clown to folks, starting with how to deconstruct an argument. Since you go to one of them fancy schools, I'm sure you already know what an argument is made of"
"Naturally. It's a set of supporting statements building to a conclusion, is it not?"
"Bingo, and to clown someone proper, you gotta be able to pick out what their premises are, as well as how they're building towards whatever they're thinking with what's immediately apparent. If you'd like a demonstration, just insult me. Go on, I won't get salty, promise"
"Insult? You never struck me as the kind of person who would grasp when they were being insulted"
"Interesting thing to say for someone who looks like they grabbed their clothes from out of a garbage bag. Tell me, did your daddy blindfold himself before giving you that janky haircut? Doubt he did. I'd guess he's off on a business trip with his secretary."
"I'm guessing that's what they call a clowning?"
"A more vicious version of it, yeah. Judging from them daggers you're shooting at me, you just felt what a good one is. Their premise is flipped back at them, and you continue to embarrass them with both the immediately apparent info and what you can dig up through research, all while studying absolutely ice cold. Anytime they figure out how to get a reaction outta you, they will nail it like a jackhammer, as you should be doing to them"
"It seem like there many dangers to this craft. Are there any?"
"Always is when the aim is to make someone look foolish. Go far enough in how badly they get clowned, and they might start harboring bad intentions, like wanting to sneak up behind someone and cold clock them from behind. Best to keep it light and breezy when you just wanna make 'em look foolish. Save that personal biz for when you gotta go for the jugular"
"Hmm. You speak of clowning as a primarily offensive technique used against undesirables. Is that its sole usage?"
"Not at all. Actually, if you do it proper, it can be an excellent way to be better buddies with someone, too!"
"Insulting someone can strengthen the relationship you share with them? Forgive me if that strikes me as highly illogical"
"All part of social dynamics. When you're trying to get on someone's good side, you put your best foot forward, right? Try to keep it formal, so you can start to crack the mask they put on. Likewise, the more each cracks the other's, the tighter they get, reflecting in how openly they clown each other about the little things, like how you can't even eat pizza without using a knife and fork-"
"And how you farted when you spoke with my parents, and somehow convinced them it was me?"
"Not my fault you ain't quick on your feet. Gotta be if expect you clown folks proper. Get good enough, and maybe next time you can convince them I cut the cheese"
I do apologize for the delay in my reply, Vi. After you asked me if I’ve ever been bullied, I knew I had to sit down and drum up the post you’re about to read, going through a lot of memories and contact with some of my school chums in order to bring it full circle, not to mention some of the research I sifted through in order to verify those notions. I promise, though, it was worth the wait, as bullying is such a sticky thing to deal with,and demands a more nuanced examination to fully grasp it in its three components: physical, psychological and sociological intimidation.
Now, during our lunches together, the nouveau riche students I spoke with enlightened me to many of their subtleties, the young male-Midnight Blaze, I believe his name was-speaking of the atomic wedgies and such he endured, and of the constant harassment his sister, Lily Blossom, went through. They framed her for petty crimes, threw her books in the trash, threatened to cut her hair, and much more, all because they either were dressed in improper clothing, or their peers praised the bullies for those vile acts.
As for how they looked, Midnight Blaze was a buzz cut young lad with a wiry frame about him, in those days, while his sister was a lithe-looking young lady with coke bottle-esque glasses, and hair like auburn jungle vines. They were excited to transfer to my school because they thought it would be a chance to find better people there, which, even amongst the other bellends they ran into, Midnight Blaze said they found in me.
I was glad to do that for them, but not long after we established a rapport, the same tactics they discussed began coming my way, starting when someone struck me in my bum, and I reached for my back, to find a "Kick Me" sign stuck to it. As shocking as that was to me, it only marked the beginnings of far worse. As you learned during our meetings at Stacks, it had progressed to some of them chasing me around with scissors, dumping water on me while I was in the loo, then to planting someone's wallet in my desk, and claiming they would say I stole it unless I did their homework and other things for them, along with who knows how much else from both complete strangers and those I considered my friend during that that time
Although I was deeply hurt by it all, sometimes to the point of not even wanting to go to school, I grinned and bore it, and did so for one key reason: my lunchtime companions. Without me there to provide a listening ear and support, they became that much more vulnerable to their assailants, as I learned when Midnight Blaze stood up to the woman who threatened his sister with scissors in the park, and found himself ganged up on by some of the Lacrosse team the next day.
I remember well how angry hearing that made you, more so after I told you the main culprits belonged to some very powerful families, and that disturbing them could have further serious consequences for anyone bold enough to face them. I and the others accepted this as fact, but the bruises on his face filled me with an anger I never felt before, the kind that drives people to desperate lengths to create change. With my time at the boxing gym you introduced me to still fresh in my mind, I knew I had at least some tools to do something about it, which I did, sometime during the next lunch break. I confronted who I thought to be the ringleader, and had, if memory serves, the following exchange.
"Well if isn't Tavi," she sneered out at me. "Did you let those peons style your hair?"
"Did you let a blind person style yours? From looking at you, it seems you're fine with letting them dress you"
"Yeah, whatever. At least I don't spend my day studying, practicing the cello, and being a nerd”
"Excellent comeback. I'll have to compliment your hangers on for supplying you with it."
"You really think I need them to be better than you?"
"Well they certainly do help with a lot. After all, beating up people as thin as a stick, cornering people who couldn't harm a fly, and figuring out how to open a door is hard work"
"Big talk for someone hasn't proven crap to me. How about we meet up at the park next week?"
"What, to prove you can't take on anyone without a wolf pack accompanying your every step?"
"To prove that you can't walk the walk. Next weekend, you and me, at the park at dusk. We settle this once and for all, and you'll see how big a mistake you just made crossing me"
I couldn't begin to describe how nervous I was the following week. My heart beat like a war-drum, electricity shot through my spine, and my head stormed with doubts about what could happen, my parents just as nervous after I told them about what happened. Naturally, they were none too thrilled that I wanted to take her on, but a couple days before I was to head to the grassy clearing at dusk, I got a message from my father instructing me on how to record them in secret with my iPlayer, along with what to do once I, Midnight Blaze and Lily Bloom got there. On that day, as I handed the iPlayer to my male traveling companion, I recalled the closing statement of that message:
"Come home safe, and come home knowing you held naught back against her"
I stared across from their assailants and took in every detail my eyes could discern, while they bragged about both the acts they got away with, and acts they had in mind. Their leader's checkerboard sneakers, stonewashed jeans, black and white, two tone halter top, and cyan pixie cut with frosted tips was branded into my memory as she stepped out from between her 2 similarly dressed flunkies, and congratulated me for having the spine to show up, quickly adding, "You even brought an audience to watch me kick the crap outta you" The only thing I could think to do was take my stance, and say, "It's always nice to have people there to help you up when you fall, something I'm sure your friends will do for you, soon enough"
As we circled each, a million thoughts raced through my head. Would she have any experience at this? Would it be 1 on 1, or 1 on 3? What will happen to me at school if I win? My palms were covered with sweat, my muscles were as taut as violin strings, my nerves felt like they were ablaze, and suddenly, after one step forward, she charged at me with a wide slap. On instinct, I ducked forward, and shot out an overhead. Before I realized it, it landed plush on her chin, and sent tumbling like a fresh cut pine tree to the floor beside me. Suddenly, Lily Blossom rushes past me, and I look back to to see one of the flunkies coming at me. As quick as a hiccup, she ducked an incoming hook and wrapped around her waist, popping behind her, and popping her up into a belly to back suplex. Seeing that poor women dropped right on her head almost made me feel sorry for her, more so with the accompanying thud of her skull on the hard packed dirt.
Not a second after, the ring leader awoke to see the terrified look her sole flunky standing gave her, looking down to see the other out cold. Without a second thought, they both ran for the hills, leaving their friend far behind them. After they left, Midnight Blaze pulled a white box with a red cross from his shoulder bag, and went to do something unthinkable to the unconscious flunky: they watched over until she regained consciousness a half hour later, then offered her medical assistance. She, like myself, couldn't believe that the people whose lives she helped make miserable were taking time to help her out, and when she asked why, this scene, to the best of my memory, is what took place:(her name, by the way, is Shimmering Wave)
"You bleed, cry and fart the same as us, don'cha?" Asked Midnight Blaze. "Just 'cause you did us wrong don't mean you don't deserve help. I'd be a mighty lousy medical student if I thought otherwise"
"But we sent the Lacrosse enforcers to beat you up. I had the scissors pointed at your sister. We were gonna beat up every last one of you, and post the footage on the net. How could you even consider helping someone like me?"
"Vengeance darkens our vision, and poisons our soul, does it not, Ms. Shimmering Wave?" Said Lily Blossom. "To let those flow away, would it not be better to forgive our transgressors, and see their reasons for what they do? Besides, I'm certain you'd prefer that to the alternative"
Shortly after, they helped her get home, and discovered a great deal about why they went after us so doggedly. From what I heard, the bully I faced, whom she kept referring to as Coco, actually started to bully when she verbally cut down one of her more uptight classmates on her first day at school, and her classmates cheered her for it, Shimmering Wave being among the adoring masses. In time, her targets grew beyond those who annoyed her classmates, to those who annoyed her, such as my two companions and myself.
When I asked what she meant by annoying, she brought up how Coco hated the classless way they spoke, their overly familiar manner of socializing with everyone, and how oddly they acted, in contrast with the others at school. Because I started socializing with such people and kept them from pounding down the stuck out nail, I also became annoying to her, and thus made myself open game the more I refused to back down and join them.
It seemed odd that she would come after me and others, considering how willing she was to lend others her support, as I routinely saw her do for her two flunkies during lunch. Now that I look back, I wonder how I could have missed that before, considering how extensively she spoke to them of the mental abuse she faced at home, her parents, according to Shimmering Wave, saying things like,"Can't you do any better than this?" and threatening to send her to a disciplinary camp in the woods after repeating the lyrics to "unwholesome music". Some of the research I turned up afterwards pointed towards this lack of self worth as one of many possible triggers for her behavior, which, when paired towards a sense of resentment and entitlement, can drive them to take their aggression out on others.
I noticed this more and more in the days after the incident, when she found herself more isolated from those around her, and no longer could intimidate anyone into doing her bidding, that intimidation deflating like a popped balloon after someone posted the fight I had with her onto GlobalStarHipHop, or whatever that site is called. I saw the defeated look in her eyes each time sure was rebuffed, and wanted to offer her a listening ear, but I couldn't think of what to say. What could I say to someone whom I humiliated, whose identity as a bully and figure of authority I played a part in eroding, who now did not even have her flunkies in her corner?
Part of me feared her outbursts would grow worse if nothing was done, that she would grow more resentful, more bitter, more destructive towards those around her. Those fears reached a fever pitch after one of her flunkies brought a group of young women to confront her at the front of the school, their aim, from what I saw, being to poke fun at her, and demean her the way she had me and my lunch time companions. Right when I turned to Lily Blossom to ask what we should do, she made a beeline for Coco, quickly standing beside her, and asking the people circling them, "Pardon me, ma’am. Is there a problem, here?"
"Yeah, there is.” their leader answered, gesturing towards Coco. “This little maggot doesn't know her place, so we're gonna show her"
"And what reason would you have to do that? I assumed she was your friend"
"Friend? Tch, not anymore, now that she's so weak"
"So you attach yourself to those stronger than you, and prey on those weaker, then? A classic survival strategy for those who cannot survive on their own strength"
"Why the buck are you here, then, eh? You probably think you need to stand up for Coco, here, 'cause she can't stand up for herself"
"On the contrary. You may see immense weakness in her, but I've witnessed immense strength. Why, if she so desires, I believe she can use this strength within to do great things with her life, as well as for others."
"As if. If she has such immense strength, why do you wanna fight for her?"
"I am not fighting for her. If you intend to fight, then I will fight with her" As soon as she said that, Midnight Blaze and I looked at each other, and nodded, shouting "So will we!" while we made our way beside them. From among the crowd, I heard Shimmering Wave yell, "Me, too!" joining us, as we stared them down, and waited for them to make the first move. One by one, the young women started to walk away from the scene, the crowd starting to jeer the more their ranks shrank. When Coco’s former friend was the only one left, I heard Shimmering Wave, clear as a bell, yell, “Unless you want a 5 way beatdown, I suggest you take your cowardly behind on out of here, and out of our sight, you bum!” With that person’s departure, Lily Blossom let out a cleansing breath, and checked to see if Coco was alright. After Coco asked, “Did...did you really mean all that stuff about what you saw in me?” I was privileged enough to see this chat between them all as we all walked down the street, a chat which has stayed with me to this day:
“Have you not lent Shimmering Wave a listening ear when she needed one? Did you not stand up for her when rumors were being spread about her sexual activity? Were you not ready to stand alone against the 5 we just faced? All that is more than enough proof of what I see”
“Did all the times I pushed you guys around prove what you see, too? For that matter, why is Shimmering Wave here, after I left her to get clobbered, and she told me to buck off? All of you should’ve left me to take the beatdown I deserved”
“I was certainly considering it,” said Shimmering Wave. “But after I talked with them, I started thinking about the whole forgiveness thing. Still kinda salty about what you did, but you know what? Ain’t one of us perfect, and we ain’t always clutch when we need to be. On top of that, if we hold on to our hate for something or someone, that mess eats us up from the inside out, like it happened to you...and happened to me, too.”
“We hurt a lot of people, didn’t we?”
“We did, Coco, and I doubt any of the people we hurt will let us forget that as long as we live.”
“What can we do, then?”
“Do the opposite of what we did then: put some good vibes into the world, and show folks the brighter side of being alive, not to mention make up for all the crap we did, starting with them.” At that moment, they stepped in front of us, and, in unison, said, “We...we were complete blockheads for treating you the way we did, and we’re sorry for everything. I hope you can find it in you heart to forgive us.” The second after they said that, I offered to treat them all to a meal at the local vegan burger joint, ‘I Can’t Believe It’s Vegan!’ and watching them all grow into good friends as time passed, and they started to understand each other more during our meals together at the cafeteria.
As is the case with these kinds of matters, their change of heart did not end the bullying, and another quickly rose up to take the mantle. What did change, however, was how willing others were to stand up and refuse to let it take place, especially in the presence of Lily Blossom. When I asked her what made others hesitate to step to her after word about the incident spread, she let out a chuckle, and told me, “That tends to happen when they find out about my brother and I’s extensive background in Cloudsdalian wrestling” I only hope Coco is in just as high spirits working with that Suri woman in Manehatten, and hopefully is not resolving conflicts by smacking others upside their head
Watching my dad do his morning radio show was always a fun time, as I imagine wacky sounds and stone cold funk would be for kids my age. Of course, because he's of a certain generation, he has different conceptions of what good music is, thus making his view on newer forms...less than enlightened, so to speak. You remember him, right? Purple mohawk? Eyes like ice? Ridiculously buff? Anyways, I remember him coming home one day grumbling about the terrible music he heard blaring from the car next to him. After asking what kind of music it was, he said, "I hear it's called Electronic Dance Music, you know, EDM? You'd think from the amount of distortion that crap uses, they'd call it an Ear-splittingly Destructive Mess. Cripes, you kids have terrible taste, if that's what's cool"
Since my dad fed me a steady diet of Motown, Hip Hop, Dancehall, and all that other good stuff, I didn't have a lot of reason to disagree, and even less of one to give EDM a shot, with how much I loved all that. I even used some of the music making programs on my iPepper to make some of my own, but, as my dad soon learned, they weren't much better than painting with your butt, and that was primarily to both me not being a wunderkind who nails everything in one go, and knowing next to jack squat about what makes music, music.
While he got me into reading sheet music, what different parts of a song are, and all that junk, he introduced me to a bunch of different instruments, from pianos, to guitars, to who knows how much else. It ain’t like playing stuff like Classical Gas wasn't fun, or any of that, but for whatever reason, none of 'em really stuck. None of ‘em had that little something something that draws folks to their instrument, the same thing I imagine drew you to the cello, Ms. Strings and Things. The one that did have it, though, was something I saw a bunch of times at Stacks, but never really noticed until my dad and I saw someone really put it to work. That instrument? The turntables, which that person used to do what he called Turntablism.
I had no idea how, but with Turntablism, they were able to blend together samples from completely different genres like they were peanut butter and chocolate. When I heard the DJ mix up hair metal and rockabilly, the only thing I could think at that moment was, “This sounds wicked cool, and I want to make it” Not long after the demo, I stepped up for the lessons offered that day, quickly finding out that much of that music theory stuff applied to what the DJ was teaching, like when he asked me to scratch on 1/4ths time, then 1/8ths, then mixing in a bunch of random time signatures when he felt this was getting a bit too simple.
Can’t even begin to describe how amazing it felt to hear the different scratch patterns they taught me coming together, and all I could think of the whole week after was Turntablism. Every chance I got, I stowed away cash towards getting the gear I needed to practice it at home, thinking about the day I would play before a crowd, and get them moving to my groove. Soon enough, though, I found out there was an immense cost to getting into serious Turntablism, from the time I needed put in in the lab, to the insane prices I saw when I went gear shopping. With the cans, 2 turntables and mixer together, it easily climbed into the 1000s of bits in cost, even if the stuff was used! Shoot, for that price, I might as well buy a decent used car!
Later, when I asked my dad about what it takes to be a DJ, the first thing he said was, “Depends on what kind of DJ you wanna be,” right before we sat on the couch and talked about the difference between the art of building the perfect playlist and Turntablism. He told me that to do what he does for the morning show, he’s gotta be sharp on what kind of music people are into, what kind of energy the songs in his collection give to the crowd, how to use the different production tools to transition, not to mention reading the mood of the room, and learning how to produce music, if DJs ever wanna make something original. When we started getting into Turntablism, he mentioned a lot about of how they use different scratch techniques to create a unique kind of groove with a record, as well as how much training and cash someone’s gotta have to get not only the gear, but each record they wanna use in their set.
I was starting to get depressed about how much it took to do what that guy at Stacks did, and under my breath, I asked myself if all that was really needed to do what he did. At point, he started to bring up something I never heard of before, something he called ‘Controllerism,’ which uses drum machines, sequencers, the mixers and different computer software to use both the sounds found in Turntablism, and whatever your imagination and resources can whip together, as he learned from of his EDM spinning friends in the biz. At that moment, he gave me his cans, and pulled up this song on the family PC, treating me to one of the most amazing things to ever grace my ears.
I knew then and there that whatever kind of music that was was the kind of music I wanted to make, and right after the song, I had to know if DJing, Turntablism or Controllerism would let me do out. His answer? “You’re need to know a bit of all 3, along with all that music theory stuff you’ve been studying,” afterwards promising me that if I proved good enough at being a DJ, he would let me DJ at one of his personal parties. This, of course, made me wanna ask how I can get better at it, to which he replied, “Practice, imitate, practice, improve, practice, innovate, and most importantly, practice. The more you do, the quicker you'll get to making it hot”
When I went back to my room that night, I studied all the video tutorials I could find on my music making software, and kept on grinding at it until the sun came up, and I fell asleep in bed, my laptop beside me, and my headphones firmly on my head. In time, that became my weekend habit, and every time I heard a new song on the radio, my first thought after "This is dope" became "I totally wanna remix it" the more I dipped into the EDM pool and learned how deep it ran. My mom must've noticed, too, because I remember coming home from school one day on a Friday, and finding two wrapped boxes on my bed, with "Late Birthday Presents" written on the tags of each.
In the smaller one, there was a pair of Schwarzvald DJ cans, the same kind my dad uses for his job, and in the other was a Ponisonic CDJ, one of digital turntables that lets you plays CDs and MP3s like they were vinyl (compete with a mixer!). I knew they were good for the price, but at the same time, I knew that this junk wasn't cheap. Not long after opening them, I heard my mom knock at the door, and ask, "May I come in, Vinyl?" Since my mom is a super no nonsense kind of person-complete with red rim glasses and double bunned indigo hair, I was totally confused about why she, a hard driving Teppanyaki restaurateur, would even get this kind of thing, knowing how hard she worked to keep the place above water. As we set up my stuff on my laptop, I asked her why she did, with her telling me about her life back in Japonica.
When she was my age, she wanted to be a pro wrestler under the name Flying Juushin, and after she told her folks and friends, they all ragged on her because they thought she was too skinny, the sport was too dangerous for her, or that it wasn't lady-like to get in the squared circle. She hated how they all but said, "There's no way in Tartarus you can make it as a wrestler," and even as she had the title of the New Japonica Wrestling League wrapped around her waist, she could still hear them telling her to quit this nonsense, and get back to reality. I can still remember the chills I got when she looked dead at me and told me this:
"No matter what I or others may think about you wanting to be a DJ, they're not going after that dream, you are. Remember that, alright? If that's really what you want to do, then do it with everything you've got. Don't give anyone the chance to take an ax to it. Don't waste your energy trying to justify or defend it from people who will never understand. Don't let how bad things look convince you to let go of something you want with every fiber of who you are. Keep that dream deep in your heart, and let it burn as bright as the sun. Dream on, my dear Vinyl, and dream on 'til your dreams come true, because in the end, aren't you the only one that can do it?"
At point that, I was too choked up to to say anything coherent, so summoning the meager knowledge I had about my mom's native tongue, I told her "Arigarou, okaa-san," That drew the most tender smile I've yet to see from her as she said, "Your accent is still atrocious" before leaving to fix dinner, leaving me to bone up on my skills, and work on building my special brand of funk on the wheels of steel(and in case you're wondering, yes, she did totally rip that from that Aerosmith song)
Have you ever heard the question, “Why do we need feminism”? For the longest time, I didn't think there was a reason for it, with both all the privileges women enjoy these days and how level the playing field has become. Really, considering the level of equality that pervades our society, it’s easy to assume a movement based on the fight for these rights as unnecessary, as many of my orchestra mates have attested to. The first time I ever thought it a needed force was during my first year of college, when I went to Manehatten on winter break.
I was visiting Winter Sonata, a family friend and my foreign media consultant over there, when she decided to take me on a walking tour through its surrounding boroughs. I believe you've seen a few of shots of her before, correct? Subtle hourglass build? Dark, bowl cut hair? Anyways, during our walk, she spoke at length about her adventures in a style of costuming focused on specific characters...Cosplay, I believe it's called? From what I remember, she had been at it since her middle school days, and found that not only were the skills she picked helping her to express herself, but in modeling her works, she found a sense of confidence in her body she never had before, one that made her slowly less conservative about many things, especially the way she dressed.
That day, despite it being cold enough for me to see each breath I took, I remember her choosing Leopard print boots, black thigh highs, leopard print short shorts, and a black leather zip up jacket with studs on the shoulders for her traveling outfit. To this day, I'm perplexed at how warmly Manehattenites dress in such frigid conditions. Perhaps I'm just a bit soft, as she liked to call me? At any rate, while we traveled, a local selling burned copies of the latest CDs, along with a few of his friends, took exception to her manner of dress, and hollered that her shorts were too short.
In response, she glared at them, and said, "Don't be a jackhole! You wouldn't talk to your mom or your sister that way, would you?" They, of course, denied their kin would dress that way, then offered her money for her to service them as a lady of the night would. In quick fashion, she spit in the face of one, and called him a pig. Before I knew it, one of them clubbed her in the back of the head, and ran off with his posse as she fell, unconscious, to the pavement. After tending to her, I called the police, and we gave them descriptions of her assailants as soon as they showed up, the officer showing about as much compassion as a rock towards her plight
Neither of us could grasp why the authorities were so cold towards her in her hour of need, nor why those punks attacked her the way they did. Shouldn’t a human being have some interest in when another gets hurt, and possibly needs their aid? Granted, she did spit in his face, and all, but to attack someone for it, much less in the cowardly way they did is absolutely egregious, more so for an officer of the law to treat a victim of assault like someone in line to get their bloody driver’s license. As we continued our walk, she spoke of how our society conditioned us to view such behavior as acceptable, and an expected part of life.
At first, I thought the notion as completely absurd, but after that day, I thought about my time among other cellists and in the classical music scene. I remembered when, back in high school, one of the males in the school orchestra asked if I would strum his strings, and the other boys laughed. I remembered how my father nearly beat the stuffing out of someone at a party because they made a pass at my mum and grabbed her bum because ‘she was asking for it the way she dressed’ I remembered that my friend got punched in the back of her head because, behind the blatant disrespect she showed, they didn’t like that her skirt was too short. It was shortly after that day that I embraced more strongly the radical notion that women are human beings, otherwise known as Feminism
Yes, there have been less positive aspects to it, like those who blame men for all of society's ills, those who reject everything traditionally feminine on the grounds of them bring a tool of oppression, the radical groups who hire model-esque women to picket a cause without their tops on and so on. Those are the people I first thought of when the word ‘feminism’ crossed my mind, but as I looked deeper into the history of women working to create a world that all of us can enjoy, I realized how much they had to fight for things like the right to work whatever profession they wish, the right to own property, the right to hold office, and who knows how much else. With everything that still needs to be done, I wondered what I could do, as one woman, to help bring this world into reality.
I spoke to my mother about this during one of tea times, and she told me that, along with protests, lobbying and all the political aspects that go along with it, there’s also applying the feminist beliefs in a social setting in as respectful a manner as possible, responding with tact appropriate to a given situation. In between sips of chamomile, she said, “If they make an offhand comment, show them that you aren’t comfortable with what they said, preferably in a way that leave great amounts of egg on their face. If they do something inappropriate, be sure to use the proper physical response, like removing yourself from their presence, yelling at the top of your lung, or landing a solid right hook on their jaw. Whatever it takes to show that what they’re doing isn’t proper, that's what must be done”
A few months later, when I went with to a comic convention with Winter Sonata, I got the perfect chance to apply what my mother taught. While we browsed the booths in exhibit hall, I caught someone about to take a a phone snapshot of a cosplayer's posterior without neither her permission nor knowledge. I got footage of him taking the shots, and had my companion run distraction, while I went to inform the cosplayer of what took place, who then went up. As I expected, she was none too happy, and went right to the young man in question to confront him about his actions, with him strongly denying it on front of the growing crowd of onlookers. When I brought out the footage I had taken, I could see his body shake as he said, "So what? With the way she's dressed, she's practically asking for it! Nobody wears that kind of cosplay not wanting attention, right? She should be grateful that people are taking pictures of her! The only thing she's being right now is a hypocritical bitch!"
It was during his ranting and raving that an official arrived inquiring about the hubbub. Not long after, the photo taker was given the boot, and swore we would regret doing what we did. Based on what I learned from my cosplaying companions, he would likely try to portray them as uncouth harpies in the community, and try to get them black listed. That in mind, I did a bit of internet sleuthing, and found not only his identity as a cosplay photographer, but also many of his contacts in social media, including his personal Whinny and Facespace accounts.
Upon finding them, I treated them to a couple pizzas from the local hot spot, and proposed a counter attack: upload the videos to YouTV, share them with everyone connected to him, and ensure that every person, business and convention in the community knows what this man did, along with whatever else they could attain from his previous clientele. After all, when you strike at a person's pride, circle of trust and livelihood, you’re much more likely to sway them into ceasing their course of action. I don’t know what happened after that event, but from what Winter Sonata reported back, his actions spread like wildfire, and lead countless major figures in their field to deny him business, deny him access, and even deny him their time, with him shortly self destructing in very public fashion. I do wish him the best, and wish for him to realize his shortcomings, but I must admit to the news bringing a smile to my face(make of that whatever you will)
It’s a shame, though, that it came to such ugly measures. He was wrong for what he did, certainly, but it’s my belief that a divine mother and father birthed all we know; that within us all is a piece of this divinity that must be respected, no matter if we’re born female or male. This much is why, despite some of the nonsense I see within feminism, I still hold it close to my heart. I hope that one day, someone like Winter Sonata will be able to walk down the street in what she had on, and not worry about it leading to an assault because they respect her enough as a human being being not to. I realize far off this dream is, but you know what they say: when you aim for the stars, you’ll soon scrape the skies
I know this is gonna sound real kid-ish, but when I started DJing, the thing that really stuck with me was when my people, like my pops, pals and other peeps made the time to see me do my thing. Makes you feel like you can't cut yourself any slack, and that they wanna see you do it up big time, like my dad did. I told you earlier that he would let me spin at one of his personal events, if I stepped my DJ game up, right? Turns out that wasn't no empty motivational promise he laid down.
The day he came in on one of my practice DJ sessions, I had my cans unplugged, which I didn't realize until he tapped me on the shoulder, and said, "That sounds super solid, Vinyl." I was shook into making a mad awful scratch that instant, more so when he added, "Almost makes me think you're ready to step up, and put some real records to work" Later that weekend, I heard them reminisce over how they met watching the Drift King of Japonica leave some buster in the dust on a mountain road track, with my mom doing, presumably, the funky little dance on the sidelines that first caught his attention. It was kinda sweet in a way, but when they started talking about their anniversary dinner, my dad made a proposal I couldn't believe:
"How would you feel about Vinyl DJing it?"
Never mind the fact that this was a wedding gig, this was to be my first gig ever. After my mom officially gave me the offer, I still couldn't believe it, and worked double time to cover up her how shook I was at the notion of playing in public. I knew I had the DJ thing on lock in practice, but in a live setting, where anything could go wrong? Whole different ball game. If I'mma be straight with you, I gotta tell you that I didn't think I could do it. I could hear the voices in my head telling me it would be too hard, that the crowd could care less about a little punk like me trying to spin a set, that I was gonna faceplant hard if I tried it, so I should have turned her down on the spot.
After my dad helped me sort out a set, we took the crate of vinyls to his DJ friend's pad, and let me at a real deal, vinyl playing wheels of steel. Seeing that glorious machine brought back the promise my dad made the first day I trained my skills, that as soon as I had my turntable fundamentals on lockdown, I was ready to start scratching with a real record. I listened to the set on the way to the spot, and felt everything I learned about DJing come rushing at me, from how to determine a song's BPM by ear, to how to transition from one song to the other, and using the tools of the turntable to completely transform the mood(s) of a song. My dad probably thought I knew them like it was 1+1, 'cause as we stepped towards the spot, he told me I also had to make at least one original turntable routine to debut during the dinner. I knew then and there my dad wanted more than just some human shuffle playlist on the deck, he wanted a show, one I felt I wasn't ready to put on.
That whole practice session, my body was shaking like a leaf in the wind, something soon apparent to my dad's turntablist friend. He was keeping tabs on me while I got my feet under me, and had no doubts about how shook I was about everything, taking me aside for a quick pep talk.
"Last time I saw you at Stacks, you were scratching and crossfading like you were a pro. What's up, Vinyl?"
"Stacks? You mean you're Ice Cold, that slim looking dude in the black tracksuit I was learning turntablism from?"
"The same. With a bit more muscle, and soul patch, though. For real, though, why so shook?"
"Well this is my first time spinning for a crowd, and-"
"You think you ain't ready, right? I'll let you in on an industry secret: ain't nobody ready for that live hype. You can practice all you want, but when it's go time, you can't control if your gear decides to break down, or if the crowd don't dig you, or if mix up your records, and pop the wrong one on. What you can control, though, is how you react"
"Then how do I know what to do when things go belly up?"
"That's what practice is for, baby. Get them skills down solid, and do it as many different ways as you can. That way, if something gets funked up beyond your control, it ain't a showstopper, just a sign that it's time to get funky with it, and give the crowd something fresh, you dig?" At that point, I knew the only thing left to do was hit the decks, and work on getting those skills down solid.
I can't begin to describe the rush I got from putting the needle on the record, and feeling those ridges move beneath my fingers, working until I wasn't just flipping from one song to the next, but making it feel like those songs belonged together, and melded into each other. Part of that was from how much pressure I put on myself, but the way Ice Cold demanded that every movement I made was with utmost purpose let me know it was go time.
His wife saw that, too, when she came in on one of my practice sessions, and brought us iced coffee and glazed cinnamon rolls. After hours of drilling scratches and crossfading techniques, that piping hot sweetness steaming off the rolls told me both of them were fresh from the kitchen, and made both of us salivate like a dog hearing the dinner bell. When I looked up from the decks, I totally saw her stand there in nothing but the golden curls on her head and an apron around her sensitive spots, and say, "I think it's time for a break. You've certainly worked hard enough to earn one, haven't you?"
We jibber jabbered about my parents' reception at the dining table, when his wife...Quiet Storm, I think her name was? Asked me how my original routine was coming along. Since most of my time was spent sharpening my skills, the only thing I could say was "I don't got a shred of an idea on where to begin"
"Well, when your mom called earlier, and she talked a ton about how her family was flying in from Japonica just for the dinner. Why don't you try out some of the Japonican records she popped in the crate, and hit 'em with a new view on that traditional flair? I heard enough of your practice session to know you got everything you need to make it hot"
With that encouragement and a full stomach I went back to the decks, and worked those Japonican grooves until something started to click. Under Ice Cold's guidance, I ended up hammering out a little something like this wild number before I headed home for the day. As I rode home with my mom, the only thing I could think of was how much I didn't wanna disappoint her or her folks. I mean, it's one thing to let down someone like my folks, who I can mend fences with, if it goes belly up, but to do that to in front of people who flew across an ocean to see their little girl? Not so easy to patch things up.
I still remember you telling me to calm down the day before the big dinner, telling me I'd do fine, and that even though you'd be stuck at a school recital that day, you'd totally be cheering me on. Hearing you say meant a lot to me as me and Ice Cold worked out a few last kinks in the set up at the event. As the guests started filing into that fancy dining hall, Ice Cold handed me a pair of funky looking sunglasses his wife got for me at the local bodega, and said, "Don't even trip. You got this wrapped up, PON-3"
The moment I put those sunglasses, I felt a vibe come over I never knew before. I wasn't some punk kid who wanted to do good to people, I was a performer dressed in a sleeveless white shirt, kinda tore up blue jeans and and some mad nice black and white Chucks there to give people a show, and give them a party they'd never forget. The social skills that Ice Cold had me learn came in real handy, too, especially when people started making requests and started hitting on me as the party wore on, and folks got drunker and drunker. I knew for sure he had my back when someone in the crowd yelled "Play Freebird!" and right in the crate was Lynyrd Skynyrd's vinyl with a note on top saying "Because there's always one at every party asking for it"
When my mom came to the mic on the stage beside me, I knew the time had come for me to break out the set of records I chose for my routine, the one I spent hours and hours creating, drilling, and polishing until it shined like the sun. By the time my mom was through announcing my routine, the records and the needles were in position, and it was time to show them the results of my time in the lab. The more I scratched the records and worked the knobs and sliders of my mixer, the more the groove came over me-and pretty soon over the crowd, too! People were getting out of their seats, off the wall, and moving with it, with one of the kids in the back even yelling "Saikou!" which I later learned meant something like "That was sick!" The buzz I felt throughout my body was incredible, the energy I got from the crowd was something I never knew before that day- and something I wanted more of. That day was the day I knew I wanted to be a DJ, that day was the day I finally got my cutie mark, that day was the day I finally felt alive, and like my life had a purpose beyond eat, sleep, study. I was thinking that somehow, some way, you'd get to that party and share my joy in what was the best day of my life, but every time I looked at the crowd, the thing that stuck out most was that you weren't ever in it.
I totally understood why. There's no way I'd ask you to do your orchestra mates raw just to come see me play some wedding party, and I wanted you to do what you had to be a better musician, just like I was. That's why you never saw me get worked up over it, even after you apologized for not making it, and directly asked if I was mad. I knew you had a solid reason, I knew that your orchestra came first, and I knew it'd help you become a better musician, but for a long time, I never forgot how empty I felt inside knowing the person I respected most as a musician, the person who grew to be one of my best friends, the person who gave me the courage I needed the day before the bucking event was the one person I wanted to see there most, the one person who never showed up. Ice Cold probably knew that on instinct, because after my performance, he immediately came up and
offered to spin for the rest of the event, while his wife and I went off for chat away from the party.
After we got to their car, she checked that no one else was around, and said, "If you're upset about anything, just go ahead and let it out." I took off the glasses, and handed them to her as I let out one of the longest strings of curses I ever had up to that point. My eyes were hot with tears, my voice was hoarse from all the screaming, and I was about to punch through the car window, when Quiet Storm took my balled up fist by the hand, and gave me that half closed gaze that told me, "I know how you feel, honey. It's gonna be alright," holding me close and letting me cry into the shoulder of that nice white dress she chose just for this dinner. She didn't say anything the whole time I bawled my eyes out, and didn't have to. She knew I needed to know that someone cared more than anything else in that moment, that someone was willing to be there for me. When I was ready to back to the party, she handed me my glasses, and said, "Remember that when people see you in these, they don't see Vinyl Scratch, the girl with a tender heart and a strong desire to do right by the folks she loves. The person they see is DJ PON-3, the DJ who how to get the party poppin'. Only folks you know will do you right are the folks who should get to see the person behind the shades"
I must admit, not seeing you in the crowd the night you were doing that wedding brought a very hollow sensation on two fronts. Not only was I upset not to see you when I was performing, but I was also quite upset at myself for not being able to catch what came to be the moment you found your special talent, and got your cutie mark. It was a feeling I never wanted to repeat, yet as each of us ascended the ranks in our musical fields, with you getting more offers to DJ at other parties, and me getting offers to audition for different orchestras, I could sense such moments becoming more and more likely to repeat themselves, those feelings following close behind.
I still remember the time I sought to end our friendship after you repeatedly chose time in the studio with your production partner, Neon Lights, over coming to see my solo performances. I knew you needed to focus on your musical career at that point, but every time I didn't see your face in the crowd, I felt the divide between us grow that much more insurmountable . Likewise, the day you invited me to see you perform at a club in Las Pegasus, and family obligations kept me from making the trip, I can only imagine what you were going through, as if my word was as good as that of a career politician’s.
You told me as much the next time we met in Manehatten, the sting of disappointment creating what had to be the lowest of the lows in our time as friends. That night in Central Park, each of us brought up when one failed to be there for the other, and called each other things I never thought we'd ever resort to, our voices growing louder and more staccato. Under the glow of those street lamps, you referred to me as a frost queen, my craft, as sleep inducing and my mother, as someone with a stick firmly rammed up their backside, the wind whistling through the trees as I pointed out every single of your unrefined habits, and labeled your taste in music as complete rubbish. To this day, all the things that lead up to that scrap we had feel as if they happened yesterday.
You stood there in your jeans jacket as you screamed "You think I wanted to ditch that concert? You think I liked not being able to make your performances? You think it's fun for me for me you hurt you as much as you hurt me when you couldn't get to a single bucking party I spun at? I could understand not making the wedding, but not getting to a single lousy party I was at, when I told you weeks in advance? It's like you just don't give a crap about me being a DJ!"
"I could say the same about you towards my cello career! You can't even begin to understand how bloody incensed I was at you when you dozed off during the class concert! Then again, what should I have expected from someone whose parents raised up such a low class, obnoxious, and unrefined little maggot" I knew I should never have said that, but the second you slapped me in the face in retaliation, all I could think of as my body shook was how much I wanted to punch you in yours. Right after I did, I saw you put up your dukes, and come at me like a raging bull.
Even with your training in that boxing gym, your swings came at me with the speed and control of boulders raining from the sky. Of course, I wasn't much more defensively minded, either, considering I took no effort to dodge those wind ups, and barreled ahead with my own. Any moment I saw a hint of an opening, I threw my whole body into each punch, each aimed at turning your face into a red, black and blue pile of flesh. The second my upper caught you on the chin, you sent me stumbling back with one of your own, and tackled me to the grass.
Thankfully, my time training with Lily Blossom and her brother taught me much about fighting from my back, so when you threw down that elbow, I just had to trap your foot, and turn until I was on top. Before I could get into ground and pound, though, you picked me up by the sheer strength of your magic, and threw me as if I were a rag doll into a nearby oak. The pain shot through my back like a rocket as I picked myself, and punched through that energy ball flying right at me.
As you charged at me with that energy charged cross, I dealt with it just as Midnight Blaze taught me to: turning, capturing the wrist and arm, then popping my hips into an over the shoulder toss,(what he called an Ippon Seoi-Nage). The thud your body made on impact echoed throughout the park, the glazed over gaze I saw soon after telling me you had nothing left, and that our fight had ended. With heavy breaths, I threw a few bits down beside you as I screamed, "You can take a cab home, you sodding twit," and walked away. My family's butler, Blanctorche, must've between quite confused when I walked towards the Rolls Royce alone, probably concerned about the blood and bruises dotting my face by that point. When he asked if you were coming, the only thing I could say was, "Vinyl Scratch will no longer be accompanying me"
You remember Blanctorche, don’t you? He was the towering figure in a black dress coat, white button up shirt and black dress pants that greeted you when you visited my family’s mansion. Before you came into my life, that man with the slack grey hair was also the person I confided in most, and became that again when I decided it wasn’t worth being friends with you anymore. Days without speaking to you became weeks, those weeks becoming months, and those months growing near to a year before I realized how much I missed having you around. He even convinced me to call you after all the times I brought up the stupid little things you used to do, but when I heard your voice, I couldn't think of anything I wanted to say, not to the person who thought so little of my profession, of the thing I pour my heart and soul into.
Likewise, the first times you tried to contact me, I had zero desire to hear you out-as you probably guessed from Blanctorche's rather curt denials. Once you stopped calling, though, things felt different. How? Well, once I stopped seeing you at Stacks, meeting up with you to chat over a plate of chili cheese fries, and speaking with you whenever I needed advice on things, a hollow sensation I never knew before started swelling within. I realized I no longer had a yang to balance with my yin, a confidant with which I could entrust my deepest secrets, the person I knew as my sister from another father, and the harder that hit me, I more I felt a gap inside me that needed to be filled. I didn't know what could be done to stop the aches my heart went through, and I wanted to do whatever it took to make it stop
When I was in college, I found research on how our five senses can link us back to our memories, something I learned when I heard dubstep on the radio, saw another woman with wild cobalt hair, and caught a whiff of that tangy, cheesy, savoury treat while running errands. Each of those brought back countless memories of our time together, and made me consider whatever apology you had. In those times, however, I remembered what Blanctorche told me since I was a child: no matter how many times you apologize to a broken plate, it'll never return to what it was. I knew whatever we had as friends was gone forever after that day, that nothing would bring it back, so instead of making a fruitless pursuit, I tried to pour my pain into my work, and let it make me better.
That time you were gone, I could feel every emotion bubbling inside stream through my fingertips and into my cello, making each session that much more raw, that much more intense, that much more captivating to my peers. Of course, they saw the facade I've trained over a lifetime in high society, they never saw me punch the walls of my bedroom, cry into a pillow or drink myself into a stupor because I pushed away someone close to me. Call after call came in inquiring about my cello skills, but none of it ever made me feel whole, in turn leading me to seek out what would.
Around that time, I bumped into a drug dealer offering their wares, including a blue, powdery substance he called Diamond Candy, and claimed would make me feel like I'm walking on air. I remembered my peers speaking highly of the sensations they had on Diamond Candy, so with nothing left to lose, I bought a small bag's worth of the stuff, and made my way to my apartment on the upper east side. As always, Blanctorche, who my parents sent to check on me, was waiting faithfully for me to return, the apartment more spic and span than anything I was capable of, so I sent him off to get dinner for the two of us from the local burger spot. As I pondered my recent purchase, I sat on the ebony couch in the living room, and diced the substance up with a credit card-for better snorting as the dealer instructed during my purchase. As I did, Blanctorche opened the door, likely hoping to share a tender moment with me, only to reveal what I had in mind, his jaw fully slacked, and his brow soon fully furrowed as he strode towards me, and put the bag of food down on the ivory colored table. I could hear the tremor in his voice as he said, "Forgive me for this, Madam," and slapped me across the cheek.
"Imbécile!" He screamed. "Have you lost your mind!? Why in Tartarus are you doing this to yourself!? Do you have any idea what this does to your mind and body!?" He's been with the family since I was born, so he knows well who I am, what I can do and where my skills can take me. Because of that, I knew why he was so upset, why he immediately went to flush my purchase down the toilet, and, based on what my instincts were telling me, that he was about to give me an earful. To my surprise, after a few moments of huffing and puffing, he apologized for striking me, and proceeded to tell me of his own encounters with Diamond Candy while we enjoyed our big, juicy burgers
His friends from when he was a young transient were highly paranoid after they took the drug, and got so hooked on it, they sunk to the absolute depths of indignity in order to get more of it, even as others were dying from spontaneous heart attacks, strokes and seizures brought on by it. They trashed their lives as bankers, soldiers and public relations managers to get more of the stuff, and he was close to doing the same before he ran into my parents, and stopped someone from stealing my mother’s purse. “They gave me a chance to lead a better life that day,” he told me between sips of soda, “the same thing they, I and everyone else you care for wants for you. Even if those people cannot always be there in person, they want you to rise, to thrive, to become even greater than you are now. You cannot do that if you keep seeking a way to escape what troubles you”
I think he knew, though, that because he was there to guide me through my dark time, I knew without a doubt that he cared about my welfare-about me. When he smiled at me during my cello practice sessions, a warmth spread through me as I refined my skills for a big solo concert I was due to play in a week’s time. I was hoping to see him there, but he said his services were needed with my parents before then, promising to arrange for Lily Blossom, now a manager at an NPO serving the needs of the Manehatten community, to make an appearance. The day I saw him off at the airport, he smiled at me and said, “L'orgueil est le consolateur des faibles,” the meaning of which I did not grasp until the day of the concert
The day of the concert, I was hoping to give Lily Blossom and everyone there the performance of a lifetime, giving them a taste of both classical and my contemporary Cello play. I sat on the stool on center stage, and watched as the the curtain rose, revealing that Lily Blossom, in her backless white dress and high ponytail, was looking for her front row seats, with her plus one following close behind. Her plus one was stunning in her blue sequined dress and feathered cobalt and cyan hair, and in flash, it came to me who her plus one was. Her plus one...was you. Before I put the bow to the strings, I caught my breath, and I thought back to the translation of Blanctorche’s parting words, “Pride is the consolation of the weak”
As I started into Cello Suite No.1 i-Prelude, the way you leaned in and focused your attention filled me with butterflies I haven’t felt since my first recital as a child. Each note flowed out of me like wine, my hands near trembling as I got further into my set, and dipped into a couple original pieces I wanted to debut. As giddy as the audience’s applause made me, none of it was nearly as loud as the smile you gave me at the end. I could sense, though, from your half closed gaze, there was a hint of sadness, like there was something wanted to say, but held to yourself until you left. When I made it to my dressing room, my iPlayer said Blanctorche sent me an e-mail, its message simple and clear:
“Ms. Vinyl Scratch has extended an invitation to her performance in two weeks at Shelter, a nightclub on the west side of town. Be sure to dress appropriately, and bring a plus one”
The day after that performance, two weeks from then also became the day I was to go in for an audition for the Manehatten Orchestra. I didn't know what I was going to do, but I knew that whatever I chose, it had to be something that meant everything to me, and that I would never regret choosing. I only wish the choice had been as clear then as it is now.
You know, Ms. Strings and Things, when I wanted to throw down in the park that night, I didn't expect you'd be that good at it, much less good enough to pull that Judo Throw from outta left field. Could not move a muscle as you walked away and told me to get stuffed. Personally, I figured you'd need a day or two to cool off, and we'd just squash the beef, like always. Every time you stonewalled my calls, texts and emails, though, I got a little closer to thinking, "Man...I bucked this up beyond repair" and considering if it was really over. All those years, all those memories, were they really about to go up in smoke because of that brawl?
Neon saw how much it ate at me right when I came into the studio a few days later, catching how spaced out I was, and hearing how downbeat my new stuff was growing to be. Straight up, he told me, "You can't make them rump shakers if your mind ain't in the rump shaking zone," and sent me home for the day to work it out. The next day, we talked shop over some pumpkin spice iced coffee at his lady's pad, his lady asking me if I ever considered song writing. Of course, since she was a singer-songwriter, herself, it's natural she'd suggest what's probably got her through a buncha rough stuff in her life, even if I haven't sang or written one lyric since I played that crappy guitar tune in the elementary school talent show.
Gotta admit, though, when Neon said he'd be out taking care of biz, and left me with his lady, I felt mega awkward. Neon and I were basically mirror images of each other, which is why we continue to jive when we hit the studio and make that sweet EDM music together. His lady, in contrast, was this raven haired, bobcut little waif in a pastel pink, kimono-lookin' top. I mean, those white Bellbottoms with red flower petals spiraling down the legs practically screamed she wasn't the kind of down and dirty folks Neon likes to hang with. Really, who wears Bellbottoms anymore besides those irritating hipsters? Didn't those go out of style before my mom was born? Anyways, the moment my gaze caught her big ol' almond-esque icy blues, I knew without a doubt that I had no idea what to say, with her content to just sit there and flash me that million bit smile.
"So my guy says you got some Japonican in you," she mentioned after taking a bite of her fresh baked peanut butter cookie. "Nipponika-go o shaberu?" I knew that she asked if I spoke any Japonican, (mostly thanks to the excellent books and such my mom got for me on learning Japonican) so I was able to answer, "Chotto heta da kedo sa, ee, shaberu ne" (I'm kinda crappy with it, but yeah, I speak it)
I could tell from her smirk that she dug me to some extent, saying "Well what do you know, you don't totally sound like some cartoon copying yutz" and introducing herself as Takamine. From what I remember, she's from the same place in Japonica as my mom, and is famous countrywide for both being a total sweetheart (in the public eye, anyways) and having a singing voice with the touch of an angel and the punch of a mack truck. Heard that much when we were chilling in the living room, and busted out a tune on her guitar. Was as much of a sucker punch to me as her being a total party animal.
I should've expected as much from anyone tough enough to be Neon Light's main squeeze, but I was totally caught off guard by just how hardy a party animal Takamine showed herself to be. The more we chilled together, the more I saw her throwing down shots like they were water, throwing that smack talk around like she was born to do it, and throwing down with anyone who thought they could buck with her, and get away with it. I remember training with her at this boxing focused gym she clued me into(Wild Card is the name, if you ever wanna check out out), when we got to the squared circle to practice combinations, this 'roid rage looking dude standing in there, and scaring off anyone who got close. She stared a hole into him, and laid this down: If you ain't getting out, then it's time to turn your lights out. He laughed loud enough for the whole gym to hear, and offered her the first shot, sticking his chin out, and likely waiting for her to fail miserably before mopping the floor with her. Before I could even blink, she cold clocked him with a crisp, clean left hook, and made him taste the canvas, carrying him out on her shoulders, and dumping him outside the ring as she said, "Alright, Ms. Crapstep, get in there, it's your turn"
As you can probably tell, she was, in her own words, "the most straight up bitch you'll ever meet, and proud of it" In time, though, she showed the kind of intuition any psychologist would kill to have about how to tell what folks were thinking. Every word I said, every change in tone my words had, every motion my body made told her volumes on what I was going through in each moment. Shoot, there were times when she figured out what was eating at me, and did exactly what I needed in that moment after I said approximately jack squat to her. Didn't matter if it was over iced coffee and cinnamon buns at the local coffee horse or if was she blitzed out of her brain at the bar, just by hearing me blabber on about the stupid little crap we did together, she knew how hung up I was on you, and knew that I was desperate to get you back. One night, after her 5th shot of Applejack Daniels at the bar, she slammed down the glass, and said, "That desperation is what will continue to drive away those you consider close" Didn't know it then, but hearing those words out would the first step I'd take on a months long journey to figuring out who I really was.
***
Of all the things I learned from her, the most radical had to be what she called altruistic selfishness. While Neon was getting our stuff set up in the studio, she talked about how we're taught to find our happiness in other folks and how we make them feel, explaining that "Yeah, it's good to do stuff for them, on a practical level, but in thinking we can only feel good when they do, it also gives them the power to make us feel however they want us to, and take away everything we think is important by just not showing up or giving a crap" It took awhile for it to click, with nothing really sinking in until a few days later, when, during a traffic jam, I heard some Bach on the taxi cab's radio. The second I realized it was the song you practiced when we hung together, I thought back on why I got so pissed in the first place, remembering every time I looked for your face in the crowd at my shows, and never being able to find it. Little by little, it dawned on me that what pissed me off most was how you showing up would be what'd make me happy, the thing that would really make my parties a party, the thing that I didn't think you wanted to happen(which I imagine you thought of me when I no showed)
The day it came full circle was when Takamine took me to a local bodega, and bought me a soda in one of those old school glass bottles, the kind you usually need a bottle opener for. She leaned against that waist high brick wall while I struggled with-and ultimately failed at muscling it open, me grunting like a gorilla, and Takamine chuckling behind a smirk. As I huffed and puffed in that stanky hot weather, I saw her glance at a square-ish metal pole sticking out of the ground, and went over to try and jimmy the cap off on the edge(try being the operative word). After I screamed "Open, you piece of crap!" she walked beside me, took the bottle from my death grip, and set it at an angle on the edge, telling me to, "Watch closely, yeah? 'cause doing this wrong will lead to a busted bottle and possible glass frags in the eye"
With a few quick thumps, the bottle was open, with her taking a swig before grabbing a fresh bottle of pop, and telling me to try again. I did everything she did to open it, setting it how she had it, giving it a few solid thumps, and watching as, to my unexpected delight, the top popped right off! I knew she caught that open mouthed smile I had, because while I was still feeling myself, she asked, "So, how good does it feel to know you can give yourself that kind of joy? Certainly has be better than depending on someone else to give it to you, right?" I couldn't deny that I felt more in control, but I wasn't fully sold until we ran into a bum with a "Please help" sign, and she, with no half stepping or prodding, gave him her drink.
It was super confusing seeing someone who made a big deal about personal pleasure being important give away what gave her pleasure; when I brought up as much, she smiled and asked, "Don't you feel better for longer, though, knowing that what you did made someone's day better? That you did something excellent for someone else? That you have the power to make someone a little happier?" As those words danced around in my noggin, I reached into my pocket, and gave that bum the spare bits I had from last night's late night burger run. That bum's toothless smile told me everything I needed to know about altruistic selfishness, and stuck with me as Takamine and I swapped stories about the crap we went through.
For sure, her songs were powerful stuff but, the stuff she said inspired then just blew my mind. Each time I heard about her leaving home while she was still in high school, the way her boyfriends, family and friends treated her like dirt, and how songwriting gave her the voice she never had, I saw just how much of an old soul she was, even though she was basically my age. She mostly spoke about it in her native tongue, but from what she taught me, I picked up a crucial skill in understanding both the language and other people: reading the mood. If I'm not mistaken, that means reading what's implied by what someone says and does, remembering the history going into it, and learning what their body says when they say nothing at all, on top of simply shutting up and letting them talk. Over time, this lead to me not only me better understanding her, but also clarifying what I knew about you and realizing that because of how took each other granted and didn't have each other's backs when we were in the spotlight, some sort of ugliness was bound to happen.
***
When Takamine popped over at my place one weekend, she was super curious at how much of your crap I had laying around, considering I hadn't heard a peep from you since I met her. While we played some 3s on the PC I hooked up to the boob tube, we talked about the time I spent with you, and how all that stuff was connected to it, including the iPlayer in my work space. She looked right at it, fresh off of getting bodied, and said, "Since she's not in your life anymore, maybe it's time you, you know, let go of some of it" Before she even got up, I stepped in front of her, stared dead at her, and, knowing what my hunch was telling me, told her, "Lay one finger on that thing, and we will scrap. Do you wanna scrap?"
"It would be fun," she answered with that signature obnoxious chuckle, "but it would also be pointless. The fact you're getting this heated about my even thinking about it shows you still care deeply. I'd even say that what you feel for this person is based in something deeper, something meaningful, something real. If that's the case, then there's only one thing you can do to prove that to me, to her and to yourself." With my cell in hand, she brought up your contact info, and said, "Set her free" From our other chats, I knew she meant forgiving them for everything they’ve done, realizing that they’re their own people with their own lives, and giving them permission in your own heart to walk away. In practical terms, that meant cutting off all possible ways to contact them, like she did with everyone who did her dirty when she was young. I remember that after she set them free, she found herself able to move on from what happened, and grow much stronger in who she was. I also remember her saying “it was one of the hardest things I ever did,” especially towards a mom who once beat her so bad, she didn't remember where she was when she woke up the next day.
All that time away from you allowed me to find the strength I needed to forgive all that crap and be happy that you’re doing you in the best possible way. ‘Cause of all that, I found out me to take it from her, hit delete, and, with my hands shaking, confirmed that I wanted it gone. After I did, I looked up at Takamine, and glimpsed the weirdest smile from her. Her eyebrows were relaxed, her eyes were half closed, and her mouth was closed, but showing that slightest rise in the corners. It was so at ease, like she knew I became someone different, someone wiser, someone that just threw away the baggage they were carrying all this time(a feeling she's no doubt went through more than once). That much I guessed when she took a sip of her lemonade, then asked, "Itai ja no?(It hurts, don't it)?"
Can't say it didn't. In deleting your number, I was pretty much acknowledging that not only were you gone, but also were never, ever gonna come back. Had to sit down for a bit to let it sink in, Takamine sitting right by me on that comfy red couch, fresh off of what she knew was the hardest choice I ever made. Knowing her, she was probably waiting for what eventually came out of my mouth: "Saa, mou owari da ne?(So, it's really over, isn't it?)" Her soft nod started the waterworks, and they wouldn't stop until I was well into snot nose mode. Thankfully, there was a box of fancy tissues nearby, which Takamine made sure to keep coming as I blew through each one. While I did, I looked around the room at all the stuff from our time together, and felt a strange warmth spread throughout my body. When I asked her what this was, she chuckled and said, "Saishuppatsu no ippo no ja(It's the first step of a fresh new start)"
That fresh new start became clear to everyone I knew, including Takamine, Neon, and my folks. My mom, especially, was shocked at how different I was when we met up with Takamine for a trip to Kakegawa, that ginormous city in Nipponika they both come from. During our flight, she saw how relaxed my gaze had become, and, her mother tongue, said, "I know that look. That look is one only known to those who've seen their own truth, who've found their own center, who've realized who they truly are. Your eyes...they've seen these things, haven't they?" The only thing I could do was nod and smile, with the two of us discussing what happened that night in the park, and everything I went through afterwards during the 18 hours we were in the air. Not long after we touched down and got through customs, my mom looked at me for a bit, then, in that super busy airport baggage claim, hugged me the same way she did when I entered a contest for young DJs back in high school, and lost in the grand finals. While Takamine waited for our luggage to get dumped on the carousel, she smiled at my mom, and said, “You raised a strong young woman, ma’am. I know she’s ready to take on whatever or whoever comes next” Wouldn’t be until I got back that I learned just what my next big challenge would be, this time in form of an e-mail from Lily Blossom.
***
I remember meeting with her during one of our get togethers at the park, and getting this super frosty vibe from her. She wasn’t rude or any of that junk, but the more I talked to her and learned what she was about, the more I felt like she was a riddle wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma(See? I DO pay attention when you talk about historical stuff!). It wasn’t until I started talking to Takamine that I started to grasp at some of the concepts she brought up, like what it means to find what we need within instead of without, how each of us is connected by the common bonds all us share, and most importantly, how we can supply our own light when the one guiding us through the darkness of life goes poof-you know, that metaphysical stuff we never really got until we were well outta high school. That last one was weighing heavy on my thoughts when I got home and fired up the iPlayer, finding a message from her entitled “Concert tomorrow tonight?”
When I read it, I saw your butler sent her an invitation to a solo concert you were playing at, asking if she’d like to come along with a plus one to see you do your thing. Said her brother wasn’t into that scene, so she was wondering if I’d like to go with her, offering to treat me to some grub afterwards. It wasn’t my scene, either, and I was really thinking about saying no, but I thought back on what Takamine said about how we can set others free from our lives, and junk, and figured ‘Why not?’ It’d be a good chance to try out that dress my mom for me on our trip, and a good chance to do what I should’ve done years ago, even if I thought it was gonna be for the first time and the last.
The next day, your butler came by to get up all primped and ready for the big night, taking us to this super high end salon, teaching us about the code of conduct, and generally easing us into that high flying lifestyle, with me sporting the neatest pixie cut I’ve had in years as we took our seats. Seeing you up there was probably one of the most captivating experiences I’ve had yet, especially after I saw your eyes light up like a Hearth’s Warming Eve tree and heard you work that cello like an old pro, my smile growing ever bigger as the night went on, and people started clapping for your performance. By the time we had to go, I was certain that no matter what happened next, I was gonna go ahead with no regrets, which is probably why I told him to pass the word on about my next performance at Shelter. I was fully ready for you to be gone from my life for good, so when Lily Blossom told me about how the Manehatten Orchestra called in for an audition the day I was set to spin, I just laughed it off and acted like you weren’t even coming...minus the violin your butler instructed me to bring along(dude is super intimidating for his age).
He must've remembered that jam session you and I had together- you know, the one that produced that wicked sounding song either neither of us were smart enough to record and put an album, and thought that would be the thing that brought us back together. From what Lily Blossom told me, he really noticed both when I wasn't around and how hard that hit you, even in your determination to keep me outta your world for good. That much, paired with both that big audition and you being as compatible with club life as cats are to water, lead me to believe you were never, ever gonna show up at Shelter. For some reason, though, when I got to the spot, I told the person in charge of security to escort you to my dressing room and let in whoever's with you, if you showed up. As I practiced my set for the night, the only thing I could think was, "I don't even know why brought that thing along, when she hasn't even looked my texts in the past few months."
Sure enough, the music was pumping, the tightly packed mass of stylish clubbers hit the dance floor, and lights sprayed across the club, with you being nowhere in sight, according to folks I asked there. At that point, I was at peace with you being gone from my life, and accepted that our paths would likely never again cross, waiting in my dressing room to be called up for my set while I sorted through my stack of vinyls. Later on, though, I learned from the person you took as your plus one, the super chill and down for whatever Midnight Blaze, that the both of you actually did show up, and were stuck outside in that super long line to get in the door, with you practically freezing your fanny off in that black bodycon dress you chose, after studying the dress code for Shelter. Apparently, with that bodycon dress, high ponytail and 6 inch spike heels you had on, you looked so different from what I told security, that they didn't believe you were Octavia, and repeatedly refused to let you in, especially after you pulled out the classic "Do you know who I am!?" line on 'em. I thought it was pretty hilarious that you squared up in those 6 inch heels, and were ready to brawl your way past the bouncer; thankfully, though, the head security dude got there in time to diffuse the situation, and confirm who you were asking you something only you would know(which, if memory serves, was what was the first thing we ever ate together). Before I knew it, the head security dude called me up, and told me you being escorted right to my dressing room.
A thousand thoughts raced as I sat on that black leather-and kinda ratty couch. What would I say to someone I haven't heard a peep from in months? What would I do after all that time I learned to live without you? How the buck could I even face you after what happened that night in the park? The door knob rattled, the hinges creaked, and when the door swung open enough for me to see you, I knew what had to be said. "Dang, girl, you looking mighty good in that dress. Can I get your number?" The silence hung thick as you gingerly walked towards me, your laser gaze piercing through my shades. Outta nowhere, you slapped me on the forehead, and chuckled as you snapped up that violin laying on the table in front of me.
"You are such a pillock," those were the first words you said to me in months, the second being, "I don't suppose you know how I'm to fit into all this, do you?" while you were getting your violin skills tuned up, and I was giving you the rundown. I was amazed at how fast you were picking everything up for your secondary instrument, and opened wondered how you were able to do it, to which you said, "By deciding what matters more to me, and going after it with all I've got, even when that means something else that means the world to me must slip past, and speed forever into the realm of what ifs" Before I could ask what that meant, there was a knock on the door, the club boss calling out "15 minutes to show time, Scratch, time to get it in gear!" With a gentle smile, you turned toward me, and said, "Well, c'mon, Vi, we don't want to disappoint our public, now, do we?"
When it was time for me to hit the decks, I was stunned at how wild the crowd went after hearing you play during your parts on Genocide. During our freestyle session, even the wallflowers got their booties on the floor, some of them slam dancing, and one doing the Cabbage Patch into a sick looking pop 'n' lock routine while I mixed and remixed that violin sample I took on the spot. By the time got to that song we never recorded, I swear they were moving and grooving as one, each of them totally feeling what we put out there, and cheering their heads off when you took your bow(along with someone throwing their pink and white polka dot panties at us, for some reason). It was the most fun I had in ages, and you looked like you were completely in your element. Can't say the same about the next morning, though.
When I got up super late in the day, you were just sitting at the edge of my bed, your head hung low, and your shoulders slumping. From what Takamine taught me, I knew you were down in the dumps about something, your super reddened eyes confirming what I feared. Between sniffles, I heard you get out “I’m such a pillock, aren’t I? Last night could’ve been what we had all these months, but I...I refused to hear you out, and refused to let you back in my life. All that time lost because I would not budge, all those nights I spent alone, all the hurt I put you through, and for what? Some petty sense of revenge? Some satisfaction that you knew the pain I knew? I don’t deserve your friendship, your forgiveness, or you” In that moment, everything I learned from Takamine about her time as a Saddled Buddhist started to come together, and when I saw the pleading sadness in your eyes, I knew what I had to do next.
Without even thinking about it, I held you close, and let you cry your eyes out, just the way folks did for me when I hit rock bottom. Each “I’m sorry” you let out cut me deeper and deeper, and brought me back to when I felt the same way, like I bucked things up beyond repair. The hurt ran deep into my soul; that scumbag feeling felt chained to my ankle, making it hard to see myself as anything else; the only place I felt I could go was where I was, with all the crap I did to you. After you let me go, all of that told me you needed to see what Takamine had to say, just like I had to hear it, in order to learn how to shed that stuff, and move on. All that on my mind, I whipped by out my iPlayer, and brought out the message she sent late that one night:
Look, Vinyl, you wake each morning to a new you - how can that new you ever know that it will be friends with any other person, who has also awoken new each day?
By saying you don’t deserve someone else's friendship or forgiveness, you’ve already zeroed in on what you gotta do. You gotta earn that friendship and earn that forgiveness.
And the way that’s done is by earning that friendship and earning that forgiveness.
There ain’t no trying, only doing. If the world of friendship and forgiveness is the world that you wanna live in, live in that world. Be a friend. Be worthy of forgiveness.
Regret’s gotta be left in the dust. What’s done is done, and as trite as that sounds, you’ve gotta decide the point where you’ll live the life you wanna live.
If you wanna live that life today, then live that life today.
It certainly ain’t easy, and it ain’t supposed to be. It’s meant to be your "practice".
Every morning, decide that you will live as someone worthy of friendship and forgiveness. And if it’s too tough for ya, then focus on being worthy of them in small chunks. First, for 10 minutes. Then for 30. Then for a whole hour. Then two hours. Then six. In time, the whole day becomes your practice.
Every morning, resolve to expand your practice.
Every morning.
Not every other morning. Not every other week.
Every. Single. Morning.
It won't always work. To be perfectly honest, you’ll faceplant often
But you’ll faceplant at being worthy of friendship and forgiveness, rather than nail being unworthy.
And that is a better way to live.
So live it, girl!
I can still remember that soft smile on your face when you looked up from the phone and asked, “She’s a real bellend, isn’t she?” In that moment of shared laughter, I think we both knew that we couldn’t be the friends we were before. Looking in your eyes, I had no doubts that we would be what we are now, something closer than just friends, something stronger than just friends, something that Takamine likes to call Nakama. It’s been a couple years since then, and I didn’t wanna put this up until I knew I got out everything I wanted to get out, so I could say this proper:
Thanks for letting me be your Nakama, Ms. Strings and Things. Although that time apart sucked majorly, I think it was something we needed, so both of us could live on and be strong on our own. Looking back, I think it’s made us even better friends, and each day I wanna be the best Nakama I can be towards you, even if I can’t be there in the flesh. With folks like you in life, I know my day’s that much brighter, that much more fun, that much more fulfilling. I know I still haven’t forgotten that commitment to living as someone worthy of friendship and forgiveness, and no matter what happens next, I wanna share the journey of life with you for as long as I can, even if it’s only long enough to convince you that Chocolate Bacon is the best thing ever(you can’t deny the truth!)
Pardon my bluntness, Vi, but when you first spoke of Ms. Takamine, I didn't know what to think of her. In my view, it seems illogical that a friend would call you Ms. Crapstep over a month after you first met, not to mention how she took every opportunity to point out how little non-textbook Japonican you knew while she helped you better understand it. Seems to be more on the bell-end side things than the friendship one, if you ask me. Really, why would she be that much of a troll towards someone she openly acknowledged as a friend? I remember well how you inched closer and closer to wanting to scrap with her each time the words or sentiments behind "Ms.Crapstep"came out of her mouth.
When you went with Neon to the hardware store, for instance, she waved some sheet metal, and said, "Look, honey, I'm making Dubstep!" If that wasn't enough, while he was editing your newest mix, you mentioned her saying, "I bet if I sat at your computer blindfolded, I could make a hit dubstep track in 30 minutes" Couple days later, apparently, while you two were running on the treadmill, she turned to you, and brought up a 3 car pileup on the freeway that morning, adding that "They say it sounded like Dubstep" At that point, you said you had enough of her 'taking dumps' on the music you work with, and challenged her to one round of boxing in the ring that instant, a smile crossing her face as she answered, "Why I'd love to have a go. Come at me however you want, Ms. Crapstep"
I know you wanted to pound her face in for all the times she called you Ms. Crapstep. I know you wanted to get her back for all the insults she made about EDM. I know you wanted to force an apology from her for how much crap she gave you for the kind of music you spin and make. I know you wanted to, but if memory serves, she didn't let you land one punch that whole 3 minutes. Her hands were at her sides, her head moved around like it was on a swivel, and the only thing your punches ever caught was air. I was astounded that you were sweating bullets, cursing under your breath, and felt like absolute garbage because you couldn't do a bloody thing against that loud mouthed braggart. Neither of us are trained combatants, granted, but really, not one blow? Highly odd that a singer songwriter would have sort of combat aptitude, so after some arrangements, I sought to see her skill for myself at Wild Card.
I'll never forget the first time I saw her the ring. She had the perfect stance as she floated about in her white tank top and pink and white trim boxing trunks, Effortlessly was she going through her drills, her pink gloves flying into a blur as I stepped closer to the ropes. Her arms were slender, yes, but with distinct definition, as was her waist. The way she was put together made me wonder how she could pack one punch power into such a svelte frame. She certainly proved how much verbal punch she has when, after I asked "Anata wa Takamine-san desu ka?" she smiled at me, and answered, "Has anyone ever told you that you sound just like a cartoon copying yutz?" before putting 'em up. The second she saw me do the same, I swear her stare grew as intense as a laser.
Every jab came out crisp and clean, her movements matching, if not predicting my own step for step and blow for blow. To this day, I question how she could brush off hooks I landed plush on her chin, behind the ear and right on the liver. For that matter, how did I stay upright against that torrent of hooks like camouflaged bricks and uppers like rockets? By the time the bell was rung, I, like you, was gassed and utterly dumbfounded at what just happened-although afterwards she praised my performance, saying, "You got some pretty solid fundamentals, Octi. Your friend could learn a thing or two from on establishing a solid D," as she unlaced her gloves. Not a second later, I caught a red aura surrounding her bottle, raising it up to her mouth to squirt some water in. As those of Magica descent are supposed to be as brittle as glass, this raised further questions on the way to the locker room, one which she posed herself
"You wanna guess what my Cutie Mark is?" She asked before stepping out of her trunks. Right when I was ready to say, "A music note?" I saw, high on her upper left thigh, a pair of boxing gloves staring back at me. While I changed into my street clothes, I asked why she became a singer songwriter if her special talent was in the sweet science, to which she replied, "It's a long, long story. Maybe one you'd like to hear over brunch at my place next week? Neon'll be out of town on tour, so it'd be nice to have some girl time with one as peaceful, gentle and refined yourself. Can't always be punching people in the face and pounding 'em down, you know?" The next week, we sat on the couch, and traded stories from the grapevine, later trying out different styles she had in her closet, and discussing the little things the people we cherish do that absolutely grinds our gears- like how Neon tends to get handsy when he's asleep, and how you like to wake up bright and early and shower with dubstep played at full blast at your place(I've had more than one rude awakening, thanks to that). It had been quite awhile since I had such fun, and she proved to be a highly layered kind of personality the more we spoke.
While we watched a RomCom from the corner video store, she mentioned how much she loved boxing as a youth, tearing through the ranks like wet paper, and gaining more attention from potential sponsors. "I was entranced by the thrill of pushing my skills to their absolute limit. Still am,"she said between bites of her popcorn. "As I got closer to breaking into the pros, though, the sweet science grew into a super gross part of my life as more money and the pressure it brings entered the picture."
"Is that what made you stop?"
"Nah, man, that started with learning 'bout the long brain damage many of the greats suffered through. Really made me question what path I was lookin' to walk, and that was around the time I picked up a guitar for a night school class a friend took me to."
"Your first time, I trust? When I played the cello my first time, I could sense that, even through the scratchy, highly raw strokes, the voice within was finally coming through. Fantastic, it was. How was your first?"
"Same, absolutely fan-freaking-tastic. The first time I played a chord on it, I felt something special well up in me, a feeling that lead me to pick up one of my own, and start my journey into who I am now" It was during our discussion of musical performance, that we approached that moment you and I shared after our own at Shelter. After mentioning that text she wrote for you, she asked "Now that you know all that, what are you gonna do to be worthy of friendship and forgiveness?" When I told her I thought it most appreciate to admit to all the times I hurt her and apologize for them, I sensed a change in the air. She was visibly shaking, taking a few cleansing breaths before she started to pace about the living room, her eyes locked on me as she said, "You and I know well that "Words are just words" is complete and total hogwash made to put it all on the victim, and absolve the one who hurt them, don't we? We know that words have meaning and impact. That's the entire point of language and communication, after all. It is with that understanding, along with warning you that what I'm gonna say next is coming from a place of deep hurt, that I say this:
"You don't really think that remorseful words are enough to make up for your idiocy, do you? Because the people who think that are people who made my life suck for years and years. You think that owning up to your nonsense is some bucking free pass to redemption? Buck that, and buck you, if you think that. You can't write a bucking apology on a paper you crumpled up, and expect it to just magically go back to being perfect. People like that make me bucking sick. If you really want to make up for your buck ups, owning up is not enough. You must also work actively to make the world you two share a safer, trusting and more positive environment, and show them that you understand what you did, and that you learned something good from it. I don't wanna see you just talk about it, I wanna see you be about it. Anything else is a bucking insult to what you two just went through, understand?" It's likely she interpreted my body language as communicating deep apprehension, because she patted me firm on the shoulder as she chuckled out, "Don't be so shook, Octi! I don't deck everyone who gets me riled up, especially people still trying to better themselves by learning from their buck ups" About then, a Veggie Supreme pizza she ordered had arrived at the door, with her adding an autograph and a peck on the cheek to the delivery boy's tip before bringing the treat to the living room. As the savoury scent of freshly baked cheese, marinara sauce, and peppers filled the air, Takamine asked, "You're probably wondering why I did that if I have a boyfriend, right?"
"I am, actually."
" Well, the short version is that when we were becoming a thing, we thought it'd be better if we had an open relationship, one where we're free to share our bodies with whoever we please, but our hearts are only to be shared with each other."
"You share your bodies...but not your hearts? How does that even work?"
"It's a bit tough to explain with words, alone. Perhaps you would like a hands on demonstration?" I remember leaning in close, her face inching closer and closer to mine, and the blood rushing to my cheeks as our noses touched. Her eyes were closed, mine were wide open, when suddenly, out of the blue, she flicked me on my forehead, letting out a belly laugh before taking a bite of her slice. "Always fun to watch you prim and proper types squirm."
"Fun for you, you mean?"
"Immensely." She took a deep swig of her imported hard soda pop, offering me some before continuing. "Anyways, no matter what kind of relationship it is, there's something crucial that's gotta be there, or else it can't grow. I can tell you wanna dig into this pie, so I'll just give you this clue to chew on while you do: it rhymes with dust" That entire evening-as well as several nights after, two things ran through my mind: that intoxicating plum scent when she was so close and just what that one thing was. To this day, I'm not sure how she's able to be such an ardent flirt, nor how she continues to send me into such a fluster every time we meet (certainly doesn't help when Neon says things like "You two making out would be so hot"). What I am sure of, however, is that upon reflecting on her words, I realized that the thing every thriving relationship has to have is not must, rust nor lust (necessarily), but trust. There must be a trust that they'll keep the precious things we offer them safe and sound; a trust that their word is their bonds; a trust that even if we gave them the power to end us where we stand, that they would have enough in them not to. That's the sort of trust I realize I threw away that night in the park, and that's the sort of trust I knew I had to earn back, however it had to be done. How it could be done, however, eluded me, until I got a text from saying you were spinning at a warehouse rave somewhere in Manehatten.
As before, I was accompanied by Midnight Blaze, and dressed according to the skimpily vintage dress code the party called for, fully expecting to deal with door security as obnoxious as what I encountered at Shelter. As we stood there in the freezing twilight air, I saw person after person not to the bouncer's taste, nor on The List get turned away, each throwing the kind of hissy fit the media expects of my age and social status-the same kind I threw when I was refused entry to Shelter, admittedly. When the guard saw me, a smile grew on his face as he said, "You're that violin lady that played with Vinyl, ain'cha? Anyone who can throw down like that is more than welcome here!" Guess being a fish out of water pays off sometimes, doesn't it? Certainly helped me and my company get through the velvet ropes and onto what I thought was going to be a fun night observing the dance floor from the bar. The smile you shot me when our eyes met, however, told me that this night was not the night for me to be wallflower, with further encouragement coming from a fishnet top wearing young man who decided that I had no personal space to respect when Midnight Blaze went off to use the loo. His slurred speech told me that whatever courage he displayed came straight from the lukewarm brews going around, likely telling him to treat each "No, thank you" as a "No, you must further convince me to hop on your wild ride, you sexy beast" Soon, I saw him starting to make some rather unwelcome advances when Midnight Blaze asked "Yo buddy, is there a problem, here?"and draped his arm across my shoulders. I was hoping that the both of us leaning into each other would be a clear cut sign for him to cease his pursuit, but he did not relent, yelling, “Hey jackhole, I saw her first!”
“No, I saw her first about a decade ago, and if you keep on being this bucking dense, you’re fixin’ on scrapping with both her and me, got it?” With that simple statement of aggression, the young man finally said, “Whatever, man,” and walked away, my guess being to tend to his ego, and try again with another young woman at the rave. Until that moment, I never noticed how fetching Midnight Blaze was in his plaid green button up, stonewashed jeans and and black and white slip ons- then again, he wasn’t mere inches away before, either. When he tilted his head towards the dance floor, and asked, “Well? How about it, Tavi?” I hadn’t a clue on how to react until you played that song in your set. After you did, though, my only choice was to hit the dance floor, and show off the practice I put in to learn those dance moves.
With him at my side, everything I learned about Liquid Dancing, from basic isolation techniques, to letting the flow move from my hands, to my arms and all through my body, because like second nature. The deeper we got into our dance, the more it felt like people were giving us both space and their attention, more so during the down beat portion, when we started dancing as one. In that moment, I felt like we returned to our school days, when we practiced Swing, Tango and other styles of ballroom dancing in nervous anticipation of the school socials. He held me close, dipped me deep, and threw me into a double spin like we were long time ice skaters, in turn demonstrating a kind of bond I never even knew we shared. I can’t remember any other time when spending the night with someone didn’t feel long enough (although I also can’t remember any other time when staying up all night felt like a good idea)
I was thankful that after your set, you offered to give us a lift home, because, in all honesty, I was absolutely smashed, as was he, so anything to reduce the chance of us doing something foolish is always a good thing. It didn't hurt that waiting by your white convertible gave us time to be alone, because in that moment, I felt something for him that I never knew I had in all the years I knew him. Was it love? Was it lust? Was it something deeper? That much I’ll never know, because when I leaned in closer, he held me in his embrace, and, through his own drunken slurring, said, “Thanks for being such a great friend to me all these years, Octavia. Tonight reminded me just how much it means to have someone as great as you as my pal.” My heart wanted to ask if it were possible for us to be more than friends, but I knew deep down that I was not the one he saw as his lover. I was the one he saw as a second sister, perhaps even as the elder sister he never had to turn to when times were tough, as they were before, during, and possibly after our time together at school. When you came and asked if you were interrupting anything, part of me so badly wanted to say yes, but on the ride home, I realized that the connections that I shared with both you and him were rooted in and strengthened by the trust we shared, that we would do what we could to be there for each other, no matter how far we had to go to make it happen. It brought a smile to face, and still does...although it did demand I schedule some time with my vibrosword to work out what the party brought out in me. Such is the life of a musician, I suppose.
So I was talking to Takamine about some of the freaky fun times her dude and her had, when she brought up an email you sent her about some of your own. Full honesty, I was totally expecting the kind of flowery nonsense you see in those vampire books the kids are into these days. Man was I ever wrong! The whole time I was reading it, my mind-along with whatever image I had of you as a super stuffy prude kept getting blown the buck out of the water. With each scene and sensation you described, I slowly realized that I had no idea you had that kinda freak in you, Tavi! Seriously, in all the years I've known you, I would never ever ever ever have guessed you were the kinda gal to get down wherever and whenever. Kinda makes wonder if I'M the prudish one of us, now that I know how you boogie. Of course, the flowery nonsense I still hold as true about love probably don't help matters much, as I learned back in high school.
On the first day of school, some kid with a braided ponytail was in the seat next to me. "Big deal,"you're probably thinking. Well, in the school my mom signed me up for, it's heavily styled in how things are done in Japonica, from the uniforms, the absurd rules they have on them and other crap, and how classes are done. How they're done is that, outside of gym, art and other classes needing special gear and settings, students don't come to where teachers teach, the teachers come to them. Basically, that means whoever's sitting near you on the first day of class is who you'll sit near 'til the end of the year, no exceptions. (Teachers also come to your house if they feel something's up, but that's another discussion for another day). The big reason this is important is that between the end of one class and the next teacher coming to start the next one, students get the chance to shoot the breeze with each other however they please, including if they don't wanna do anything with anyone.
My mom told me all this after she signed me up, so when I saw the kid with the ponytail, my major thought was, "Oh man, this guy's gonna be sitting next to me all year!? What in Tartarus am I gonna say to him? What CAN I say to him?" While I was getting my pencil, paper and all that jazz ready, he smiled at me, and said, "Koncha! Rushing River desu. Yoroshiku ne!" At that point, I had no idea that he said "G'day, there! I'm Rushing River. Pleased to meet'cha!"so the only thing I could reply with was a blank stare, to which he answered, "Let me guess, you ain't from Japonica?"and started explaining what school life was about. Apparently, most of the kids there were transplants, and expected each other to speak as much Japonican as they did our language when they were getting to know each other. Naturally, that put a huge set of hurdles between me and making friends with the other kids, but thanks to Rushing River being both my translator and teacher, I was able to skip past the "err" and "uhh"part of speaking to someone in a different language, and get straight to the getting in where you fit in bit, which I was neck deep into when the big push to join clubs kicked in.
You know how they say the clubs you join reflect on what you're about? That goes triple for clubs in my high school, 'cause their club reps were in full on recruiting mode when sign up day came. The athletic clubs, especially, were pushing hard to drum up the next championship winning superstar to add to their ranks, buttering up their targets like their lives depended on it. While we were having lunch under the cherry blossom trees around the school, the Track, Baseball, Judo, B-Ball and Boxing club reps all did just that in the chase to recruit Rushing River, each of 'em coming to stump for their folks, and sway him to join up. (From what I remember, the deciding argument of "You can punch people in the face," came from the Boxing Club rep.) Soon enough, we were in the training room, and I was getting what some folks call "The Vapors," watching him work the heavy bag, speed bag and jump ropes like they owed him money, with him inviting me to lace 'em up, and join the other punch junkies-not that I needed any more of a reason to follow in his footsteps, natch.
The year went on, and each day I got to work out with him, study with him and chill with him at lunch, learning more about how he gets down. How did he get down? For starters, he loved to spar with his folks, loved a good slice of deep dish (which was the ONLY way to enjoy pizza, according to him)and loved old school hip hop, immediately recommending me to his boys in the Hip Hop club after I mentioned me working on my beat juggling. Said they needed a DJ to complete their 4 elements, so even though I didn't feel like my experience or swag was quite there, yet, I went right ahead and joined up, thinking that someone as cool as him would only send me to hang with folks as cool as him. Sure enough, after I told him and his boys about Pon-3's services, business started picking up, and I was earning enough to be able to treat us to some fun outside the school, like failing in epic fashion at mini golf, and sweating up a storm on In The Groove. It was during one of our breaks from mad arrow stepping that we were sitting together on a bench outside the arcade.
At that point, I've been hanging with him for over 6 months, and was completely hooked on the breezy and frosty way he handled even the toughest fixes he ended up in. Couldn't get enough of his unshakable swag, and was wild about him being down for whatever, so as coolly as my hormone addled nerves could manage, I started getting at him. Best I remember, this is the chat I had:
"Guess your feet ain't as fast as your hands, eh, River?"
"I think my ego can handle not being the best at In The Groove. Not exactly the same kinda swag you get from cold clocking someone in the squared circle, you know?"
"Guess so. Gotta admit, though that watching those kids handle it on the harder levels is never not crazy to watch"
"High level anything is always fun to watch, especially if it's as physically demanding as Boxing, Basketball or ballroom dancing."
"Ballroom Dancing? For real?"
"For real, man. Takes not just getting your routine on lock, but also reading your dance partner's body language and responding with something proper, something I'd actually like to practice with someone someday"
"Me too. My folks always seem to have tons of fun when they dance together, and I imagine with the right partner, I would, too"
"Who do you think the right partner is?"
"Gotta be someone that I've known for awhile, that I feel comfy chilling with, that knows me like the back of their own hand"
"As in, like, knowing that you can't start the day off proper unless you've had a glass of papaya juice, a bowl of French Toast Crunch, and some Mikan slices?"
"Totally!" At that point, I sensed a certain electricity in the air. I felt a tingle cruising from my nose to the tips of my toes. The blood in my cheeks felt like water in a boiler getting hotter and hotter. My lungs felt like they were working double time just to get some air in 'em. Our lips grew closer and closer together, our eyes closed until the first time they touched. Silence hung like 10 ton weights in the air as I looked deep into his murky greens. Not a moment later? Total tonsil hockey time, complete with hands running all over each other, through each other's hair, and generally like you'd expect from the raging bundle of hormones we both were ("Implying you're not a raging bundle of hormones now," yeah, yeah, yeah, I know you're thinking it). Wasn't long after the first kiss that we were buying a pack o' rubbers, and heading off to do the other first only possible been two lovers, the one my gal pals at school said was supposed to be the most magical moment of my life.
Each step we made toward his bedroom filled with a mix of nervousness and excitement so indescribable, the only word I felt could capture it was one I picked up from Pinkie when we hung out at Sugarcube Corner: nervous-citement. This guy was about to pop my cherry, this guy was about to make me a woman, this guy was gonna let me have my first time! When we finally got to the bed, though...well let me put it this way. When we got to the bed, it was about 8:00 PM. When we got through the awkward fumbling around, painful insertion, and he finally popped his top, it was about 8:03 PM, and he fell asleep with his arm across my chest. Needless to say, my gal pals were dead wrong about it being magical(unless they meant it being magically brief); they were, however, right about it slowly changing everything I thought our relationship was, in this case letting me see further behind his cool demeanor, and towards the problems they covered up so well.
After our first time, I noticed that whenever I said, "I love you" he rarely said it back, including when I said out after our first time, and all he did was smile and nod. He was always up to let me blather on about my day, and all that, but never heard much of anything about what he went through. No matter what I did to try and be a bigger part of his world, like train with him, play games with him or study with him, he didn't just feel cool, he felt impenetrably ice cold. He must've heard me muttering about as much while we were cramming for our next test, because he tapped me on the shoulder and hugged me tight before saying, "I know I'm not the most expressive dude in the world, but that's just how I roll. For me, strength comes from not letting your emotions throw you or the people you care about onto some outta control roller coaster that won't let 'em see one step in front of 'em. People deserve better than that. You deserve better"
"You deserve better" became the running theme of our time together. He detested lasting less than the average dude in the sack, so he started working out his kegal muscles to where they'd let him last longer. He knew I wanted to spend more time with him, so whenever he could, he made the time to come and see me. He knew I wanted to know more about him, so he always did his best to share stories from his life, however tough it was for him. Being a punk kid, though, I tended to see where he went wrong over where he went right, and only when he was switched to another class the next year did I start to see the steps he made in the right direction. It didn't help that as he got better at boxing, the girls started to throw themselves at him, with me getting mad jelly every time he sweet talked 'em.
I still remember when I went to go see him box a top prospect from the school's rival, expecting him to handle him as easily as he handled the others. What happened was that for 3 rounds, the only thing they could achieve was a brutal, hard-fought stalemate that left Rushing River's face with a super swollen left eye, and a cut above his right. It hurt me big time to see him get that banged up, and I wanted him to quit the sport after I dropped out of the boxing club, a step that ultimately lead to what I knew was gonna happen, but didn't want to until he sat me down during winter break. While we enjoyed a cup of spiced mikan coffee, he looked straight at me and told me, basically, that it was over. To be exact, he said, "Chasing a dream means I gotta do whatever I gotta do to make it happen. If it means putting myself one step closer to it, then I'll put myself in spots I might not get out of in one piece, spots that'll probably make folks like you bite their nails down to a nub. Just as you wouldn't give up your dream for nobody, though, I ain't giving up mine. Likewise, if me going through the tough times makes it tough on you, then there ain't no point in us being together. You're a sweet, fun and kind kid, and you deserve better than that. You deserve better than a punch drunk palooka like me. You deserve to chase after your dream and not have to worry about if someone you care for will make it home under their own power"
I think you remember how much of a wreck I was when we met up the week after that happened, right? Well, the rest of that year, the only thing I wanted to know was what happened. Was it something I did? Did I not give him enough space to do him? Was I not supportive enough of a girlfriend towards him? For years, I thought I was the reason he left the school to transfer to Japonica, the country he ended up boxing for in the Equestrian Games. Whatever the case was, though, I knew one thing was for sure: in him calling it quits, he also gave me one last first: my first heartbreak. As you imagine, it was pretty much the exact opposite of the ecstasy I felt when we first got together, and was about as pleasant as a bikini wax, the sting staying with me years after the fact. Shoot, I didn’t even know where he was until I heard about the boxing match Twilight was in, and saw that Flint Rock was in the main event. Minus the chrome dome and super cut physique, I knew it was him. When I saw his murky greens, I had no doubt that I had to see him, whether it was watching on the big screen at home, from the front row seats Twily hooked us up with or in person. I had to know why he had to go, and would not be satisfied until I did.
Seeing him box for the first time in years brought out a lot of memories of my own pursuits. As I became more of an adult, I started to realize that chasing dreams does mean doing what some folks would consider absolutely crazy, what some folks would consider fatally dangerous, what some folks think they not might even be able to walk away from if something goes wrong. He moved like water, hit like a tidal wave, and would've put on one of the most exciting fights the boxing world ever saw, if Thunderlane took him half way serious, tried to guard his chin worth a crap, and didn't go down like a sack of bricks in the 3rd round when Flint Rock landed a lucky upper right in his solar plexus. The glow on his face as he was crowned the new champ brought me back to our days in the Boxing Club, and reminded me of what I found so charming about him in the first place. So charmed, was I, that I didn't notice when his handler tapped me on the shoulder, and said in my ear, "Mr. Flint Rock would like to see you soon, ma'am" handing me a piece of a paper before he went to join his boxer in the celebration.
The morning after, while I nursed a serious hangover from both the party I DJ'ed and the after party I had with you, Twi and her friends, I plucked the note from my jeans pocket. From the somewhat scratchy Japonican on it, I could tell me wanted to meet up with me at the In The Groove machine at a local arcade in a couple hours. Sure enough, when I got to the spot, he had a smirk on his face, and a chocolate cream Frappuchino to offer, the kind he knew I liked back when we dated. The first thing he asked while we explored the strip was "So did you have to look up a translator to figure out what that said?" to which I asked, "Did you have to look one up to write it? Because chicken scratch looks more legible than what I had to figure out" After we kinda stared a hole into each other, we busted out laughing and caught up on old times, including when he renamed himself Flint Rock, after the trainer he studied under while he was in Japonica, and how things went for us both since we split all those years. The whole day we spent together felt just like old times, and when my ride to the airport pulled up in front of the burger joint we were chilling at, we smiled at each other, knowing that both of us grew up way too much to ever have the kind of relationship we did back then, and that we would never-ever ever-ever become a thing again. While you and I were riding to the airport, though, he texted me, asking, "Wanna be buck buddies?" I think it's better I don't say what my answer was, but I will say that I now have one mighty fine workout partner when it's time to hit Wild Card, and get my sweat on.
Octavia, on Twilight's Greater Internet Jackwad Theory
It's funny how people act when they think themselves above consequences, as well as how blunt they are in their conduct. Put someone far enough away from whom they can't stand, and suddenly they have the gumption to yell, "You suck!" as I'm sure you've heard much of in your time playing on the EDM circuit. It's something I thought much on in the time I've been working on this, as the more connected people are across the globe, the more often I've seen them empowered to commit such acts of faceless cowardice. Speaking of which, I believe Twilight and I spoke awhile back on a theory concerning how people act when they feel they are out of judgmental eyes. When we met up at Sugarcube Corner for our Tea Time, she called it the Confessional Booth Theory, as, from what I recall, she said that, "When you're in a Confessional Booth, neither party can see the other, right? So there's no name to attach to whatever's said in there. No names means no reputation to affect; no reputation to affect means whatever aspects they keep away from public view are more likely to bubble to the surface, and shape their actions. According to Rainbow Dash, though, a better name might be The Greater Internet Jackwad Theory, a name she suggested after hearing about it, and noticed how prevalent it is within Cyberspace...along with how most of it seems to hinge on being as unsociable as possible"
Not long after, the theory sprung to mind when I paid Lily Blossom a visit during one of her days off. Apparently, her NPO does well enough to let her live in a condo in the borough of Bucklyn, where I found her brother cooking up some brown rice, freshly grilled hot dogs and Chili he made from scratch. As we waited for the rice cooker to finish up, a news report popped up on the telley on how people connect, specifically how easy technology has made it to maintain an emotional bond over great distances. Midnight Blaze was nibbling on his chili, when he said, "You know, I think it's great we can chat with folks on the other side of the planet in the blink of an eye, and all, but let's be real about this: tech has made folks super rusty in how they chat with people two feet in front of them. Don't you think so, sis?"
"When a pot of water is left unheated, will it not eventually cool? Likewise, the less warmth is given to verbal skills, the cooler they become. You saw as much on a date, recently, if memory serves"
"Totally. When I chatted with that girl on Kindling, she seemed like a super fun, playful kinda gal, 'seemed' being the key word, here"
"Kindling? Do you mean that app that lets you speak online with those around you?"
"Yeah, that's the one. When I met her in person, though, it was like all that fun loving and playfulness went poof, and was replaced by an interest in texting her friends, taking glamour shots of her steak and chips, and saying nothing besides 'yeah,' 'I guess' and 'uh huh' when I tried to get to know her. I might as well have been talking to a one of those bio-androids they make in Japonica, or something. At least they pay attention when I say something!"
"And why wouldn't they? They are programmed for your pleasure, brother. Perhaps after dinner we should play a few rounds of that shooting game you like so much." During the course of our meal, I asked what shooting game they meant, and they both went into great depth about The Flying Tigers, a military-style shooter for the PC with much swordplay, much parkour and extensive martial arts influences, as well as much running about on wires. At first, I thought they were discussing the Gun-fu movies you love to watch when they brought up executing headshots while running along walls, knee sliding under sword slices and impaling them in the same motion, and disarming someone rushing at them with guns blazing. I was highly curious about the game by the time we finished our meal, so when they went to go play, I watched them intently in order to ascertain how much of their stories were rooted in reality.
As I watched them play, I learned much about the different modes, such as the free for all nature of Deathmatch, the frantic tactics of Capture the Flag, and a rather fascinating mode I'll delve into later called Last Tiger Standing. Watching them play was, indeed, like watching an action movie full of highly acrobatic performers prancing about in trenchcoats, leather bodysuits and stone washed jeans. When they played online, however, I heard some rather unsavory language from their opponents. In that session, alone, I heard other players refer to them as flank pirates, spear chuckers, and Equestricunts, with Lily Blossom receiving thrice as harsh treatment the second they heard her voice. I swear they propositioned her for sex at least 5 times before the round was over, her brother simply sitting and smiling as she dispatched them with utmost ease and without batting an eye. When I asked how such nonchalant skill was possible under those circumstances, she simply said, "The reason I have such skill is the same reason they display such vulgar behavior: what my brother calls The Thirst. I know you have work to attend to shortly, so would you like to come over next weekend, so I can instruct you on both the game and The Thirst?"
That weekend, while she taught me how to shoot, throw explosives, disarm opponents, and other elements crucial to the game, she went into great depth about The Thirst, bringing up how when you desire something badly enough, you will reach deeper into your soul than you ever have before, push yourself to places you've never been before, and become something completely foreign to what you've known yourself to be in order to attain it, just as someone in the desert would give every ounce of themselves to finding the oasis that will slake their all consuming thirst. "Accordingly, when veiled under the cover of perceived invisibility, the side people hide from the public eye bursts forth to fulfill as much of its deep seated desire as it can. I'm curious, though, as to what kind of thirst this game will awaken within you as you delve into its depths." Over the hours of training and girl talk, she noted my increasing aptitude with counter attacks, offensive and defensive tactics and sending objects thrown at me back to my opponent, soon thinking it time to test my skills, and sending me into live combat. How did I know this? Well, when I returned from a trip to the loo, she was entering a lobby for Team Deathmatch, waiting to see how much of the training stuck.
As I'm sure you can imagine, I was faced with countless opponents with more experience, more knowledge of the battlefields I faced them on, and with far better aim than I. In turn, I was gunned down countless times by foes both inches away and tucked away far away from my line of sight, with my first death coming within seconds of the opening bell and my very first round ending with 0 kills and 15 deaths...as did the next one, the one after that and the next few after that. Quite mortifying, as I'm sure you can imagine. One round, however, something miraculous took place. In the middle of a dusty desert town, me and another clad in a black trenchcoat crossed paths, strafing and trading shotgun blasts until he charged at me with the butt of gun. Without a second thought I repelled it, smacked him across the face with my own, then thrust the barrel into his gut as I let the finishing shot blast him through (of course that bit of elation was short lived, as mere seconds afterwards, I was impaled from behind). After that match, Lily Blossom helped me adjust my boosters and Killstreak rewards while teaching me about both the importance of communicating with team mates and refining my style of play, mentioning the strategic patience needed to camp at a given point on a map, as well as the spacial awareness that running and gunning demands in order to float like a butterfly and sting like a sword wielding bee. To help me develop these traits, she threw me into the game's Fortress Defense mode, handing me a controller(my preferred weapon of choice, to her chagrin), and playing alongside me as we, along with 3 online teammates, braced ourselves for the swarm of hostiles trying to break into our territory. Before the match began, I asked why anyone would compete in such a harsh environment with equally harsh opponents when the results change virtually nothing outside the scope of the game; to that much, she replied, "Whether in expression or in competition, what's most vital lies not only what you prove to others, but also in what you prove to yourself"
Clutching my puny pistol, I watched as my teammate jumped off 2 walls, climbed to the 2nd level, and settled in an obscure spot on the cozy map, telling me to watch the six of both my team and myself. Our battle brought us against soldiers wielding riot shields, thickly armored brutes firing away with their grenade launchers, and countless other enemies, each new wave smarter and tougher than the last, each demanding we work as a team just to survive. The first time I was bested, a teammate near my position was right by my side, patching me up even as he was battling a frantic firefight. As soon as I heard him say, "Don't trip, girl, I got’chu", I was inspired to empty my ammunition into the brutes that tried to strike him from behind, the instructions my team issued growing ever more crucial as my weapons and the enemies grew ever more powerful. Lily Blossom never broke her poker face as the team and I flanked our enemies, distracted them with cover fire while a waiting teammate showered them with minigun fire, and fought the final wave to a standstill, Lily Blossom providing the finishing shot from her sniper rifle. Around that time, someone from her NPO called, and we parted ways, with her saying, "I hope you enjoyed our time together in the game. Perhaps if our paths cross once more in this game, I will have to be as merciless as I was in my youth just to ensure my victory" I didn't know it then, but after I bought my own copy, those words would stick in the back of my mind each time I fired up the game, making me wonder what kind of person she was in her youth, how different she was from the sweet, yet taciturn young woman I met with in my school days.
***
In the months after then, though both chats with her brother and asking teammates between matches, it became clear that even before the day we met, Lily Blossom was known in competitive circles as LBX, a gamer renowned for both her skill and her mouth. Within those communities, people knew that whatever was dished out at her was repaid two fold, LBX getting into the deepest parts of their psyche with highly pointed insults and taunts in order to throw them off. For all that I learned about LBX, however, none of my sources could tell me about who she was outside the game, driving me to turn to who I thought would have the answers I sought: her brother.
Like Lily, herself, her brother was hesitant to divulge any detail about her life as LBX, telling me how she wanted to move on from that part of her life, and didn't wish to revisit those days. In fact, he said he would only speak with me on the matter if I was able to best him in The Flying Tigers, likely thinking I was going to have a match decided by one last kill in the last seconds of the match that he would take in a frantic firefight. Dramatic, right? Anyways, after handing him a 75-50 drubbing in Team Deathmatch, he fulfilled the bet we made beforehand, and told everything about how she became LBX, about how gaming served as her primary escape from the life they grew up around, doing so through this e-mail:
Remember how Lily said that who folks wanna be pops out more often when there ain't a face to put to what they do or say? Same thing went for her. The first time they saw the handle LBX, they didn't know she was a painfully shy kid, that she thought being a doormat was the best way to get through life, that she grew up so poor, the only nice thing she had was the computer she played on. Only thing they knew her by was whatever she left out on the field of battle, and let me tell you, every day after school, she left pure devastation, not to mention how she got into the heads of anyone that went up against her. I remember playing with her one day, and hearing her not only clown on the other team, but also use how badly they were doing to make them play worse, saying stuff like "Maybe you weren't so distracted by how your daddy don't love you, you'd actually be able to hit me" and "What's a matter? Is the way all them pretty girls won't talk to you making you forget how to play worth a crap?" As the one who taught her all that, it filled with me a certain sense of pride.
She got so good, as a matter of fact, I felt I had to convince her to sign up for local tourneys, helping her develop her look and personal style so she could slip in and out of spots all ghost like while she kept racking up Top 8s, Top 4s, and eventually top spots. After that whole thing with Coco, though, the pride and little prizes she got for winning wasn't cutting it. She knew that there was bigger and better it there, and didn't want to just be a big fish in a small pond no more. Soon after that day, her determination to aim for the bigger fish in the bigger ponds blew up big time, eventually driving her to form the Cuddly Outlawz, a clan based around Flying Tiger players, and work with them to reach tournaments offering five and six-figure prizes. By the time she got to that level, though, she had spent over 8 years dealing with both the pressures of high level play in highly hostile environments and the pressures of being the unfaltering student my folks knew her as. Quite frankly, doing both wore her down to a nub.
When she told me as much during her semester break, I told her that if you just do what you love and expect your passion to help you break through the rough stuff, as she probably thought she was doing in her time as LBX, you'll get eaten up by everything that sucks about it, and end up hating it as much as you'd hate a regular 9-5. Naw, if you really wanna enjoy the stuff you love to do, the way I see it is that the first thing you gotta do is find the love in everything you do, even the crap you don't like. To me, that's the ticket to fully enjoying life, and it's something she took to heart when she was about to enter the last tourney she'd do as a pro. As for happened when she entered? She says you'll have to beat that out of her. Next Saturday night, Flying Tigers, Rooftops map, Last Tiger Standing. The invite will come from [Cddly0tl4wz]xxLBXxx, so when you see it, I think you'll know what to do, right?
***
I know you haven't played this game in awhile, so here is how Last Tiger Standing works. Shortly after it kicks off, one player is chosen as a Tiger Hunter, only able to wield a throwing knife. When a Tiger Hunter kills their target, however, they became a fellow Tiger Hunter, the same happening for both everyone a Tiger Hunter takes down and if they happen to die by other means. If everyone becomes a Tiger Hunter, the Tiger Hunters win, with the other side winning if there's at least 1 who hasn't become one when the timer hits 0. On the Rooftops map, they not only must keep an eye out for these Tiger Hunters, they must also watch their step, as one wrong move means a fatal plunge off the 2 skyscraper rooftops that make up the map. All that ran through my mind as I played some practice rounds, and, out of the blue, I got a blank message entitled "[Cddly0tl4wz]xxLBXxx has invited you to join a lobby" A solid gulp descending down my throat as I accepted the invite and was mentally prepping for the big showdown. Upon joining, a warm, vibrant, yet unfamiliar voice greeted me, saying "Hey, what's up? Name's Rolling Thunder, LBX's old clan mate. Hope you've gotten as good as she says you have, else this might be a real short one." The seconds ticked down to game time, my trusty SPAS-15 Shotgun, Katana and SIG Sauer 1911 load-out waiting for me to charge into battle as I surveyed the map. Zip lines leading from one brightly white building to the next, wires curving from one side of the map to the other, a maze of office rooms with breakable windows waiting just below, and so many other options for evading the Tiger Hunters-which immediately became needed, as the game choose [Cddly0tl4wz]xxLBXxx to be the first one.
"Stick with me," Rolling Thunder ordered over the radio. "We'll flush these Tiger Hunters out together, and lock up this win" The second she finished, the game told us that LBX had just hunted one of our teammates down, and changed the odds from 15-1 to 14-2, the two of us sweeping the lower floor for the new Tiger Killer. I peeked around a corner, and instantly was rushed by our target. I hooked his knife thrust away with my pistol's barrel, and ran him through with my blade, withdrawing it with a twist before we made our way upstairs. Opening the door, LBX leapt off the wire suspended high above and came seemingly right at us. Before we realized, she landed on someone behind us and stabbed him in the chest, looking square at us before she rushed off, and saying, "I'm saving you two punks for last," two Tiger Hunters soon in hot pursuit as we dashed our way towards those wires. Quickly, did we approaching a wall as our pursuers closed in, leaping at, then off of it, twisting towards them, and cutting them down with our blades. By the time we got upstairs and reached the wires, the odds changed to 11-5, then 9-7, 5 minutes remaining as we ran on them to the other side. As we did, my partner was picking off Tiger Killers with her hand held SMG, telling me, "Looks like you got some steak to go with that sizzle, Octavia. Wouldn't get too cocky yet, though!" With Tiger Hunters waiting on the other end, she jumped off, shot one in the head, and thrust kicked another off the building into a fatal plunge. Two came at her before she could recover, so, with no hesitancy, I whipped out my pistol, and popped two between their eyes before I hopped off, the game telling us the odds have now become 5-11 with 3 minutes left.
We raced to the downstairs office, my partner instructing me to cover her rear, and aiming her FAMASat the wall. In that moment, I remembered that one of the boosters available is AP Ammo, armor piercing rounds that ignore both that and walls to reach their target, the both of us posted outside the door and me awaiting her signal. The second after she screamed,"Rush 'em!" her AP rounds took out 2 of the 6 waiting in that room before we burst in to take on the other 4. In seconds, one was face to face with me, my shotgun blasting him right in the mouth, and my partner drawing the others away with cover fire. 2 gave chase, while the other threw his knives my way, my skill allowing me to strafe and block his projectiles until he felt he had to rush at me. At the last second, I deflected his knife thrust, booted him into the window pane, and finished him with a blast shattering the glass, and sending him flying to the ground below. I turned to run to my partner, only to find one of her targets punted into the air and that the other impaled her as she impaled him on the end of her rifle. Just then she told me,"Sorry, partner, guess the hunted just became the Hunter," the game informing me that the odds have become 1-15 with 1:30 remaining.
I made my way to the roof and ran into a relentless stream of Tiger Killers along the way waiting to take me down. The four in the hallway rushed in a straight line, making it easy for me to pop two between the eyes, cut another down, and parry the last one into an uppercut slash. My radar told me there were 5 more running down the spiraling stairs, leading to me chucking a grenade and shooting it as soon as it landed near them, to ensure they had no chance to chuck it back. On the way up, 3 more Tiger Killers came at me with me with wicked intent, with 3 more being chucked off the stairs, roundhouse kicked into the wall face first and carved up like a freshly baked ham, leaving only the entry in front of me. Sure enough, waiting for me to arrive on the roof was LBX, herself, running at me in an erratic line as she screamed, "Now it's time to take out the trash! Hope you're ready, rich girl" With my pistol and sword at the ready, I deflected every slash she took me, LBX doing the same while the other Tiger Killers started emerging onto the roof and the clock ticked down the :45 left in the battle. In those dying seconds, I heard her bring up the irony of my parents giving all the resources I could ever ask, yet having 0 time to enjoy them with me, the fact that men find my refined nature so intimating, they never even try to approach me, and that because I'm so focused on being classy, I didn't even know who I was underneath all the layers of proper conduct I put on everyday, things I've always thought about, but never spoke of to anybody. Thankfully, I was able to keep how deeply her insight shook me at bay long enough to prevent her from claiming her final victim, the clock running out right when she repelled my sword slash and had her knife raised high. At that point, however, I had to and put the game down to reflect on what she said, jeers of "Timer Scam" and cheers of "You held off LBX? Nice!" coming through my headset. Not a minute later, I got a text from Lily saying, "You did well, Octavia. Since you have won the right to hear the end of my tale, would you like to discuss it over beer and pizza at the local restaurant? My treat, naturally"
***
I sat there at the corner table, waiting for her to arrive, and thinking about what she brought up in those 45 seconds. Who was I, really? Did I really come off as that unapproachable? What did I miss out on as a child? In that moment, I looked up to find a woman with faded jeans, burnt sienna crop top and yellow, red and black hair had accompanied Lily to the restaurant, locking her pond scum green eyes on me and saying, "So we meet again, Octavia. Good to meet one of the few able to stand toe to toe with LBX" as they sat down to place their order (which was 2 Meat Supremes, in case you're wondering. Much bacon, sausage, pepperoni, and honey baked ham on that one)
"The pleasure is mutual, Miss..."
"Rolling Thunder, the person who saw you battle LBX to a standstill. A rare event, by the way!" While we waited for our order, we tossed back a pitcher of Sweet Apple Acres' finest Apple Ale and talked about the events leading up to LBX's final tournament.
"As you probably can guess," said Rolling Thunder after chugging a glass, "LBX has two things going for her: hax skills and hax insight, both of which she's used to break anyone in her way down to a hot mess"
"As she tried to do to me?" Rolling Thunder nodded, pouring herself another glass.
"When we first met doing volunteer duties at the local soup kitchen, I had no clue that this mild mannered saint of a girl was the same person I had fierce battles with in that game, and couldn't believe it when I found that out about her during our chit chat time"
"I imagine it would shock anyone," said Lily, nursing her glass, "considering how aggro I acted when I played. Just playing that round with you brought back so many memories of the power I felt over other players, of how much more assertive I became in that dominance, of why I left the professional gaming ranks in the first place" With a gentle smile, Rolling Thunder glanced over at Lily, taking a nip of the freshly baked breadsticks the waiter brought to the table.
"From the moment I met her, I had no doubt that LBX was a front-a front she needed in that world, but a front, still."
"Needed?" I asked,"How do you mean?"
"You've played enough Flying Tigers, haven'cha? You know that if you ain't showing you're made of the tough stuff, you will be chewed up and spit out like yesterday's gum in the online world. She knew this and loved playing that game enough to make up a whole new identity just to play at the level she wanted to be at. Shoot, if it wasn't for that love of the game, the Cuddly Outlawz clan would've never happened."
"Well, if she was willing to go that far to play at that level, why did she quit?"
"Because I could no longer find the love I once had for it" Lily answered with a chuckle. "After nearly a decade of enduring the sexist, racist and brutish behavior from both fans and fellow competitors, every tourney felt less like a thrill, and more like the 9-5 my brother spoke of. Likewise, I had began displaying that same behavior more frequently in my time away from the gaming scene, the reactions I got illustrating how my actions online affected those I met, and was no mere fun and games. I still remember the young woman I made cry when she cut front of me, and in the heated argument we had, I used my insight about her home life to cut at her to the core. At that point, I had become disgusted with who I became, and wanted something different for myself."
"Which I assume has something to do with the NPO you started up?"
"You got it," Rolling Thunder answered. "We talked about this a ton during training, and I knew that the girl I saw when we worked the soup kitchens was the girl I knew her to be. After working her for some volunteer duties for school, I had a hunch that working with folks like that let her find the love she used to have for pro gaming, so I promised that if we got first place in our next tournament, I would help her use the six-figure payout to do just that."
"I can't imagine your competitors made it easy to achieve such a lofty aim."
"No, ma'am. We had a bullseye painted on our back the entire tournament, and they made us scrap it out for those 1 Kill wins we got. If it weren't for our ace sniper, here, I know we would've been done in the first round, never mind getting to the grand finals. As a matter of fact, that map you faced her on was the very same one our opponents counter-picked, forcing her to play out of her sniping element, and put on the run and gun performance of a lifetime, ain't that right, Lily?" Lily nodded, taking a deep swig of her brew.
"Without a place to wait for them to slip, the impetus was on us to make them slip, drawing them into a waiting teammate's line of fire, sandwiching them on the stairs, and making them think we were everywhere, so we could convince to follow any path we wanted them to go, with the AP Ammo booster and our defensive reflexes playing a key role in our plan of attack. It was the most fun I had playing that game in ages, with accepting that check with my teammates reminding of why I put up with everything, what I was playing for, and bringing tears down my smiling face in what was the greatest moment of my life. Seeing my teammates share that joy with me told me exactly what I needed to do next, leading me to take the podium, and announce that I was retiring as the leader of the Cuddly Outlawz"
"But how did your teammates' joy convince you that you needed to step down?"
"My brother once told me that only those brave enough can look beyond the comfort and familiarity in what they do and towards the love and fulfillment that lets us live without regret. As much as that moment meant to me, it could not match my time working with the charity the Cuddly Outlawz set up, and bringing joy into the lives of those who may not have much to be joyful for, whether it's in the mobile soup kitchen in cooperation with the local Saddled Buddhists, assisting with lessons at the computer shop we all set up, or simply interacting with the community in different capacities. Each day I work with that NPO, I continue to be reminded of not only what truly matters in this world where everyone seeks an identity to help uncover who they are within, but also who." At that point, Lily and her friend smiled at each other, Rolling Thunder letting out a grandiose belch.
"Yeah, I gotta say that when she took on charity on full time, it was like seeing her for the first time with how she gentle and happy she was with the folks it touches, not to mention how much better she was-and still is at schmoozing it up and getting folks to think with their hearts by reaching for their wallets, especially compared to the socially maladjusted turbo nerds that make up the Cuddly Outlawz...myself included, admittedly, heh heh. Guess that goes to show that if you got the guts and the grit, who you aspire to be when people only know you as a faceless voice speaking from space to space can be the same person they see when they meet you face to face. Personally, though, I think it'd be hilarious if someone was as racist, sexist and generally prick-ish as they are online to someone two feet if them; hilarious in the "Did you see how hard that dweeb got kicked in the taint?" way, of course, but still"
Yo Tavi, you remember that one chick with the pink hair at the Thunderlane/Flint Rock fight? The one that was in Applejack's corner, and was super quiet when you approached her at the gym! Turns out that what she lacks in ability to socialize, she more than makes up for with the magic in her fingertips. Found that out not too long after the fight when we bumped into each other at the hotel buffet, and she invited me to try her new Intimate Therapy dealy out. Know what that is? Because I certainly didn't! Didn't find out fully, either, until I got to her place in the woods, all the while trying to digest the pamphlet she gave before she went off to do some Yoga biz. From what I remember, it said that Intimate Therapy is "a personalized combination of traditional massage techniques, cuddling and the kind of therapy that gives you a safe, accepting place to talk about anything you want to get off your chest," which I totally interpreted as freaky deaky sex and a chat after they pop their top. Turns out, though, that her little mom and pop stand is totally legit, with her having a MA in physical therapy from Cloudsdale U, a therapy license from one of the most stringent programs in the country, and a setup I'm still not sure people would consider normal for a therapeutic joint like hers.
After we hashed out the deets, we headed upstairs to the bed she prepped, I laid on my side, and she started holding me close from behind-know you, that whole spooning thing, while she let talk about...well, whatever came to mind. I still can't put my finger on why, but being in her arms like I was let me know I didn't have to hide anything from her; before I knew it, I brought up that whole thing with Flint Rock, how I felt unsure on what it means to be a woman, if what I did really mattered or helped anybody, and other, kinda personal stuff(like the time I had a knife in my hand while I was cooking, and had some super dark thoughts about an early exit. Nothing happened, but I was working through a ton of personal junk at that point in my life that I might tell you about later). Afterwards, she treated me to a session on the message table, and melted the stress in my muscles like they were butter, and her hands were a hot knife. Felt kind of weird letting someone oil me up and rub me up with only a towel covering up the goods, but somehow I think she could sense that, chatting with me about the silly stuff the celebs get caught doing on Thirty Mile Zone, asking me about the day to day stuff, and generally making feel like I was hanging with someone I've known for years(which, considering how few folks can barely get more than a peep out of her otherwise, is still mystifying). Totally wanted to do her a solid for making me feel more loose than a goose, to which she proposed "Well, if it's alright with you, could you give my assistant an honest evaluation of your experience? You know, something that lets me serve future clients that much better." The next weekend, I met with said assistant at Donut Joe's joint, where a whole lot more was discovered than what I thought about her Intimate Therapy.
***
The first time I saw her at the therapy spot, she had her chestnut hair in a bun and was dressed in an all white T-shirt and slacks get up, same as the girl she was sitting next to, Fluttershy. Next time, though, that hair was flowing down to her big ol' apple bottom (which, to be perfectly honest, I was mad jelly of), her super tight white jeans showing it right off, and a lime green wrap around top snuggling her little girls. Over an order of Maple Bacon Donut Fries, I noticed that while she was asking my thoughts on the treatment, she took sips from her coffee, and had the quickest of scrunches on her sun-kissed face each time she did. When I asked why, her baby blue eyes stared straight into mine, as she said, "Well when you've been around coffee as long as I have, you tend to have stricter standards for your cup o' Joe. This brew right here, for me? No es bueno, and I know for a fact I can whip up a better cup in a matter of minutes, just like Donut Joe could whip up baked goods leagues above mine without even batting an eye"
"You sound mighty confident, there. Can your skills cash the checks your mouth is writing?"
"I know they can, but I'm guessing you ain't as convinced. Perhaps you'd like to see the proof in the pudding?" Before I could answer, her phone went off, likely signaling that she, like me, had things to get to. I'm guessing, though, that she dug something about me, because before she left, she handed me her personal business card, which was also the first time I learned her name. That name? Morning Glory, the woman who showed me just how awesome coffee can be.
When she invited me over to her place, her message was "you bring the Maple Bacon Bars, I'll make the best iced Joe you've ever had." True to her word, that Joe was kicking, with just the right balance of sweet, cinnamon bite, and robust flavor (decaf, at that!). I was curious at where she learned to make coffee like that, and she smiled and said, "Runs in the family, I suppose. Would've been my future, too, if things had worked out just a bit differently" While we munched on our donuts, she started talking about Los Equinos, a city way away from Manehattan where she, her dad and his business partner ran a diner everyone in their 'hood loved to eat at, a place the locals, according to her, called Cafe del Sol. I happened to drop by when she was getting her lunch ready, so she whipped me up a dish of what locals said that you had to have when you went. In no time flat, she made Chorizo mixed with eggs, beef and just the right amount of tomato sauce, sandwiching that mess between two freshly baked biscuit halves, and serving 'em up slider style with a beefy burrito stuffed with chicken bouillon-enriched rice, Carne Asada and Bacon fat infused refried beans, a meal the locals called "The Only Thing They'd Need to Eat All Day," and rightly so. After I finished my plate, I was so stuffed, I didn't feel like I could cram down another bite of anything else, and would totally buy if any restaurant had it on their menu. Given that, I was wondering how Cafe del Sol was doing, to which she replied, "'is doing'? Try 'Was doing'"
The more I got to know her, the more I realized how much Cafe del Sol meant to her. That place wasn't just the family biz, and not just where she laid her head at night, but also the legacy her father wanted to pass on after he passed on-and one he did when a heart attack took him away just after she turned 21. Of course, being fresh out of college to be a sociologist, the business side of running a business was about as familiar to her as Spotted Dick, leaving her to trust that stuff to her dad's business partner, who according to her, "Did just what you gotta do with a neighborhood institution: change everything to suit what's hot, make a series of big gambles with what little money it has, and bury it in a mountain of debt that forces it to close for good" I still remember when I had a video call with her and I asked what she did after she lost Cafe del Sol. She smiled, looked down, and said, "It still kind of stings to remember life back then, but since I dig your style, I'll just show you this," taking out a Sticky Note, and scribbling a few things. Soon, she showed that it said "10 bits: Handy; 20 bits: Full Time; 50 bits: Anything," and pointing me to her boss for the rest of the story.
***
When I met up with Fluttershy at her place, I caught her right when she was hopping on a bear's back, and giving it a neck snap-looking stretch-which, paired with the bear falling forward like a fresh cut tree, made me very weary of ever getting on her bad side. "Before you say anything," she said as I approached, "this is just part of the massage. I assure you this bear has a lot of tension in his neck and shoulders that needs very intensive deep tissue techniques, and is something he's greatly enjoying. At any rate, how are you doing, Vinyl?"
"Hopefully well enough not to need a deep tissue neck snap. You got my text, right?"
"I did. Just wait for me in the living room, and I'll be with you as soon as I'm finished with my client, ok?" As soon as I enter, waiting on the table was a fresh outta the oven pizza topped with apples, carmelized onions and walnuts, kinda like the one we had in Las Pegasus. The smell it gave off was practically filling the air with the words, "Go on, eat me, eat all 24 inches of me, Fluttershy probably isn't hungry, anyways," something I'm sure Fluttershy thought, too, when she walked in, grabbed a slice, and wolfed it down before she even sat down, a dainty burp coming from her as soon as she did.
"Pardon me, Vinyl. It's been a long day in the office, and I've been waiting for this all day"
"Don't even trip. I'm just happy you're taking time outta your day to chat with me about your assistant."
"Think nothing of it. Speaking of which, you've gotten to know her for awhile, haven't you?"
"I have. She told me about her family's business, and how she lost her home. Felt real sorry for her after I heard."
"It's a natural reaction when something happens to people we care about. As you know from our session, though, people in their most desperate hour feel less like a wounded wildebeest and more like a sick and starving soldier stuck behind enemy lines, with the only weapon they have to fight their way out with being a spork."
"No doubt. When I was in that deep funk, the only thing I wanted was to get out of it ASAP, no matter what it took it or what I had to go through do to it"
"And that's because to get through it, people can't be weak, but instead, must be at their strongest, driven to see what's waiting on the other side. If it means they have to cut through jungles with their spork, then they'll cut through jungle after jungle after jungle until they get there. In those times, I'm sure you know what the most valuable thing in the world is."
"Sometime willing to keep passing the sporks, and hack away alongside us?"
"Exactly that. That much is what I relearned the day I came across Morning Glory in her makeshift shelter." I knew it was about to be story time, so I grabbed my piece of the pie and got comfy as she told me about her assistant.
***
I'm sure you guessed as much from the sign she showed you, but the day I met her, she was a prostitute without a place to call home. I knew from my Social Studies classes that even today, there are millions upon millions out there like her being trafficked, abused and treated with less care than the paper she wrote on. If they go to the police, they think they'll arrest them on sight because their very job involves breaking the law; if they go to anyone else, they think they'll either spit on them for taking on such a vile, demeaning profession or see them as poor, pitiful souls who can't do anything to help themselves, and need to be rescued from both themselves and their choices. In either case, they're viewed as a thing to be acted upon, not as the thinking, feeling human being they've known themselves to be all their lives.
All that in mind, when I came across her all those months ago on a trail not too far from here, I had no doubt that what she wanted most was the very thing she offered her clients: companionship and a listening ear. In the process of acquiring her services, she became the very first recipient of the Intimate Therapy I had been working on, and was, in effect, a test subject for it. When we got to my bed, I cuddled her from behind, and simply talked with her about her day, ending it with a quick massage before she went off, and hoping that I gave her at least some of the tools she needed to work through her issues. That one week became two, and those became a month, each session revealing a little of the sharp, sensitive and well read soul I sensed in her the first time we met, and each one revealing how much she's had to fight through just to make it through the day. After that month, however, I couldn't afford the 50 bit fee anymore, so I came clean about what I was doing, and expected her to be angry enough to leave it at that; what happened instead, though, was that while she was a bit upset, she enjoyed the sessions so much, she offered to waive her fee, if I agreed to continue them every week, and provided both a meal and time to wash up. Because of the therapist/client agreement, I cannot and will not discuss what we brought up in those sessions, but I can say that what I learned in future meetings about her life as a prostitute revealed some rather appalling things about what's considered as acceptable towards women and sex workers, prompting me to ask if she'd ever do something different, if given the chance, and leading to me helping her get into what I used to do when animal care wasn't paying the bills: webcam modeling.
***
At that point, I was about to do a spit take, so I said, "Hold up, I know some folks in that biz, and I know it ain't far off from what she was doing. Wasn't the whole point of what you were doing to give her the self-belief to choose something else when you asked if she'd ever do something different?"
"Self-belief? Well it is common sense that doing things of a promiscuous nature implies someone is looking for a sense of self within others, just as it was once common sense that the world is flat. I can tell you're someone who takes pride in embracing a more uncommon sense about things, so I will call Morning Glory later, and ask if she'd like to talk more about it, alright? After all, everyone deserves the chance to be known by something other than some crudely informed stereotype, don't they?"
***
I came back to her place the next day at the time she said, but nobody answered when I knocked at the door(which actually got under my skin, since it was The-Freaking-Sun-Wasn't-Even-Out-Yet o’ clock, and I was giving up valuable snoozing time to come see Morning Glory.). I was standing there in the crisp night air playing Sugar Cube Saga on my phone, when suddenly, a voice from behind me says, "You know that beating that game takes about 5% skill, 5% luck, and 90% how much cash your willing to feed it for power-ups, right?" I turn around, and sure enough, there's Morning Glory decked in her powder blue PJs, her face as bright and perky as someone who doesn't think this is an insane time of day to kick it off. "Glad you made it, Vinyl. My boss told me about the stuff you two brought up, including that you think I'm someone looking for a sense of self within others 'cause of what I did and what I do." After shooting me her softest smile, I immediately felt the sting of five across the eyes; I smiled back, because I knew perfectly what it was for, asking, "Can I assume we're cool, then?” before I followed her into the forest.
"We'll be perfectly square after I tell you about what I did and what I do." At this point, I wanted to tell you about the chat we had, but to be perfectly honest, we took a long route with a lotta tangents, so transcribing it would pretty much be a wash. That in mind, I was working on making it into a story of sorts, hashing out the deets with Morning Glory, who thought it'd be better if I helped her tell her tale, for reasons she'll soon make clear. That said, here's Morning Glory on what her time in the streets taught her. Enjoy!
***
Hola, Señora Octavia! I've heard much about you from your friend, especially concerning your grace, your class, and how much you need to loosen up. Seriously. You had fun at that rave you went to, didn't you? Not everything's gotta be prim and proper to be enjoyable, and I hope that party showed you as much. Don't afraid to live up with the wild ones, chica! We don't bite hard if you treat us proper, I assure you.
At any rate, I asked Vinyl to help me do this because what I do and where I've been isn't easily understood unless you've either been there yourself or known people who have. I found this out first hand when I lost Cafe del Sol, lost my home, and felt, for the first time, like I had lost everything I ever considered precious; no parents, no roof over my head, no nada. It's something I would never wish upon my worst enemy, that crushing isolation and despair. A friend offered their garage for me to live in while I got on my feet, yeah, but as I got my things set up, my soul felt like its feet were bound to cement bricks, and thrown into the ocean.
Before that, I used to pity the people I saw wait in line at local food banks and dig through the trash for cans, food and other things people threw out; after that day, I struggled so much to make money, I ended up joining them! Risking everything day in and day out on those dangerous construction gigs the temp agency gave me, and for what? Barely enough to get by, and not even close enough to make dumpster diving an unnecessary event. I hated that all that became my life; I hated that no matter how well I presented myself at interviews, no place would hire me; I hated being so broke, I couldn't afford a car, insurance, or even a lousy bucking street taco. I mean, sure, I wasn't exactly living La Vida Dolce before, but this was just ridiculous! I despised myself for becoming no better than a bum on the street, and wanted to do anything to get out of that life, to get anywhere close to what I had. I heard some of the boys at my gigs talk about the girls they saw perform at the local 'gentleman's club,' as they called it, and they shared pics they snuck of them. I'm not one to toot my own horn that often, but from those pictures, I knew I had these chicas beat where it counted, so after a bit of research, I thought, "You know what? Buck it, let's try stipping. What more do I have to lose, anyways? Can't be any worse than this, can it?"
Like Vinyl, I held the notion that strippers, or exotic dancers, as they prefer to be called, were people who had no morals and no sense of self, so when I hit the pole, I didn't know what to think. Thankfully the dance and pole dancing classes I took for my PE college credits taught me well, and spurred many of the customers that night to make it rain as I hung on the pole, did a handstand splits, and shook my groove thang like my life depended on it. I know you ain't about that life, so I'll tell you that it's the term for when money is thrown about for others to collect, as I did after I was done, and found I raked in about 100 bits, much more than I ever got working those construction gigs-and to be perfectly honest, a whole lot more fun. When I was on stage, all eyes were on me, and the better I did, the more I was showered with both their attention and their hard earned money. Eventually, as certain customers came back to see me, a regular, if you will, I started learning the other side of the job: learning how to listen to a regular's needs, and give them what they really want: a shoulder to cry on, a friend who will hear out everything they have to say without judgment, and someone who will help them feel good about themselves (but never, ever, ever the goodies). Because of that, I was given more things than I could ever ask for, like a chain necklace, handbags, even a three wheeled bike! I was even able to eventually move out of the garage, and into a nice room in a neighborhood like the one I grew up in. Living there, however, surrounded me with the kind of life I was working towards when I was server at Cafe del Sol, with the man of the house being an associate professor of Sociology at a local community college and the woman being the boss of a food truck serving up the kind of grub Cafe del Sol dished out every day. They were such a nice couple, too, inviting me to join them for dinner, so we could all talk about our day. Every time I joined them, though, I realized that couldn't tell them what I did because it wasn't something society accepted as a normal way of life. The more I thought on why, the more I thought it was because they considered it shameful behavior, leading me to wonder if I thought bearing my body to complete strangers, leading people on in relationships that would ultimately never reach the conclusion they thought it would and doing what normal people would never do was shameful. The night I realized all this, I looked into the mirror and wept because I couldn't recognize who I saw in it. I didn't think I deserved any of what I earned by being an exotic dancer, and knew I had enough street smarts by that point to live without a roof over my head, so one night, I told the couple that took me in that I was going on a trip, and to make sure my things were safe while I was gone, taking the next Pony Express bus heading out of town, the clothes on my back and whatever money I had on me being the only things I took along.
Somehow, my travels took me to Ponyville, and into the Everfree Forests. Heard about the scary stuff there, but when you've been where I've been and seen what I've seen, not much scares you; lucky for me, I found the abandoned camping gear of folks who got shook, and was able to set up shop. As I attracted clients and kept an eye out for any 5-0, I couldn't help but think, "Someday, if I haven't already, I might catch a disease that will follow me the rest of my life because of what I do. Someday, I might get nabbed for trying to make a bit the way I am. Someday, I might meet someone who will send me to an early end because of who I am. Maybe what I do, the way I am and who I am makes that shoe fit perfectly" Those thoughts are what stuck in the back of my mind every time someone paid the 50 bits to piss on me, choke me during sex, dress me up in kids clothing, or anything else they wanted; shoot, as far as I was concerned, my life was barely worth those 50 bits. It wasn't until I met Fluttershy that my eyes started to open to another reality, another side of myself, another world I didn't think possible.
I remember falling asleep in the afternoon the day I met with Señora Fluttershy. When I woke up, I saw a white bunny nuzzle my face, and in front of me was a triangle looking ball of rice wrapped in seaweed-Onigiri, I believe they're called. A voice said, "I heard a terrible rumbling sound, and found you sleeping here." as I was getting my bearings. At that point, 'free,' 'food,' and 'no' were pretty far apart in my vocab, so I dug in as I looked up to see someone dressed in a yellow sundress and a broad-brimmed hat, cream pink hair flowing out from underneath it. When she asked if I wanted to go with her, though, I showed her my sign, and expected her to scared off by my offer; what happened, though, was that she placed 50 bits in my hand, took me by hers, and lead me to her place, where she asked me to lay on my side on her bed. Based on what past clients have asked of me when they paid for anything, I was ready to see her transform into some super sadistic monster plucked straight from some super sadistic planet where women slap on strapons and scream something like, "I BET THAT TIGHT LITTLE FLANK WAS JUST WAITING TO BE STRETCHED OUT BY ME” while they do whatever they do. Thankfully, instead of that, she got in bed with me, and held me close while we talked about...anything I wanted, really. I didn't get what was going on, but it felt different. More intimate, nurturing, and like she wanted to know more about who I was as a person. The massage and bath she gave were real nice, too, and to be perfectly honest, I was kinda sad to leave. Each time she came to see became the highlight of my week, knowing someone like her going to be my next client. I knew, though, that this wasn't without reason, that there was a catch to her being as nice and considerate as she was in the month she came to see me, talk with me, and let me hash out my issues like she was paying 50 bits to act like some sort of therapist.
As she said when she came clean, I wasn't very happy with being used like a psychological guinea pig, and briefly considered punching her in the mush before we made that deal. If you're wondering why I made that deal, here's a hint: it involved something no amount of money can ever buy. Don't get it twisted, now, I was and still am peeved that she turned my job into an experiment, but I can't deny that in that experiment, she gave me the kind of relationship I didn't have in ages. She didn't see me as the boss of Cafe del Sol, an exotic dancer or a ho to make into a housewife, but as me, Morning Glory, a girl who loves to cook, loves being sensual and sexual, and loves to bring a bit of joy into people's lives. She taught me that the sexual nature that exotic dancing awakened within me wasn't some taboo thing only to be enjoyed like a forbidden fruit, but a healthy part of everyday life, and the one night she and I together exploring that, she helped me remember what it means to make love and appreciate every part of it, from the journey towards reaching that ultimate climax to the hilarious faces and sound made when it's finally reached. Thanks to her, I realized that even if society considers it something to be ashamed to of, it doesn't mean I have to. As the Saddled Buddhists always say, nothing we do is ever inherently good nor bad, it simply is, and must be dealt with as it is so we may let it make us that much wiser and more complete, not what others expect us to be.
This much was something I didn't think Vinyl understood, based on how she reacted to Fluttershy helping me get into the Webcam biz, so with my boss's blessing, I took her on a stroll to where I used to do my self-pimping to give her an outdoor massage session and watch the sunrise. The more we got to understand each other, the more we came to see how much each of us understood that if you wanna go after what makes you happy, you can't play it safe. You can have a job that's guaranteed to you as the last gift from someone who spent their life raising you up proper, and still have that future taken from you in the blink of an eye. The minute you think anything is guaranteed is the minute life acts to make them go up in smoke, whether it's friends leaving you to rot because of something they learn about you, or watching the life you worked so carefully to craft fall to pieces. Sure, going after what makes you complete can mean making barely any money playing crappy party after crappy party, wondering how you're gonna pay the bills when not enough customers want you to care for their animals that month, or being called a pimple on the ass of society because of how you choose to make money, but you know what? I'd much rather be spat upon for being happy with my life than be accepted for living a miserable existence coated in the easily broken illusion of safety and security.
Since you grew up rich, you'd have a hard time understanding what it means to find joy in the things money can't buy, to make the most of life even when you have the least. That's what people who are poor tell themselves when they have to choose between buying groceries and paying the bills, when they have nothing to cover them if they get sick or hurt, when having a car is considered a luxury. As someone who was poor, let me tell you that anyone who says there's dignity in being poor is a complete and utter idiota. Money can't happiness, but it can buy experiences, like skydiving, trips around the world, and education people could only dream of, so if there's anything I'd want you to take away from all this, it's to use your wealth to experience things that will make you happy, that will make you feel complete, that will let you become the kind of you want to be, not who your family, friends or society wants you to be. Fluttershy was lucky enough to find that in caring for animals and people, Vinyl, in being a DJ, and myself, in being a webcam girl and working to revive Cafe del Sol in food truck form; hopefully you'll find that in the things you do, Señora Octavia, and hopefully I'll see you at Fluttershy's someday to give Intimate Therapy a spin. You have nothing to lose but your inhibitions, after all(just ask Vinyl)!
When we first met, you often spoke of how money changed people, how it brought out the worst in others, as you did during our trip to my family's beachfront property in the Pomptons. If I remember correctly, while we were watching the fireworks display on the porch, you said, "I totally expected your folks to be more uptight and prick-ish. Glad they ain't like the other rich stiffs I've run into here!" I didn't say it at the time, out of respect and social propriety, but the implications of what you said deeply hurt me, in part because those uptight and prick-ish rich folks were people I've known all my life, and the notion that being rich made them bad people was offensively absurd. As I delved into deeper societal issues, however, that notion had an increasingly stronger basis, more so when friends from my place in society expressed the same kind of baseless vitriol towards those of lower standing. As you called them criminals for skimping on their taxes and pricing people out of their homes through gentrification, they called the poor that for using government services to live off of taxpayers' money and the middle class lazy for not infusing more money into the struggling economy. It's truly shocking how divisive money is, more so when people see it as a black and white matter, instead of the diversely neutral force it is.
Of course, money can be used for great evil, and has, whether through funding war, bribing officials or driving people to do disgraceful things in order to attain it. Likewise, I believe that money can do much good for many in the world, including funding the dreams and aspirations of those brave enough to attempt making them reality, like those who turn to a recently popular method of attaining capital, crowdsourcing. If memory serves, crowdsourcing encompasses many of the principals of raising venture capital, e.g. showing the product, setting how much time and money will be needed to complete it, showing both how it will benefit the investor and what progress has already been made with it, and so on. Instead of turning to traditional investors, however, they appeal all this to everyday people through sites like Sparker, promising them certain incentives based on how much they invest in a given project, like, say, pledging 25 bits to support a game in development versus pledging 2500 to appear in it. Unlike traditional investment, however, there's a stronger tendency towards good faith, as crowdsourcing doesn't guarantee investors will see a return on what they put in, like with that Sparker by a group of young podcasters and experienced animators. Given how well they spun their game in development, I wasn't shocked at how it was successfully funded, nor at how the team spent 500000 bits plus the following 4 years producing absolutely nothing but empty promises. What is shocking, though, is the amount of people willing to brave the 9 in 10 chance of failure these projects have become known for in order to revive old franchises, give a fighting chance to what investors wouldn't touch with a ten foot pole or, as learned from Lily Blossom recently, letting someone cook a chicken dinner.
***
We met up a local vegetarian Cafe one weekend, Lily treating me to an absolutely creamy tofu Tiramisu while we caught up on how things were going. During our chat, she showed me an article on Peeper discussing the chicken dinner Sparker in question, and how it reached its 10 bit goal 10000x over, prompting us to wonder if it was proper to keep all that money. After taking a sip of her Chai Soy Latte, she looked over at me, and said, "If I were in his position, I would feel great discomfort at keeping money I did not earn, more so if were six figures worth"
"You grew up learning that one gets back whatever they put in, correct? From a personal development perspective, it's an excellent maxim to live by. Not so much financially, though"
"Hmm. I'm sure those who make those around them pay for their insatiable ambition would agree with you. You know, gang members, politicians, arms dealers, the kind of people you would meet for brunch"
"Don't forget celebrities, business types and medicine peddlers, now. No cabal of hungry insensitivity would be complete without all the types of people who are thinking the exact same thing you are."
"Really? That's a fascinating view, that such self-obsessed people would think that what you desire can only be had by the sweat of your own brow."
"Isn't it?" She seemed highly intrigued by my Tiramisu, so I let have her a nibble while I explained "Think of it like this: when you're born into more working class societies, you're taught to obey meaningful authority and only take what you think you've earned, correct? Otherwise you might face the wrath of those who sign your paychecks, if not something worse. The higher up one is, the more deserving they think they are of what they have, and everyone who isn't where they are simply isn't working hard enough to join them, especially if they were born into it. That's why those who are rich are known to act how they're known to act, more so when they're removed from the realities of how trying and rare it is to get to where they are"
"Then there's a connection between one's personal growth and their social standing. There must be if that much is true"
"It makes for great stories, that theory, but as you know from the crime that runs rampant in both lower-income neighborhoods and the highest echelons of our society, the link is weaker than poorly cooked spaghetti. In reality money is not a poison that corrodes our essence, but a fertilizer that grows what already lies within, what's already been shaped by nature and nurture"
"So then all those cruel people I met when we went to school together..."
"Would be just as cruel if they were raised in the inner city, if not more so. Tell me something, Lily, if you entered a supermarket expecting 10 bits in your pocket, would how you shop change if you suddenly found you had 100?" She chewed over her mini cinnamon buns while she chewed over her answer.
"I would probably buy what I intended to, but with that much extra, I'd probably feel-"
"Drowned in a sea of possibilities? I imagine that Chicken Dinner person feels the same way, given how many directions people must be pulling him over the Sparker's success and subsequent parade of publicity. Perhaps he could use some guidance, as you got from your partner when you started your NPO"
"Perhaps, but what could I show him about what to do with his money?"
"The same thing you show others who benefit from your organization's efforts: the power money has to change lives for the better" After that day, she contacted Schwarzwald, the person behind the Sparker and a manager at a fast food restaurant in Detrot and arranged a meeting between the 3 of us in the Motor City.
***
My parents spoke fondly of this place as their birthplace of both Motown soul and classic automotive muscle, calling each a quality product of the good old days; my first time there, however, showed me a city of soaring skyscrapers and howling silence. Through the windows of the Midnight Blue coupe I rented for the trip I saw streets lined with failed business after foreclosed property after abandoned building. Without looking up from her copy of Gamer Tengoku, she asked,"So how does it feel to see the falling heart of a city this closely?" As a lifelong Manehattanite, I had no idea a city as big and important as Detrot could feel so empty, so lifeless, so utterly downtrodden that corporations are looking to privatize basic utilities. The only thing I could say upon taking all this in was, "Maybe those people yelling 'Capitalism doesn't work!' all the time aren't entirely without error, if this is what the invisible hand of the market lets happen" By the time we arrived at the Solaria Burgers he manages, I was curious about what the fare was like there, considering I hadn't set for in such an establishment in ages. As I wondered what a Rodeo Chicken Burger tastes like, I saw a blond, ponytailed young woman at the front of the line with her child, counting her bits and saying, "This can't be right. How could I be one bit short?" In that moment, a man with a dark quaffed mane and skin like cocoa came up from behind her and said, "Don't worry, ma'am, I got'chu." as he paid the remaining cost. It left quite an impression as we waited for our order, with him finally bringing a bucket of fries, a box of chicken nuggets, 3 gigantic cups of soda, and the Rodeo Chicken Burger I've heard so much about(which, naturally, is a fried chicken patty topped with copious onion rings and barbecue sauce). "I know it ain't exactly a Filet Mignon with Champagne and Caviar, but I hope y'all enjoy it"
"I'm sure it's quite tasty," said Lily,"but I feel uneasy about eating something that's put so many into dire health situations"
"Sign of the times. Back in medieval times, when food was harder to come by, plumpness was a status symbol. The easier food got to get, the more that shifted over to fitness and eating proper, since those show you got the time, money and smarts to care about your figure"
"Something not as plentiful to those of lower standing, I assume?" Schwarzwald nodded as he dipped a nugget into a small tub of Sweet and Sour sauce.
"As much as I stand behind the food we offer here, I've always thought that the best thing you can give someone is a meal made with your own two hands, not one you buy off of a menu, you know?" I nodded after taking a hefty bite of the burger he brought, washing it down with the mix of cola, lemon lime soda, fruit punch, lemonade and root beer I asked for beforehand(something I made all the time as a child when my family took me to Solaria Burgers after cello practice. A Soyokaze, I believe a friend called it).
"Is that why you started that Sparker?".
"Far from it, ma'am. Originally, I set it up to teach my son how to work his hustle-you know, give him a stepping stone to go on, so he can get those big things popping. Never did I think it'd grow to be as big as it has, with all that money, all that media attention and all them haters"
"Things that have grown quite overwhelming for him, based on the tone of our email correspondence" In the center of the tray, Schwarzwald pooled a glob of ketchup for the fries to be dipped in, doing so with the small bundle he snatched up.
"That's why when I recognized who was writing to me, I knew we would be in good hands with Miss LBX."
"I take it you're familiar with my work as part of the Cuddly Outlawz?" Asked Lily
"Through playing that kung fu game with my son, yeah. I didn't figure such a mealy-mouthed mofo would also be working to put computers in the reach of working class folks"
"As someone raised by working class folks, I know well what worlds a good computer can open to someone, and seek to do that for as many as I can"
"Including the fine folks of Detrot?"
"Certainly, if your son could do me that kindness" After our lunch, the three of us talked business while riding through the streets of Detrot, Schwarzwald calling his son and asking if he would like to use his money to start a branch of the Cuddly Outlawz's NPO in Detrot. Soon, he passed the phone to Lily, who heard the words "Oh my Celestia is this really LBX!?" screech through the speaker. Needless to say that Lily and her apparent fan worked out the details, agreeing to debut the new branch of the NPO with a BBQ any gamer would kill to have in their backyard, including an 5 on 5 exhibition match in The Flying Tigers, Lily heading one team, and her fan leading the other.
***
As I predicted, the media arrived en masse at the Net Cafe the event took place at, the parking lot full of people waiting for their helping of BBQ from the drum barrel smoker. While Lily and her motley crew were working the crowd over, Schwarzwald's son and I were practicing inside, getting in sync for the 5 on 5 while I got to better know my teammate. From what I remember between the stream of inquiries he had about Lily, the slender, olive skinned young man had a flowing chestnut mane and was a self employed computer tech learning the craft at a local community college, slowly discovering that he had no idea what to do with either his life or the 100k bits burning a hole in his account. After a practice match on the ski resort map(the one we settled on for the upcoming match), he started expressing uncertainty about his gains, asking, "Am I a bad person for getting all that money for just a chicken dinner, Ms Octavia?" over our private voice chat.
"That depends: Do you think earning your money in a quick and legal manner makes you bad?"
"No, but you could say the same about the banker dudes who screwed all those people out of their homes with bad loans, like what happened with my neighbor awhile back"
"People I assume wouldn't do anything like what you're doing right now with Lily. Yes, the bankers were in error for what they did, but you have the chance to do something better with your gains. If Lily didn't think you as capable of that, she wouldn't be out there with her teammates stepping to the plate for you"
"You mean the same teammates fixing to tan our hides on this map?"
"The same. Whether they do, however, rests on how you, I and the others come together to face a team of world class Esports athletes"
"Athletes? Yeah, they're pretty hax, but athletes? Really?"
"They've put in enough time to perform well at tourneys watched by millions and sponsored for thousands of bits in prizes, have they not?"
"I suppose, but they don't fit what most folks would call an athlete"
"Just as you don't fit the conventional mold of financial success, yet here you are on the verge of launching a local branch of an NPO thanks to your efforts promoting your Sparker-"
"And everything Miss Blossom has taught me about how to use my gains to do right by others. Gotta admit, though, part of me feels like I'm totally unprepared to take on that kind of responsibility, to have that many people depend on how well I do at my job"
"That, in my view, is the ultimate duty of those who gain great fortune: to bring joy not only themselves and those closer to them, but also to as many as their resources will allow. This aim is something I'm sure Lily thinks has gone forgotten among the upper class-and something I don't fault her for, after seeing how callous some of my contemporaries have been towards others."
"You mean like the guy who bought all the Apple Pies in my dad's restaurant so some little kid that pissed him off couldn't get any?"
"If not that, then something even crueler. For every one of them, however, there's one like you and Lily to seek to lend a hand to the downtrodden of our world, whether through giving them a hot meal to feed their stomachs or giving them computers so they can feed their minds. Now then, are you ready, Mister..."
"Blitzkrieg, or as my friends like to call me, Blitz. And no, I don't think I'm ready to face LBX and her team of ice cold killers. I'm damn sure gonna play like I am, though!" He was right to show uncertainty, because my research showed that with her AP Bullets, Thermal Vision and Sentry Turret boosters, she wasn't just a skilled shot, she was also a skilled shot that could strike her target down anywhere she wanted, at any time she wanted.
Sure enough, when the match started, she became the dead aim ghost her reputation made her out to be, never revealing her location until the kill cam showed how she planted one between my teammate's eyes. From my understanding, the AP Bullet booster tripled the cost of firing a weapon, meaning that every shot must find its mark to maximize its wall and armor penetrating power as hers did. My people were getting popped outside the cabin she holed up in, just as they were emerging from the underground caves, and from behind the cover of the resort town they spawned in from about half way across the map, the 15-22 deficit only staying that size thanks to the guerrilla tactics Blitzkrieg and his team practiced to lock down the rest of the Cuddly Outlawz. As the halfway mark in our match grew close, though, I knew that if nothing changed, this would be a stalemate, with Lily being the swing factor, so over our comms, I told them, "you guys handle the others. LBX is mine."
For this match, I chose to counter her setup with the Fleet Foot, Quick Reload and and Radar Jamming boosters, each of these theoretically working together to create an untraceable blur of bullets; the only thing to give me away was Lily's own knowledge of my tendencies, so, with my trusty shotgun in hand, I set off to take down their ace, and try to turn the tides. With the guidance of my team and knowledge of every vantage point a sniper could have on this map, I approached her position in the cabin, running between the snow dusted pines, heading upstairs, and anticipating a warm greeting from her turrets the second I got near that bedroom. My research told me the quickest counter to her measures was a well-placed grenade, so with my instincts guiding my aim, I rolled one into the room, and let the rest take its course. Seconds later, the message, "MissStrings&Things has fragged [Cddly0tl4wz]xxLBXxx" popped up on the screen, Lily offering a few words of praise before she said, "I guess I know who I need to be aiming for, eh, rich girl?"
From then on, it became a game of cat and mouse between us, each trying to outwit the other while our teammates were off ventilating each other with bullets and blades across that mountain resort, our audience growing thirstier for blood with each passing moment. Meanwhile, at the same time I was dodging sniper fire in the snowy field and getting skewered from behind in the caves, Blitzkrieg and crew went on a headshot frenzy, frequently catching the other side napping at choke points around the map, based on the loud exasperations I caught from their players. Slowly, did the kill tally even out as the round entered the dying minutes of our match, all of us letting the ammo fly in search of the winning edge. I can still remember the game announcer count down the seconds as Blitzkrieg and I marched through the forest, Blitzkrieg suddenly shouting, "2 o' clock hot!" prompting me to aim my shotgun right and above. Immediately in my sights was a rapidly descending Lily, her knife ready to be plunged to my chest as I deflected it, knocked her to the ground, and blasted her in the side of her head, making the score 51-50 right before the game ended.
***
"You played well under pressure, Mr. Blitzkrieg" said Lily, as all of us sat down with our plateful of BBQ to have a chat after our match. "As I would expect from someone I chose to manage this branch of the charity"
"Why, thank you, Ms. LBX. It was a pleasure to play against someone of your skill, and an honor to bring some shine to the Cuddly Outlawz. I'm curious, though. Why Detrot? Why me?"
"The city, while with its own unique charm and history, does not matter as much as the people that live in it. When I first caught wind of your story, you struck me as someone seeking to do right by others, but without any clue on how, an intention I've seen taken in devious directions far too many times to count. As your father knows, I came here because both of us seek to make our world a brighter place and to bring others a light to guide them through their darkness, and now I seek to do what I can do help you do the same" Speechless, he looked down at his plate of ribs, cole slaw and potato wedges, munching away at that succulent, tender rib meat. "I know you feel that what you're doing is like throwing a grain of sand into the ocean, but believe me when I say that what you're working with us to do means to the world to those we're helping, not to mention that you can connect with others at a depth I haven't seen in quite some time"
"Aw shucks, I was just talking to them like I'd talk to anyone lookin' for a good friend and a listening ear"
"And that's why I know you're the right person for this position. As someone who knows the value of kindness and generosity, I can't even begin to explain how valuable it is when someone is willing to speak with them, not at them, more so in their hour of need"
"Like your folks did for you?" Lily shot him a nod and her gentlest smile. "Then that's what I'll do for all the folks that need what you wanna do for them. No matter how small that kindness may seem, you can count on me to do right by them" From that day on, Lily has never ceased to use her resources to provide to those in need, and help them find a way to a better life through computers, as she got when her parents gave her that PC on her birthday. It brings me a sense of pride to know that I can help her accomplish this, and show her and the others that for all the evil money has and will bring into the world, it can also bring about a life-changing amount of good. Whenever I play the Flying Tigers, though, now I always check to see if she's in the same lobby. If she is and is on the other team, I can sure she will shoot me between the eyes at least 7 times before the match is done
As a DJ, one of the biggest parts in how I make jams is how I mix samples. Yeah, of course there’s the skills it takes to make it hot, but aside from that, there's also the legal beagle side of it to take care of, so that hot jam can make me the most money with the least legal headaches. If, for example, someone wanted to use a piece of your original cello work in what they make, you'd want in on the action, right? It's a natural part of using your creativity to pay the bills; because of that, folks doing what I do gotta make sure that every sample, no matter short it may be, gets the OK from the suits, that the folks who need to get paid get paid. You know what happens when they don't? The lawyers are let off their leash, and won't be afraid to take a big ol' bite outta your duckets, if not something worse.
There was one time a bud in the biz put out a tune with a real strong Near East vibe, one that made you wanna shake it like you were belly dancing(kinda like this one!). Part of that was because it used a sample from an old Bollywood movie he watched with his girl, which he didn't try to clear because he figured nobody would ever know where it came from. Trouble with that strategy is that if it blows up enough, it will eventually reach the demo that would recognize it, including those loaded enough to lawyer up and get their cut. Sure enough, soon after it got globally hot, the suits came calling, and eventually told him, "We won't sue you into the ground, but you can't make any money from this song anymore" This sorta stuff was something my dad brought up a ton when he talked about his job, exposing a ton about the business to me at a very early age. Shoot, when I was a kid, me and my pops-you know, the goatee'd muscle mountain with a dirty tan you call Mr. SwayBreeze, brought it it up when we were vacationing over in Las Pegasus. My mom partied it up on the strip while I went with my dad to both get a hands-on view of the wild world of drifting and learn more about what Intellectual Property law-you know, IP law!-means to artists.
***
My dad used to be stationed at an army base near Kakegawa, and one of his favorite things to do off base was catch a ride with a local pal to the mountain roads deep in the countryside; over there, tricked out autos pulled off the same high speed slides into the corners as the pros. Some call it Drifting, others Touge, and the best way to understand it is to be in the car while it's in that controlled near spinout, and it feels like you're floating above the road, above the ground, above everything (if you're interested, I can fill you in on it later on!). His love of it stayed with him when he and my mom moved to a little place in the red hook part of Manehattan, and he watched a copy of the first video on the stuff whenever the itch came calling. I watched with him a couple of times before the trip, and thought it looked super cool, so through the ol' puppy eyes treatment, I convinced him to take me along the next time he wanted to go drifting. Naturally, any parent would be sketchy on taking their kid along on something where one wrong move could lead to a violent tumbling of heavy metal down a mountainside, right? So of course I was strapped in tight as his friend's Devil Z screamed around the corners, the G-forces pancaking me into my seat. I swear, the faster that speed demon went, the more everything outside my window looked like a rusty pink blur, his icy blues set dead ahead as the sweat streamed down his face. It was only after we came to a stop that I was able to catch my breath, and soak in the sunset washing over the Joshua trees and rust colored rocks on the horizon, my dad tuning the radio to the local classic rock station as we cruised back to the strip.
I remember it putting on 'Runnin' Down a Dream' when I asked why that station was playing the same songs he played back home, leading to him eventually bringing up IP law. I was kinda curious and didn’t get it the first time he explained it, so over our vacation he showed me that it falls under four fields: Property, which says you own and control what happens to the stuff you make, Trademark, which does that for the stuff representing and publicizing it, Copyright, which protects stuff like the music we whip up off the top of the dome, and Trade Secrets, which does that for stuff like the 13 herbs and spices in that fried chicken joint's recipe. I wasn't sure what any of that meant to a musician, so as we got seated for a Speedwagon concert, he told me "All of that ensures that when Speedwagon makes a song, they can make money for their hard work, whether it's when someone buys their music, sees them live or gets their merch," like the shirts he bought for us after the concert. In those days, it seemed pretty cut and dry: if they ain't getting compensated when someone uses their stuff, it's taking. potential money from their pockets. 'Course back in those days, the worst that could happen was burned CDs being sold on the downlow, knockoff merch and scalped tickets, some of which my mom bought when we got back home from a dealer near our local Bodega. I didn’t think of it as much of an issue until I started getting into the DJ game, and the net became more of a thing at my house, bringing with it the first versions of Peer to Peer networks, what some folks call P2P.
***
P2P networks basically let every computer connected to one use it like we would use the library, making everything made available on it open to download and share with other folks connected. Convenient stuff, right? That's why when the tech to do this grew cheaper for Jane and Joe Blow, it grew more commonplace; shoot, when my dad saw my mom setting a P2P file manager up on her computer, he was one unhappy camper, asking her “So how many artists have you stolen from today?” after coming home from a rough day on the job (and yeah, he totally slept on the couch that night). The folks I spoke with about this were just as upset, with a lot my DJ friends saying how IP law is a bunch of suits trying to put their foot on the little guys' throat while they're making the stuff that lines their pockets. I know when I got to know my producer buddy, Neon Lights, he let on more and more how much IP laws pissed him off, more so when we were doing some mastering on my album in his studio one night, and he got a call from his label.
I don’t think you’ve seen it, yet, right? It’s a totally sick studio he rents out in the burbs. It’s got mixing equipment out the flank , big screens and video games for when we need to chill, a big ol’ comfy black couch, and all the other stuff you’d expect. I was getting my Classical Gas with the guitar in the recording booth when all of a sudden I hear him scream, “WHAT DO YOU MEAN THEY WON’T CLEAR THE SONG!? Are you telling me that this is because of a HALF BUCKING SECOND SAMPLE THAT’S SUPPOSED TO BE PUBLIC DOMAIN?” His shades were off, so I could see that furrowed brow closing in tight on his round ocean blues as he wound his arm up to chuck his smartphone. I caught his wrist right before he could and persuaded him to chill on the couch with me for some quality R&R. As we fired up co-op Gunstar Heroes on his sexy PC gaming rig, I asked him why he was so aggro about them not clearing the song. His first response? “Let me put it this way: You know the Happy Birthday song? The one that everyone sings at their birthday parties? The second they do, they’ve opened themselves to getting the legal dogs unleashed on them to get the money the suits think they’re owed.”
As we worked our way through the game, I learned about a lot of the messed up stuff the music industry do against its consumers, including how a mom living in a trailer home in the woods was sued by them for tens of thousands of dollars for making a bucking digital mix tape. I couldn’t wrap my head around how the people in charge of IP laws could condone this crap, so as we finished the last level, he said, "It makes them too much cash to not stand behind such a broken system. Who cares if it spits in the face of the people who wash their dishes, teach their kids and make the products that line their bucking pockets, right?" As we sat there at the mixing station tweaking the track I laid down, I saw his hands still shaking, though I couldn't tell if it was from the IP law thing or how much rage the last boss brought out (Maybe a bit of both? 'Cause that boss was pretty cheap, and I wasn't exactly screaming pleasantries by the time we beat him, either). It’s something he probably talked a ton about with his girl, too, because when I ran into in Little Kakegawa, she seemed to be way more knowledgeable on the issue than I was expecting.
Have you been there, yet? It’s totally awesome how they took a piece of Kakegawa, and put it right in the middle of Manehatten, with a 3 level mall, a store full of Japonican groceries, humongous places to buy anime, manga and a bunch of other stuff from Japonica, a really awesome arcade and bowling alley, and Japonican restaurants out the wazoo (as my mom likes to say, for some reason). I was lazing about in The Japonican Village Plaza, when the red and white lanterns hanging above lit up. The sun sank into the horizon while the sounds of soulful guitar strings filled the air, sounds that were more than a bit familiar; the closer I got, the more I recognized the raven-haired, bobcut little waif sitting on a circular planter ledge, the daisies and red maple tree behind her framing her performance. As she played in her pastel pink, kimono-lookin' top, I saw her charm a pretty deep crowd of folks wanting to see her play, that song I heard from her the first time we met echoing through the air while I waded my way through the crowd. At her feet was an open guitar case with a sign “Donations are greatly appreciated” propped above the stack of cash inside. Knowing how much she’s made as a musician, I was super puzzled why she would even do something like this, waiting until the crowd cleared to ask her why. Before I knew it, she was smiling at me, gesturing to the pile of cash and saying, “You see all this? This is how much people care about giving kids a chance to express themselves through music, to let their schools afford the instruments and training they need to express themselves the way they want to” before she started packing her stuff.
We were making our way towards the nearby Mrs. Pizza joint while she told me about the trips she makes to busk at that spot to both help support her charity and keep in touch with her roots as a performer. While we waited in line(one that extended out of the storefront, I might add), she asked, “Do you remember what it was like to spin for a crowd like I had? How people didn’t really know your name and in that moment could only tell who you were by how you chopped it up? How you were just hoping for someone to give you a chance to prove yourself and show your chops?”
“Totally. I still remember all the ‘No’s I got when I was just starting out, and even after my first gig at that wedding reception. All the clubs I contacted slammed the door in my face before I could even give them my bucking name! I imagine you went through a lot of the same stuff when you were starting out.”
“That I did. Naturally, I was still developing original material to put out for others to enjoy, so the best way I could show people what I was made was doing what you just saw me do: find a nice spot to settle in, and busk my backside off covering other artist’s material.”
“Do you think those artists would be cool with that?”
“Knowing the business like I do? Fat chance. I imagine lots of artists would be mad salty that others are getting their shine off of their hard work, but that’s just the natural cycle of improving at your craft; you imitate, then you improve, then you innovate, repeat as often as needed. Shoot, the work my boy does is founded on remixing and reimagining the works of others into a brand new whole, as is yours, isn't it?”
“Right. That’s why I’m still kind of shaky on the whole Intellectual Property thing. Part of me fears that one day I’ll make a super hot jam that’ll get shelved because some artist loaded with cash and lawyers will try and shut it down for using a ½ second clip from a song with copyright laws on it that I had no idea existed” By that time, we had gotten to the front, so before we headed to our table, she ordered something that she was always telling me try: the Potato Gold(a pizza with a sweet potato crust, mushrooms, ground beef, corn, onions, potato wedges, bacon, nacho chip flakes, and sour cream. Totally tasty, trust me). While we were waiting for our pie to cook, she looked across the table at me, chin resting on hand, and said, “My boy says you two talked a lot about how abusable this system is, like with companies popping out of nowhere to wring money out of wildly successful tech makers using patients they filed for decades ago, and that big pharmaceutical company arguing for plants being something you can have exclusive rights to.”
“We have, and I’m starting to think the whole thing is a pile of crap”
“I’m sure you realize, though, how much you, him, me and all us creative folks need that kind of system so we can make some amount of money off of our hard work, and make sure we can continue to for as long as we can. That in mind, there’s something I want to ask you: with all the developments in how music can be made and developed, why does that way have to be the only way? Why not go straight to Public Domain? Why not give Creator’s Common’s a try? Why not go a different route?” That way, while we stuffed our face on pizza, she filled me in on the different kinds of IP law creatives can apply to their work, ways that not only ensure that they get the shine they deserve, but ensures that people can also remix it and make it their own without having to worry about the suits coming for them. To use what she told me before I headed home, “What use is protecting what you create if it prevents a culture from growing, expanding and becoming something that helps the community grow?”
I still think my dad has a point about artists deserving to get their shine and get paid for what they do, and want to help create new ways for them to compensated, so they don’t get screwed like a lot of musicians from my dad’s day were when they signed with big labels, and got pennies from each dollar the label made off of them at best. At the same time, though, like Neon, I feel like the current IP laws are way to easy to abuse, like the time some rich blockheads actually tried to trademark the phrases, “You’re fired!” and “That’s hot” I mean seriously, what kind of jerkwad tries to trademark a phrase? If Rainbow Dash tried to do that, and asked me for cash every time I said “20 percent cooler,” I’d probably laugh and throw my drink in her face (knowing how she is, though, I'd probably throw my drink in her face, regardless). Honestly, though, as a DJ, one of the most important things I think a musician or any creative folks can have is to be able to remix, re-do and reinterpret the stuff they take in into what their imagination and experiences can whip up. After all, how can someone get better at something if they don’t have the elbow room to imitate, improve and innovate with what they know and what their creativity lets them create?
Recently, Takamine considered contributing to the music webzine by profiling people she's worked with in the industry, in order to help people understand who they are and hopefully entice them towards trying their music a go. If I remember correctly, she's contacted you about this, as well, and asked the two of us to be her guinea pigs in this rather personal style of interviewing (she even had me measured, for whatever, and helped me realize that I've been buying ill-fitting bras for years, oddly enough). She sent me the final draft of her interview with me, and I thought you'd like to give it a peek. I wonder if you'll find anything here that you didn't know before, perhaps something that will better inform the things you decide to do for me? At any rate, here it is for you peruse and digest however you will. Do be gentle, won't you?
Name: Octavia Melody Age: 25 Height: 124 cm Measurements: 29B-28-32 Weight: 61 kg Family and other Loved ones: Caesar (Father/CEO of Pristine Enterprises, a company focused on hotels serving different economic levels along with several side ventures), Reinmelodie (Mother/Art Dealer), Blanctorche (Family Butler) Occupation: Cellist and Cello Instructor Hometown: Trotshire, Wingland Tools of the Trade: Handcrafted Cello and Bow, Pen and stacks of blank music sheets Favorite Color: Purple Favorite Food: Chicken Tikka Masala Favorite Song: “Ocean Avenue” by Yellowcard Favorite Book: An Artist of the Floating World, by Ishiguro Favorite Show: Mr. Bean Dislikes: Belching in public, Earl Grey tea, Sauerkraut, high society parties, noisecore
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Q1: To kick things off, why don’t you tell me a bit about yourself, your profession, your hopes and dreams, and all that jazz?
Considering you already know my favorite food, color and so on, the only thing yet to be broached is my time being a cellist, the passion I acquired after hearing Coilsfield House as a young lass. The strength and grace that echoed through each time the bow drew across those strings filled me with awe, a feeling I badly wanted to recreate, and lead to me picking up the instrument, along with the Violin a little bit later in life. As I got older and got to see others perform with these instruments on stage, something deep inside yearned to be up there and soak in the kind of adoration those performers got, to have people recognize my performance with the same kind of enthusiasm and positivity
Q2: As a performer myself, I totally know the feeling. Having all those eyes on you as you do your thing just gives you that special kind of rush as you try to keep it together and not faceplant too badly. May I ask what drove you to pursue your chosen passion in the face of all the training, all the stumbles and all the other struggles you faced?
To be brief, it felt fun, it felt natural, and as I think we've discussed before, it felt like I finally had a way to give voice to everything I held deep inside, but didn't yet have the clarity of thought and spirit to put into words. That much manifested the day I heard the family butler, Blanctorche, play that tune in our arts and recreation room and I asked if he could teach me how to play it. I'm sure I sounded terrible on my first go, but his kindness, patience and willingness to demonstrate proper technique fed my curiosity, leading to a proper instructor to come by and help me develop what came to be a latent talent for the instrument-even if his approach was far stricter than Blanctorche's.
In those days, nothing else took precedence over honing my skills with my musical instruments. Not studying any more than I had to, not being particularly close friends with other children within my place in society, not trying to get closer to a mother or father I barely saw either on my way out to school in the morning or on the way home from my extracurricular activities, none of it mattered more than my practice of those instruments and learning to make the music my heart wanted to convey. The only person who could show me otherwise was someone who had the same kind of passion I had, a passion I sensed the first time I met Vinyl as ten-year-olds.
Q3: Speaking of, Octy, I gotta know: You and Vinyl. Why-and more importantly how does that work? Because even after reading about how you two met up, it still doesn’t make any sense
On its face, our relationship does seem rather strange, doesn’t it? To be perfectly honest, when we first met, I didn’t know what make of her, as the only thing I knew about her was from her grammar error-ridden correspondence. Upon seeing her, however, I felt a strong sense of boldness emanating from her, a sense that she had no airs to put out and absolutely nothing to hide. I did think she was rather crude in her manner, but as I got to know her, that became part of her charm.
To be honest, I never thought about the hows and whys that deeply, considering how much each of us bonded to each other the more we got to know each other. Upon further reflection, however, one of the more remarkable things I saw in her came about when my status came up, in relation to where she and I lived, one evening on the park swings. After I told her about the mansion and such, I was fully expecting her to be critically envious and speak on the injustice of it all. What happened, though, was that she simply smiled and said, “Cool. Maybe you can invite me over for dinner one night so I can enjoy some Filet Mignon topped with Black Caviar?”
Q4: Wait, seriously? I would hope that you treated her to that, because that sounds absolutely amazing. All that aside, though, what did the fact that she gave nary a crap you being rich do to the kind of relationship you had?
It let me know that she first and foremost, she saw me for who I was, not for who I was connected to. As you well know, when you spend time among the upper class, their initial focus is on who you know and what they offer if befriended. That much was the world I knew from the day I was born, and before I met Vinyl, I didn't know that anything different was out there. Beyond my social circle were people I knew of only as a concept, as a bogeyman others I knew used to keep my peers in line, so when I learned that Vinyl came from a highly humble background, it came as quite a shock.
Before we met, I held the notion that people of the lower echelons of society were uncouth, unrefined and unscrupulous in their manner, willing to use each other like crabs to pull themselves up while pulling others down. In retrospect, they were rather unenlightened views, but those are the views my acquaintances expressed based on what they heard from others’ experiences. She was and to this day is rather uncouth and unrefined, but the day she spoke of her former life in the Red Hook section of Manehatten, the contrast between when the stories I heard of the area and her utmost honesty and strict adherence to her morality left me floored. How could that environment produce someone so committed to doing right by others?
Q5: It’s almost like people who live in the ghetto are sentient beings capable of their own thoughts and feelings, and choosing what they want to become! But seriously, though, I notice you keep coming back to these people in your social circle as part of who shaped your views as a kid. Can I ask what your life with them was and is like?
Certainly. As a child, my parents often spoke about the struggles each of their families faced trying to adapt to life in a country foreign to what they were used, of how that humility helped them realize what was important in life, and gave them a sense of focus and appreciation. They wanted me to work for the things I desired, in order to realize both how precious they truly were, and I had the strength of character, skill and so on top earn them on my own merits. Very lovely sentiments the first few times I heard them, but since I knew them only as tales and not as any one person’s immediate reality, it was difficult for me to empathize at any meaningful level, as was the case for many of my classmates, who found great joy in belittling those in less extravagant garb. At first, I didn’t see why my mother was angry with me for finding amusement in their acts, especially since they expressed less than charitable views on the poor, themselves, such as the time we got lost on the way back home one night, and our car broke down in the middle of the Red Hook district, the both of them wondering if we were going to be robbed or shot the entire time we were waiting for a tow truck.
Q6: I can respect that. When I was getting ready to move to Manehatten, the strongest images I had in my mind were of people getting shot, robbed and all sorts of crazy crap my folks back home believe about this country. How did meeting Vinyl change all that?
For one, I was able to put a face to everything I've heard about those outside my particular place in society and realize how complex and intricate their lives really were. I never realized how much pressure they were under to keep up with their dues, make a better life for their families and themselves, nor was I aware how much they struggled to get by in a land that supposedly has plenty to offer its citizens and is part of the 1st world. Likewise, for how foreign the world she came from seemed to be, Vinyl, herself, felt like someone I've known all my life, like the warm, boisterous people my parents spoke of where they came from
Q7: Sounds to me like she let you see beyond your little bubble, there, Octi, a tough thing for anyone of us to do. How did learning all that change your view of the world?
It brought to light the concept of sweat equity, in this case referring to the notion that anything I attained through training, trial and error and putting in the needed time to reach that goal became that much more valuable, things both Blanctorche and my Cello instructor worked on instilling into me, but only became crystal clear the more Vinyl and I spoke of our lives at home. Knowing how much her family had to scrounge and scrape to get by helped me see how much I had at my disposal, her infectious positivity and unrelenting spirit pushing me to become the best I could be in everything I could do, no matter how difficult it seemed to be. Admittedly, that's lead me to bite off more than I could chew on more than one occasion, but knowing how far I've come thanks to it, it's proven to be more than worthwhile.
Q8: When you say how far you've come, just what do you mean by that?
When I started playing the Cello, I only wanted to play for the sake of playing it, and in my early days, my instructor, Yeol-Hyeol, was not very happy with me, even as I improved in my technique and range and became one of his brightest students by his very proclamations! Utterly confusing, that harsh critique paired with those observations. After I realized what Vinyl and her family went through, Yeol-Hyeol did something I never saw do in all the months I was under his tutelage: a smile, however small it was, in response to my more fervent and and focused manner of practice.
In response, I learned techniques, musical stylings and so on from him I never even knew existed, with him demanding me to implement them in as many ways possible. By the time my school's talent show came around, he felt I had the proper training to knock people out of their socks, a sentiment that proved more than accurate when, by the end of my session, people were getting out of their seats to applaud me. A bit embarrassing, but considering it was one of the few events my parents could find the time to attend, that first recital did and still does mean the world to me.
Q9: I was the same way during my time performing in coffeehouses, and I saw my boy sipping a cuppa while he was watching me do my thing. What did your experience do for you?
That experience drove to try out for the school orchestra when I hit middle school, and then again when I hit high school, in order to fuel my drive to improve at my craft alongside fellow musicians while striving for the same excellence in my studies, however strenuous that came to be. Because of all that, I was more than qualified to enroll in what my instructor and others consider the most stringent music program in the country, the one offered by the Baltimare Institute for the Arts. The challenge along with the rewards were exceptional, and the exhilaration of performing before my peers and teachers still feels fresh in my mind, as does their applause during the school's final showcase by the graduating class. I must admit, though that after graduation, finding a place to showcase my skills was like finding the pearl cast before the swines, and was about as humbling during my search for employ.
Working reception at one of my father’s hotels under another name, teaching cello as my instructor had, being part of a classical music troupe for hire playing at weddings and socialite parties, whatever I had to do to make ends meet and let me pursue my craft and my passion. At some points, I actually considered giving it up as a profession because of how fruitless it all seemed, as well as how little results my networking in the industry initially turned up, constantly wondering when my phone would ring and be one of my contacts, and not a friend inviting out for a drink.
When I started getting solo shows or as part of the ensemble for other musicians, I noticed that aside from Blanctorche, no one I considered a friend or family showed up in the audience, leading me to either dragging myself into bed as tears stained my pillow, or becoming the angriest drunk at the nearest bar that night. The road to being a professional cellist has been-and continues to be a long, winding road full of heartache and moments of minor and major metanoia, but those are another matter deserving far more time on another day.
Q10: Metanoia? That’s the moment when you realize that everything you know is crap, right? Yeah, I’ve had lots of those in my life, more so after I moved from Japonica to here. If it’s not too much, can I ask about a major moment of Metanoia you had?.
Befriending Vinyl no doubt represents a continued point of Metanoia the more I get to know her, and see the world through her eyes, her struggles, her experiences. Personally, though, I think a particularly significant point of Metanoia was one you were there for, when I had enough of Vinyl’s demonstrated disregard for my musical ventures, and chose, rather violently, to end our friendship. The longer I was apart from her for that fact, the more I realized that for all the perspective I’ve gained about the world, I was still viewing things through how they affected me and not how my acts affected others, that I was willing to throw away everything I had with Vinyl because of those personal slights
It took months of time away to even start finding the culpability I held towards what happened in the park that night, with Blanctorche there to offer a guiding hand, and the wisdom that his years have imparted onto him. The moment I saw her in the club, a storm of emotions raged within me, a storm I couldn’t let her see because there was a show to put on, and no time to spend reduced to a blubbering mess. There’s plenty of time for that after you’ve done your duty on stage and given people what they’ve paid hard earned money to see, something I was determined to give the people at that club that night. It wasn’t until the next morning, when the rush wore off, that there only me and the storm in my heart to manage, waking up on Vinyl’s couch, going into her room to finally confront her and attain the closure I yearned her all those months, yet only being brave enough to sit with my back to her on the edge of her bed as I meditated on how much of a pillock I was towards her, soon weeping from how much repent I wanted to express towards her and how forgiving she was towards me despite everything.
After that day, the friendship we shared was reborn as something deeper, something more substantial, something stronger than either of us thought possible. For both of us, it became something that’s lasted the wear and tear a decade of growth can bring, and for me, it started a journey I should have begun years ago: the journey towards understanding friendship and understanding what it means to forgive. As you said to her, if I seek to live in a world of friendship and forgiveness, then I must live in it, starting with learning to forgive. Forgiving my parents for not having the time to be there for me when I was growing up and becoming my own person, forgiving all those who I feel wrong me for their transgressions, and most importantly, forgiving myself for holding such ire towards both them and myself. I know without doubt that as I continue this journey, then perhaps someday, I will learn to let go of these negative emotions and lead that much richer of a life, becoming that much better of a person as a result. I know there will be times where I falter at these things, but it’s better to falter at them than to succeed at never trying. That, I’m sure, is a better way to live
Man, when I agreed to this interview thing, I thought she would just sling a few softballs at me while we enjoyed some bubble tea at the local donut shop. Just a chat between friends, you know? Did not count on her she was get as personal as she did, nor that I would feel up to committing all those intimate moments to the page. When she sent me the final copy, I was blown away at the things I shared with her, but part of me feels like the best thing for me is for others to see this side of me, no matter if it seems like a not so good look to do it. Maybe I'll send this to my folks later on, so they can better understand their little girl, something we often butted heads about as I got older. Before all that, though, take a look and tell me what you think, yeah? Name: Vinyl Scratch Age: 25 Height: 5'7 Measurements: 32C-28-34 Weight: 110 lbs Family and other Loved ones: SwayBreeze (Father/morning DJ for 92.4 The Sound, a local radio station specializing in classic rock), Hanafubuki, AKA Jushin Thunder(Mother/retired pro wrestler and successful restaurateur) Occupation: DJ specializing in EDM and Hip Hop Hometown: Manehattan, United States of Equestria Tools of the Trade: Schwartzvald over-ear Headphones, KUROI Drum Machine, Ponisonic Mixing Board + Record Player x 2, various computer programs, instruments and specialized tools Favorite Color: Blue Favorite Food: Tonkatsu (fried pork cutlet) over chicken bouillon infused rice Favorite Song: “SONICTEMPLE” by YKZ Favorite Book: The Simarillion, by J.R.R. Tolkien Favorite Show: Fist of the North Star Dislikes: Natto, chitterlings, raw veggies, contemporary rap, Sunday driving, Beni Shouga and 'fake' people
***
Q1: To kick things off, why don’t you tell me a bit about yourself, your profession, your hopes and dreams, and all that jazz?
Considering how much you got on me already, I'm not sure there's much else to tell. You know that being a DJ is my primary hustle, and I'm sure your boy told you plenty on what I'm about from all the time you two spend together. It's a trip, though, that I've gotten this far with what I'm doing and that the thing I loved to do as a kid would be the same thing that pays my bills. Damn sure didn't think that was happening when I was spinning parties for kids like me and getting paid near Jack Squat after expenses. Man, I remember when a local Japonican culture fair hired me to do what was essentially background music work with a few scratches thrown in, making sure the sound levels were perfect for all 8 of their acts. Not a bad gig overall, but that pop punk band's singer had a voice so pitchy, it felt like sticking needles in your ears, a voice I could even hear piercing through my cans. Couldn't wait to get paid after that thing was over and just about everyone went home. Grand total in my pocket after bills, though? Bucking nothing.
Q2: I feel you on the paycheck thing. Paying for the equipment, transport, venue fees and all that eats into a lot of your paycheck, and if you aren't tough enough, you might think it better to just quit. May I ask what drove you to pursue your chosen passion in the face of all the bills, all the stumbles and all the other struggles you faced?
When I was still in the struggle, my folks gave me a lot of love, especially in the early days of my DJing. My dad did plenty to teach me about the business and craft side of things, while my mom gave lots of motivation and discipline whenever she felt I was slacking, mostly in the form of push-ups, running laps, jumping jacks and a bunch of other workouts. Apparently that hard edge mentality she grew up with stuck around when she moved here, because the instant she sensed a hint of it, that woman put me through the ringer, even when I was doing good. Pretty much knew, though, that she was only hard on me because she knew was I could do, and didn't want me to fall short because I threw it all away on something stupid. Been that way ever since we lived in Red Hook, also known as one of the worst neighborhoods in the nation for all the drug hustling, gangbanging and who knows what else happening right outside your door.
Q3: But if I'm not mistaken, your mom runs a pretty popular chain of Japonican restaurants and your dad is making a pretty penny spinning those old school jams. Why would people like that choose to live in Red Hook?
The short version is because around when I was born, they were still deep in that struggle, my dad trying to get his foot in the door at the local radio stations, and my mom using whatever she saved away from her wrestling days to get her first Teppan-yaki restaurant off the ground. Barely making enough to make ends meet, having to apply for govt aid, standing in line at the food banks, whatever they had to do just to get by, from what I learned. Shoot, there was one time my dad just up and cried from not knowing how he was gonna provide for the family.
At the time, I didn't realize why he was so shook, but with all I've learned about things, I have much respect for the kind of pressure my folks felt on them to give someone they care for a better future, no matter how much they had to sacrifice to do it. That much became clear when I was 10, after my mom's restaurant found solid success, my dad started working his way up with the radio DJ ladder, and we moved right out of Red Hook and into a real nice condo in Bucklyn. It was on one of my first bike rides through the area where I found Tavi's iPepper player, which eventually to me meeting Tavi in the flesh.
Q4: Speaking of, I was reading through the entries detailing all that, but even now something about it don't add up. No disrespect, but what about returning something someone lost would make them want to be friends with that person?
Don't even trip, man. When she asked me that, I wondered the exact same thing. What on the world would a rich kid like her see in someone as distinctly ghetto as me? At first, I thought she just liked me for my swag-and really, who wouldn't? From my understanding, though, it was the first time a stranger both showed her that kind of unconditional kindness and went that far to do her a solid. That much, combined with it being a gift from her pops and the fact that she really seemed to dig what I told her before we met left a deep impression, therefore, apparently, friendship. Kinda glad she stuck around, though, because when we became friends, she showed me things I never thought I'd see and help me learn things I never thought I would.
Q5: What, like that not all rich people think their shit don't stink?
Exactly! My folks both come from hard-working, get what you give kinda backgrounds, so I grew up thinking that people who had things served to them on a silver platter and didn't have to worry about a damn thing were basically the worst humanity had to offer. Seeing some of these same folks act like total pricks both on TV and in real life only affirmed those notions. Shoot, when we went clothes shopping in the new 'hood, one of the first things we saw was some punk ass kid full on chewing out her mom in front of everyone because the tube top she bought for her was the wrong shade of pink, or something. My mom was shaking the more she kept herself from marching on over there and getting in that kid's face about the nonsense she was putting her mom through, gritting her teeth, clenching her fist and shooting the kid the meanest look she could summon
Q6: It can be tough sticking to proper manners sometimes, especially when things get that heated. In comparison, how was Octavia when you got to know her?
If memory serves, she was super formal and mega mousey the first few weeks we were friends, prefacing her suggestions with, "If it's alright with you," and taking the greatest care she had not piss me off. Kinda funny the first few times we met, but I felt bad that she was walking on eggshells trying to be all prim and proper and junk, so one day while I was showing her a local burger joint, I told her straight up, "You don't always gotta act fancy with me, Tavi. We friends, ain't we? That means we can relax around each other, take things easy and keep it one hundred, you dig?" Not 15 seconds later, she let out a thunderous belch, which of course I had to answer with my own. Can't let that sorta thing go unchecked, you know?
Q7: No doubt. I take it this means she started loosening up and showing you things you never thought you'd see?
Totally does, and let me tell you, the more she learned to let loose, the more capable she got at getting down. There was this one house party we went to where she was getting ripped on that spiked cherry punch, each one bringing out a little more of what she calls her Cockney side. On my mama, I saw Tavi get up in the face of some girl and say, "Ye 'avin' a giggle there, mate? I'll bash ye fookin' 'ead in, swear on me mum." after she heard her talking trash with her friends like she wouldn't hear it. Totally had to get between them to stop Tavi from doing anything stupid, which earned me a slap in the mouth from the other girl. At that point, I was on my last shred of patience trying to calm them down, so I immediately slap chopped her across her chest and gritted out, "I don't want no trouble, so unless you and your little girlfriends do, I suggest that you and your little girlfriends get to steppin', alright? Do not make me repeat myself, because if you do, I guaran-bucking-tee you won't like it"as she was clutching her girls and crumpling to the ground. I got kind of a mean ol' bitch rep at school but didn't and still don't care. My focus was on getting Tavi out of there safe and into a place where she could sleep it off, and that makes me a mean ol' bitch, I'll be the meanest bitch I gotta be.
Q8: I imagine her folks weren't too happy with their little girl getting smashed on your watch. Did you have any rough patches with them?
You would think so, considering they come from a place known for looking none too kindly towards ghetto folks, but for the most part, they were pretty chill about me and Tavi being friends. It probably helped that I learned how to act right before the first time I met them, but as time passed, they totally warmed up to what I was about, eventually treating me like I was her sister from how often I had her back in tough spots like what happened at the party.
In fact, when they met up with my folks at my mom's first restaurant they were super impressed with both the work ethic she had and how tasty the Kara'age, beef bowl and other food served up was, offering to help her expand her business in return for a chunk of ownership. From there, things really picked up and she took her kind of cooking to major cities on both coasts, even offering me ownership of the food trucks serving our grub in Manehattan, and a hole in the wall Izakaya she set up near our old home in Red Hook. Not bad for someone whose first job was serving it up in her first restaurant, right?
Q9: Totally. I hope this means you'll be treating me to a meal there sometime soon. On a somewhat related topic, did that split you and Tavi have any affect your mom's business any?
Naw, the whole time we called it quits, our families get along great, to the point they were trying to get us to reconcile the first couple months. There was so much bad blood between us, though, that we were the only 2 not to go any get togethers or parties they threw, including B-day bashes and the holidays. Really strange not to see her those days, but what can you do? Both of us were being total buttheads, and thought each had to apologize to the other for their buck ups before anything could happen, even if that year was the absolute worst year in my life because of it. You were there for a lot of it, so you know how much of a wreck I grew to be as time dragged on
Q10: Indeed. Now that you've gone through all that with her, what kind of relationship would you say you two have?
At this point? Tough to say, considering how tight we are. Can't say we're lovers or any of that, but we definitely ain't just friends, especially after we decided it wasn't worth it to throw away what we had and slowly but surely patched things up. Whole lotta pain to work through, but each time we faced the issues that drove us apart, I could feel us growing more open to each other, more willing to exposing our worst, most vulnerable side to each other, so our friendship could become that much stronger. I remember whenever I felt down, I didn't want to hit the hard stuff to take the edge off. Growing up in Red Hook showed me plenty on what that stuff can do to mess someone up, so instead of that, I became a thrill junkie, taking up drifting, skydiving, rock climbing, and whatever else looked like super dangerous fun. It was the most fun I had in ages, but without her there, it just didn't feel complete, you know? Pretty sure that every time we met, you saw that better than anyone, and knew the kind of emotional nightmare I was trying to and eventually ran outta steam to outrun.
The night before you sent me that message, I was an angry, blubbering mess of emotions, and if hadn't got your message when I did, I probably would've done something really bucking stupid. Didn't matter if it was raining cats and dogs, I wanted to get out of the place and try to forget, the keys to my Hachi-Roku glimmering under the light above the kitchen table. That night, when I don't think anyone could see squat through the rain and the stormclouds, I looked over at that picture of Tavi in my workplace and said, "I'm sorry for being such an insensitive prick to you all these years. You deserve better than that...than me," sitting at my computer and writing out everything I wanted to say to her, but never had the guts to. It was only when I let her completely go did I feel like I could show her those raw, unfiltered emotions, which, after we started to reconcile, I did bit by bit. Now we're on the other side of all that junk, I have no doubts about her being the best friend I've ever had, and want to whatever I gotta do to be the best friend to her that I can possibly be
Sometimes I wonder just how much of a double-edged sword technology’s advancement is. As you know, the past few weeks have been quite an experience for me. How much, you might be wondering? To clarify what I’ve gone through, let me show you a few of the messages I’ve gotten over that time:
“If gamer is a race, then it’s time for another ethnic cleansing” @MovieBuff on Whinny
“i hope you die of cancer” @m1ra
“People like you should be bludgeoned to death with a book of logical fallacies” @FlameBomb343
“I WILL RAPE U AND CUM IN UR UGLY FACE” @shino9890
“OK, Miss Octavia, who graduated from Excelsior High and lives at (my home address), I’m gonna come over there tonight and stab you in the neck with my kitchen knife. Congratulations on standing on the wrong side of history, you stupid whore”
By the way, that last one? A phone call out of a series of them from a number I’ve never seen in my life. How mental does someone have to be to want to murder someone they’ve never seen before? I was so shaken by that I called my father to discuss the matter, which prompted him, likely with great fury in his heart, to contact his people to find out who made that call. Not a day later I learned that the person who made such a grave threat against me was but a 16-year old child, one I met with in person during the weekend. She looked so timid in her Black Flag t-shirt while we were having tea time together, looking up at me from across the table and asking, “D-do you hate me?”
“I’m not exactly pleased with your actions, but we are only human, and thus susceptible to folly. I am curious, though as to why you made such a violent threat towards someone you’ve never seen before.”
“I just wanted to be a good feminist. Some friends online told me if I wanted that, then I should doing my part to get people away that nasty GamerStorm crowd, no matter what I had to do” She sobbed ever softly as I told her about what that really meant, about the error in using intimidation to push someone towards a certain perspective, all the while being reminded of just how vicious GamerStorm had made those involved. You’re probably wondering what that is, based on how confused you were that night at the bar when those two women got heated about the topic and bickered to the point of that rather messy incident taking place. To help you understand, allow me to take you back to the first time I met one of the women you saw at the bar that night before I even knew any of this was going on.
***
Months ago, a colleague invited me out to CBGB, a live music drinking hole with quite the history among the punk scene, according to what he told me. Scratchy graffiti lined the walls when we got past the front door, playbills from music giants past scattered about. The energy in the air was something I never felt before and based on how fetching my male companion was in those skin hugging jeans and that button up shirt that gave the slightest of peaks at this chiseled chest, I was expecting to have a bit of fun before the night was over. What ended up happening, though, was that we talked shop for a bit before he got called off to meet with a client, leaving me to nurse my pale ale at the bar and think about which vibrosword I wanted to use that night
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a wide young woman with a purple bowl cut looking at both her smartphone and laptop, mumbling something about a real-time hack of her Whinny account with a gaggle of male friends, including a balding blonde-and rather disheveled looking older gentleman taking a selfie with her. They were getting ready to go when she said, as best as I can recall, “That guy is such a douche”. At the time, I didn’t make much of the instance, with my most distinctive memory being the hideous pimple below her right eye. Accordingly, it remained impertinent until months later, when I went to go visit Lily at the Cuddly Outlawz’s computer shop and happened upon her colleagues in a heated dialogue. “Ethics!” and “Harassment!” were the two ideas yelled down the hall as I made my way to their meeting room, opening the room to see Lily, dressed in her stonewashed jeans, white button up and with her auburn hair in a bun, trying to diffuse the mood.
“Look, girls, I understand how much GamerStorm has struck a chord with you all, but please be civil about this. This kind of verbal attacking will do nothing to help each other find a peaceful middle ground.”
"GamerStorm?" I asked. "Is that a tournament your team is entering?"
"I wish. Let me get things in order here first, then I'll tell you about it in the car" On the way to our favorite little hole in the wall burger joint she explained the origins of what she refers to as a consumer revolt, mentioning that a female indie developer named Suspira had an intimate relationship with a video game journalist covering both her scene and the game she was working on, doing so behind the back of her then boyfriend. No one even knew this was going on until said boyfriend wrote about the affair on a personal blog called, "The Suspira Incident" and drew the attention of the gaming public, some of whom started asking questions and found their questions being censored and deleted en masses across various forums. I’m grateful that Lily sent me supplemental materials to help further my understanding of the issue, especially after seeing that among them was a photo of Suspira with her beloved, the very same photo I saw them snap at CBGB, the subjects whom I recognized as the children of a couple of my father’s friends, one a real estate tycoon and the other one of the richest military contractors in the country. This made me very curious about what would be revealed in the interviews I learned a Mr. Blackman was doing with figures from each side of the revolt, more so considering how convinced each side was they were on the right side of history
***
During those interviews, I witnessed a transgendered game developer and a quiz show whiz express how convinced they were that GamerStorm was nothing more than an orchestrated harassment campaign, while a gaming commentator exposed how much of the harassment came not just from both sides, but even at him for daring to be neutral, the same befalling a charity whose representative came on to talk about how opposition sympathisers tried to cripple their efforts to get women into gaming, the strongest support coming from this so called orchestrated harassment campaign-who, from my understanding, actually saved the charity’s effort and brought it just over their original $70000 goal. Meanwhile, on the support side, female gamers, adult film stars, reporters and the wheelchair-bound owner of an imageboard all came on to show what GamerStorm was supposedly fighting for, including having a place for discussion to take place without fear of censorship from above. Their testimonies paired with my research revealed an intricate, tangled picture of what this incident encapsulated, with a common link being allegations about female harassment in gaming leveled by a ponytailed young culture critic called Amita.
From what my research said about her, she seems to think herself some sort of powder keg ready to blow hole in traditionalist logic and create a better world for women in gaming, making a hefty sum from her donation drives and speaking appearances, one of which happened to be at my alma mater. I set some time to hear her speak to the capacity crowd and was fortunate enough to catch her after she got off stage to ask if she’d like to have lunch with me to discuss these matters in more depth. After I brought up my own online harassment experiences working with the Cuddly Outlawz, she smiled at me and said, “You seem to have a good understanding of why we need to combat this narrative. How about you, me and my boyfriend meet up at the vegetarian curry place by the pier? I have one more engagement to get to later on, so does next week sound good to you?” With that, I was left to wait a week to hear from her, doing the daily grind while capping each day off with a trip to Urth Caffe, an excellent place for a cuppa and snackies, and roaming about the internet on my laptop. I remember playing a Tetris game, when over my shoulder I heard someone say, “A puzzle game? Those things are for filthy casuals”
“Are they?” I answered, eyes still fixed on the screen. “Then perhaps you would like to prove how casual I am at this? Miss…”
“Vivi. It’s only right you know the nameof the person who’s about to lay a whupping on you. Now shove over and let me plug in my controller” From the belly pocket of her purple and green striped hoodie, I saw the fair-skinned, flame-maned young woman produce a black and white Xbox One controller, prompting me to say, “Interesting that you’d take a console controller into a coffee shop to play someone on a personal computer” while I booted up Steam to get to the Tetris game Lily gifted me last year(quite fun, by the way!)
“You caught me on the way back from a Street Fighter hangout I had with some of my buddies. Hopefully you aren’t as pathetic at the vidya as they are” The on-screen countdown tensed me as it down, licking my lips as it went “3, 2, 1. GO!” Glancing at my opponent's side revealed the traditional Tetris blitz, stacking them high enough at her blistering pace for multiple strikes. Sure enough, 15 seconds into the 2 minute match, she caught me with a knockout while I worked on my own combo focused setup. Thankfully, though, battling Lily taught me enough about T-spins, J-spins and other sorted spins and kicks to catch her with a few 1-2 body blows and even the count. Have to admit, though, that match had my muscles strung tighter than my cello strings, sweat on my palms as the garbage lines flew and we traded one KO after another after another. Before I knew it, we were each one KO away from victory with under 30 seconds on the clock and a mess of a playing field to navigate. With a T piece on deck, I spun my way into a double, then spun and kicked my way into a 2 combo, then 3, then 4, then 5 until suddenly, the game was over, and Vivi was standing over me, brow thoroughly furrowed as she unplugged her controller. After a moment, a smirk crossed her face as she offer her hand for a friendly shake.
"Not bad at all. Didn't think I'd ever have to get good at a puzzle game."
"'The rabbit hole can only go as deep as you're willing to,' as my mother once said."
"Seems like your mama taught you well" she said as she wrapped up her controller. "Well, guess I'll-wait a sec. Is that a GamerStorm tab?" I nodded, knowing she was likely referring to the open Meme-Pedia page on the topic. "How did you learn about it?"
"Through a gamer friend of mine. Yourself?"
"Just hanging out around the video game forum on Yotsuba Channel. If you like, we can talk about it back at my place. From what I've seen of you, you seem pretty legit, and junk"
"Certainly. Let me call my butler, so he can drive us there as soon as possible. That is, if that's alright with you, Ms. Vivi" Truly, does watching someone take their first ride in a Rolls Royce never fail to entertain. The way she melted into the plush, heated leather seats while she watched Ultraman 7 on the headrest TVs and scarfed down the Heavenly Mousse chocolate truffles my butler always brings for me to snack on. It was a pleasant chaser to the trip to her apartment, a trip that revealed just how deep the GamerStorm rabbit hole went.
By the time we planted ourselves on her somewhat shabby, yet quite plush feeling couch, I had shared with her what I gleaned from Lily's materials and the interviews, Vivi firing up her PC as she said, "That's about the gist of it, yeah. Now if I may, let me give you the full course Red Pill meal (Red Pill, of course, referring to the scene from that hacker movie where taking the other pill let the hero continue their blissful ignorance, the red pill revealing that ugly world for what it was and letting them break free of its grip)." The first thing on the tele was a piece on You.tv built around the Digital Entertainment Research Institute, otherwise known as DERI by the narrator, Sarru-kinu. To quote his intro "For the next few minutes, I will erase all doubts on how they’re using taxpayer's funds to research how to influence education and move media towards a more 'inclusive' direction, including how these loons want to replace traditional peer review methods with those that want people to listen and believe"-methods, which, as Vivi pointed out, lead to the publishing of a paper the author pulled out of his backside and peppered with intellectual sounding jargon to prove how brain dead such a process would be. After it ended, I was a bit confused at what this had to do with GamerStorm, which she clarified by pointing out the people a part of DERI, people also a part of the indie gaming community and whose studies were cited by those professionally involved in the gaming industry, some of who have wrote articles with titles like "Gamers are Dead," and published them in waves mere hours apart from each other. Out loud, I thought, "Could such things be a mere collective reflection on what these writers hold true or is there something more to this?" With a smirk, Vivi handed me a Wavebird and said, "While you're digesting your red pill, let's get some Project M going. Been wanting to give the new update a spin, and now's the perfect time to see if they took the Nerf bat to my main" As expected, she was quite merciless in how she played me, likely respecting what she thinks I'm capable of after our match in the cafe and pounding me like a 2 bit steak. Afterwards, however, she was quite open to discussing GamerStorm with me in our online chats, sharing plentiful information from both ShotakuInAction and Mugen-Chan, the imageboard that I first heard of in the interviews, itself heavily tied into what fuels the revolt. Truth be told, I've never been to a place like that before, and my first impressions of the communities were those of great hostility, especially Mugen-chan. It certainly was the first time I heard such vile language thrown around so casually, what, with the user base telling others to kill themselves and calling each other Unbearable Faggots, on top of some of the more extreme rhetoric I've seen used to describe their opponents. Lily taught me much about the unique nature of such places as well as how one must sit and listen to understand proper conduct, but I couldn't shake the feeling that there was something about it I didn't quite grasp. Why would they have such adverse reactions to what they perceive as censorship and bad journalism? Surely there had to be a reason the media used such critiques of their revolt. This much was on my mind when I got a text from Amita asking me to meet her for our lunch down at the vegetarian curry place by the pier.
***
As my lungs soaked in the salty winds, I sat at my table on the veranda, thinking about everything Vivi said about Amita and her kind.
"She was caught on film saying she's not a gamer. She's raised tons of cash to make videos that reuse other people's work as a background to her deliberately misrepresented arguments. She opened up comments specifically to cherry pick the nutjobs out to support her narrative. For fuck's sake, before she was a cultural critic, she helped guys become pickup artists. And she calls herself an intellectual Feminist? The fuck outta here with her bullshit"
However true that may have been, I didn't want to let myself be drawn towards seeing only one side of this, especially as someone who was at the other end of the abuse Amita spoke of in her works. I looked up from my newspaper, and suddenly found myself staring over at not only Amita in her signature jeans, lumberjack shirt and hoop earrings, but also her boyfriend and producer of her videos, McCloud.
"Sorry about being late." She said, extending her hand. "You know how it is working on a packed schedule"
"Indeed. I thank you for taking the time to speak with me, Ms. Amita"
"Think nothing of it. May I ask why you sought me out, though?"
"You seem to be very knowledgeable about women in relation to video games, especially after I heard you give that lecture at the college"
"So you wanted to improve your understanding of that subject, correct?" Asked her portly, scraggly and rather shabbily dressed boyfriend as our orders came in.
"That is correct. For one, why does it matter how women are portrayed in games?"
"Think of it this way: when you're a kid, you learn how to do things by watching other people doing them, right? That's why they have those movie ratings to make sure that only people of a proper age watch proper movies. Therefore, it follows that the sexist behavior people act out in games will soon manifest in the world"
"I remember when someone said something similar about video game violence and people, including those promoting your work, laughed them out of the building"
"They were right about violence then as we know we're right about sexism now"
"But how do you know that's true?" I asked in between sips of my lemon soda water.
"You've experienced it yourself, haven't you?" Asked Amita between bites of that deliciously spicy curry. "The verbal assaults, the dick pics, the fact that you had to prove yourself twice as hard to get to the same level the boys of your orchestra reached. Aren't those proof enough of how hurtful sexist influences are? Of the change that needs to happen for gaming to progress?"
"I suppose. Progress to what, though?"
"To a world where games are less about fun and more about a message. Where all of us can feel safe and good about what we play. Where all the games we play aren't just pointless diversions, but tools to help us become better people. Whether we have to drag the world of gaming into it or they gladly hop on the bus doesn't matter, just as long as we get it there with the right people charting the course"
"Right people? How can tell if they're the right people?"
"It's quite simple: if they want to see gaming progress, they're the right people. If they don't, they're free to stand on the side of the road and watch as they get left in the dust, as others like them have been before, and will be again."
"I see. So then the people who've grown up gaming-"
"Are only qualified to speak on the past, and know nothing of the greater good" Added McCloud. "Only people like us, who realize that everything is subjective, are suited to guide gaming, if not all media towards a better tomorrow. After, everything is fluid, so why not give that fluidness a good path to travel? Take away all the threats and hate speech that people are so bent on protecting as free speech? If you ask me, that kind of speech should never be free. Maybe put a nice fat stupid tax on it, you know?" It was quite fascinating hearing them speak at length about their lives at the center of this revolt, of both the praise and ire they've been showered with. As we were about to leave, a video call came in from Lily, Lily specifically asking to face the two as she said the following:
I do apologize for not being able to make it out there to meet you all. I was told of your proposal, though, and informed my other teammates, some of who greatly enjoy your work! After considering everything, we decided that, sadly, we cannot lend our brand to your cause, not to the people who have directly implicated our fans and the games they enjoy as the cause of all society's woes. It simply would not be right to do to the people who've supported us all this time, something I'm sure you can understand, right? That said, speaking on my own behalf as LBX-and pardon the upcoming rudeness, I think you people are the worst thing to happen to women in gaming since pink controllers and girlfriend mode. Farewell, good luck and please eat several bags of dicks, you elitist, intellectually dishonest pimples on the ass of society.
Needless to say, I never spoke to them again after that day, but still tried to express on my Whinny that both sides had points to consider. This, apparently, was heinous enough to warrant one of the most unnerving periods of my life, where out of nowhere, people started to harass me and my conjectures in an increasingly vile manner. The day that began, was certainly the day someone told me to end myself.
***
I remember riding home from my meeting with those people and Whinnying something like, "I think those for and against #GamerStorm have valid arguments, so why not cast nastiness aside, and hash things out together?" Such a benign statement would never inspire anything vile, right? That's what I thought on the way to practice with my orchestra mates. When I checked my Whinny afterwards, though, I saw someone respond with, "People like you should be bludgeoned to death with a book of logical fallacies" My time on the net has taught me to brush off the odd troll that pops up, but the more time passed, the greater the rhetoric grew to be, more so as I tried to remain civil about the subject and give each side due merit. In return for my efforts, I was called a sockpuppet, a shitlord, a gender turncoat and many other things I did my best to brush off while I went about my day. Merely harmless bellends who wouldn't dare walk the talk, certainly. That's what I tried to keep in mind during a lazy weekend afternoon, when I got a message on my cell saying, "OK, Miss (name), who graduated from (my old high school) and lives at (my home address), I’m gonna come over there tonight and stab you in the neck with my kitchen knife. Congratulations on standing on the wrong side of history, you stupid whore"
It was at that point that I could no longer ignore such vile rhetoric and was shaken to my foundation. How, when none of my information was ever put online in any public forum, did this person uncover so much about me? Sent a shiver right up my spine, that did, my breathing struggling to keep pace. I immediately left home and called my father to tell him what happened, my father advising me to see him right away and to not breathe a word of what happened into the public space. As he put it, "The last thing you want to do is give those bastards their sick satisfaction" While he was doing whatever he did, I called Vivi to ask if I could stay over for a spell. It was while I was at her place that I learned how vile these harassers were, sending knives and syringes in the mail, getting people they don't like fired and who knows what else. At the same time, I was introduced to the works of Stamatopoulis, who wrote articles detailing about how this was part of a larger war on lads and their culture, on how those against GamerStorm sought to remake society in their own image according to their own ideals, drawing their lines in the sand for the incoming war for hearts and minds. While I contemplated his thoughts, I got a phone call from my mother asking "Do you mind if I come over and speak with you and your friend later on?" I imagined it was merely motherly worry about what I just went through, but when we met, it was far more than that, about something far older than Vivi, you or I: the importance and methodology of political dissent.
***
Vivi and I were wrapping up a Team Fortress 2 game of Team Deathmatch, when a t-t-tap echoed from the door. Vivi answered it before I could even say anything, and my mother appeared before her, a slight woman in a black fringe flapper dress and a salt and pepper finger wave designed into her hair. The faintest of smile lines graced each cheek as she shook Vivi's hand.
"Hallo! My name is ReinMelodie. Thank you so much for taking my daughter into your care, Ms. Vivi. It means a great deal to me that she has friends willing to lend a hand in her time of need"
"Don't even mention it, ma'am. Come on in, I'll get some hot cocoa ready for you" Soon enough, we were all seated at the kitchen table, my mother smiling at us from the other side as she blew on her mug.
"My daughter says that the harassment she was subjected to is related to something called GamerStorm. If you would be so kind, could you tell me what that is, Ms. Vivi?"
"Well, what began it all was a female game developer having close ties to people in the industry she works in, with her using them to help promote-"
"You have just lost me on your cause, Ms. Vivi."
"What do you mean 'lost you'? With all due respect, you've only let me speak for 10 seconds! Even the best elevator pitches take at least 30"
"That is true. If you know this, however, then why did you not use the first 10 to hit me with the core of your cause? Someone of your generation should know well the value of capturing someone's attention the first chance you get, especially considering that your supporters include conspiracy theorists, harassing journalists and people focused like a laser on those who supposedly mean nothing to them on a site known to give safe haven for things that are borderline child pornography. Not exactly the kind of people I would want bearing my banner, if you ask me" The silence hung thicker than pea soup as my mother stared dead across at Vivi. "Is something wrong, Ms. Vivi? Are you unable to prove you are not an internally misogynistic, racist, regressive sockpuppet? Are you silent because you cannot refute your 'movement' is little more than a fruitless lashing out against the inevitable, as well as a campaign of harassment and misogyny whose strings are being pulled by conservative figureheads?"
"Not at all, ma'am. I'm just stunned that someone as well spoken and intelligent as yourself would be in taken in by such patently false allegations, especially considering how much is accomplished as a mere consumer revolt" As I sipped on my cocoa, my mother, for the first time in all the years I've known her, broke out into a belly laugh, throwing her head well back while she did.
"Wunderbar. Simply wunderbar. It has been years since I've come across someone other than my daughter able to demonstrate such unshakable belief, such calm demeanor in the face of someone slandering what they hold dear. You still must work on covering your message in a brief, concise manner, but if I may, I would like to help you realize how to engage your opposition by sharing the experiences my family have passed onto me." We sat on the couch and watched the short form documentaries my mother pulled up on the brutal oppression her forerunners faced under a Communist regime, of the sickening punishments they endured for their dissent. It was shocking to see people sent to live in bitterly cold countries with little to live on and hear the tales of torture survivors who were investigated by secret police, but I was unsure what this had to do with GamerStorm. When Vivi asked as much, my mother answered, "The beliefs these monsters practiced, are strongly similar to what your opponent upholds as the thing that will save our society from itself."
"With all due respect, there is no way I could see them being this cruel. They're nuts, yeah, but this?"
"I take it you don't think the excommunication, vicious, career crippling, life ruining smear campaigns and rampant vilification of those who disagree with them are not cruel, then?"
"They are messed up. But why do it, though?"
"The answer, itself, is simple, but in that simplicity lies a web of connections deeper than anything you could even begin to comprehend" It was at this point my mother got out a flash drive she had in her purse. "And what you'll find in here will help you crack the surface" We looked at the materials together and learned about something called Shared Staples, a system of learning writing, reading, arithmetic and so on that is purported to make learning more accessible. When we saw that some of the richest people in the world were throwing billions of their fortune to promote it globally across different media, Vivi asked, "Are you showing this because you want us to see that they're trying to use gaming to try and control how people learn?"
"I think you have your tin foil hat on a bit too tightly, Ms. Vivi. Their intent is to try and make learning simple enough for any student to grasp, although the results seem to show a chasm between their intent, the pitiful results, and the public disgust with it. This said I want you to see something a bit more relevant to your revolt. Look not at the names, alone, but also what they are connected to."
"Wait... Aren't these the owners of the publications that've been running those smear campaigns?" My mother nodded softly, taking a nibble of the Oreos Vivi provided for snackies.
"Those journalists you claim to be against, are not the ones most interested in seeing your revolt falter. They are the pawns of these companies, and these companies will do whatever it takes and spend whatever it takes to gentrify what you hold dear so they can push their own agenda, what they think will make people better"
"Like that walking simulator one of 'em gave a 10/10?" Her head tilted, my mother scratched at her crown. "Uh, never mind. Let me ask you this, though: Are you on our side?"
"I have absolutely no interest in taking part in any aspect of this, more so after the assistant I asked to research this and my own daughter were harassed the way they were."
"Then why would someone who'd probably benefit from our falter help us?"
"The first time I heard my daughter speak of this, I thought it was merely children having a spat over not getting their way. When I asked my assistant to research this, however, she reported back that she was accused of being a misogynist, then a murderer, then a pedophile, then a rapist. While she was giving her report, her accusers called to convince me to fire her using those exact same charges to make their case, all because she had the gall to give credence to what you claim to be fighting for. It was horrific enough that she had to endure such treatment, but when I learned my own daughter was subjected to it, those people who claim to be on the right side of history, had crossed the line." She was visibly shaking the more she spoke on what happened. "The fact that they endorse such behavior through logic like, 'there are no bad tactics, only bad targets' further reviled me against their cause, and lead to me sharing what my assistant had dug up with you in order to help you halt this madness as soon as possible. Vivi took a swig of her Mountain Dew, her emerald greens firmly fixed on my mother.
"How can I do that, though, if those kinds of deeply connected people stand against us?"
"Your side seems to know much about letter campaigns, investigative journalism and so on, so the best thing I can tell you is this: keep your visible figures few and your eyes as calm and clear as possible. Attack them with Pathos, attack them with Logos, attack them with Ethos, recognize, then turn every rhetorical trick they use against them, and do so with as much lucidity and placidity as you can muster. Your goal isn't necessarily to win them over, but to expose who they are to the curious onlookers passing through and giving them the rope to hang themselves with. The more they think they can't get under your skin, the more you'll get under theirs and lead them to make their own mistakes."
"Please give your assistant my thanks, ma'am."
"I think it would mean more coming from her, directly, no?" She said as she texted her assistant to come up to Vivi's apartment. "The research I've asked of her, seems to have made her happy to aid in your cause, and if it's alright with you, I think my daughter and I need a bit of heart to heart time to for us to reconnect and help her decide on what to do with the person her father discovered was the one behind her harassment"
"Sure. Thanks for all your help, ma'am. Before you go, though, I want to ask you something: what do you want to do to the person who harassed her?"
"Let me put it this way: if it were up to me, alone, anyone who threatened her peace of mind, would have a bleak, brutish and barely worthwhile future ahead of them. Knowing my daughter, however, she will probably be more merciful than I when she sees her. Probably" After that day, I met with my harasser, learned her reasons for her actions, then went about my daily routine, GamerStorm drifting towards the background as Vivi and I got to know each other better over online bouts of Street Fighter 2. During one of our sessions, I learned she had yet to have much extensive offline interaction with others, something which became painfully obvious in how blunt and lacking she was in social graces (much like how you were when we first met, as a matter of fact, complete with her profanity laced manner of speaking, rather aggressive rhetoric about things not to her taste and lack of consideration!). In that spirit, I thought it an excellent idea for the three of us to meet up at CBGB during her off time as a QA tester to shoot the breeze over a few rounds. If only I had known Suspira was due to arrive there around the same time and known how provocative her behavior was.
***
I remember well how nervous Vivi was. With a snail-like pace, did I see her nurse her pale ale as she returned every warm hello the men gave her with a "H-hello, nice to meet you" while we waited for you to arrive. It was like watching a mirror version of the Vivi I saw every time we spoke online, and the more I saw it, the more perplexed I grew.
"I understand isn't the easiest thing in the world for you, Vivi, but I never imagined it would be this trying. Maybe I could call Vinyl and have her meet us some place where you feel more comfortable?"
"Thanks, but I think I'd rather stay here and try to squirm out of my hugbox. After meeting you, I feel like I can talk to more than just gamers about gamer stuff, but I know that to do that better, I still need the practice, no matter how bad it sucks"
"I see. May I ask how it feels to get this practice?"
"Knowing that you got my back? Feels good, man" It was about then that you arrived and got her to open up in ways I never knew she could. Perhaps it's because you're more familiar with the culture she comes from, but it did my heart well to see her smiling and chuckling at your repertoire, however obscure it may have been to me at that point(to this day, I'm not sure what you mean when you say that woman you pointed out got duckrolled, or why the two of you chuckled when you said 'Looks like the kinda guy who'd do that every night until they liked it'). It was around the time Vivi brought up how she and I met that day, when someone passing by said, 'GamerStorm? What, were you two plotting how to dox someone you didn't like?' I turned around, and standing before me was a wide young women with a bright purple bowl cut with red and yellow highlights, the woman I recognized as Suspira. Suddenly, Vivi bolted upright out of her seat
'No we weren't. Doxing is what the other side has been proven to do to people they don't like'
"Seriously? You're gonna make those claims without any proof to back them up, GooberStomper?"
"The proof is everywhere. People have had knives, syringes and dead animals mailed to them for expressing support. Multiple people have been fired because of the harassment they got. My friend was called by someone who read her back her address before threatening to stab her in the neck last Sunday night. I dare you to tell me that isn't proof"
"That could've been any random troll, and you know it. I was personally sent vicious harassment by some of you GooberStompers because of unproven allegations about my sex life. Because making me scared enough to leave my home, is totally about ethics in journalism, right?"
"Yeah, you looked real scared in that video where you played back that 'harassment' they left on your messages. You were probably just as scared when you and your cronies killed one of the biggest game jams in the history of indie games before it even got off the ground. How's your own game jam coming along by the way? You know, the one you set up days after the jam that would've brought your industry untold amounts of eyeballs, was killed? The one you haven't given any details in the past few months, but are still accepting donations for direct to your bank account?"
"What does that game jam have to do with ethics in journalism? What about all the badgering emails you've been sending companies supporting people brave enough to stand up against your nonsense telling them to drop advertising and take money out of the pockets of people who have nothing to do with this?" The back and forth grew red hot the more it went on, with a very particular type of fallacy surfacing as it did. According to my mother, it starts by inventing a negative opinion, then installing it into someone by accusing them of holding it, and finishing with an insult towards them for holding it. I caught this when Suspira said, "So you really think we all just got together one day and decided "screw gamers"? Are you really that deluded? I bet you are, you internally misogynistic, racist, terrorist scumbag." It was at that point I saw Vivi's brow unfurl, a chuckle escaping as she sat back down on her stool, her mug in hand.
"You know, I just realized something: the only thing you've done this whole time is accuse me of things I know I didn't do, of being things I know I'm not, and generally doing nothing to refute what I've been saying. As far as I'm concerned, I don't even need to do anything else"
"So are you admitting to being as much as of a scumbag as the rest of you GooberStompers?"
"As much as you're admitting to being a trust funded keyboard warrior that has nothing better to do all day than accuse everyone who plays a triple A game of being internally misogynistic, racist, terrorist scumbags. Because I'm sure you're totally not, right? Right? I'm positive you have a life that's rich, fulfilling and-" At that point, Suspira stepped towards Vivi with fire in her gaze, prompting me to step in and try to keep things calm.
"Ms. Suspira, I can certainly understand where you're coming from but-" With no hesitation she splashed her microbrew ale in my face and shoved me aside, which, if memory serves, compelled you to get right in her face.
"What's your damage, man? She didn't even do anything"
"You call that disrespect not doing anything? By taking her side, you've just become part of the problem, and problems need to be taken care of" Next thing I knew, she shoved you and delivered an open hand slap, one you ducked into a hook right in her eye. I still remember her hitting the deck, then struggling to her feet as you said, "The only problem here is you, Suspira. Or should I call you Chesleigh von Zuckerberg?" She seemed in a terrible hurry to leave the second you said that, likely because she was as surprised as I was that you knew the name was born with. In watching her leave, I was left with a question I've had ever since that young woman said she wanted to be a good Feminist: why did she take things so far? Why did any of the people on the fringe choose to embrace that fringe mindset? What purpose was there to taking such drastic actions for a cause?
***
Over the course of my research into the history of protest, I've theorized that those who embrace radical ways, do so because a foundation for their actions must be laid before any real work can be applied. From what research suggests, they're also convinced that shock tactics serve to awaken the public to the problem they seek to solve, that they do what they do because that progress towards solving it isn't always made by being nice. In discussing as much with Lily, she said, "Perhaps there is some value in the discussion they initiate, but after the call you got, can you see any other value beyond that?" In considering all the harm these methods have brought upon others while achieving next to nothing, I can safely say that I can't. After all, this is the same logic that's led to to several horrific murder sprees, as well as historically tragic treatment of people that were once considered a problem needing a radical solution, perhaps enough so to consider it the final solution. Really, the whole experience taught me several valuable lessons, including the importance of being able to remove the blinders of following a given ideology became every more crucial for me to consider. That much became ever more crucial after watching those blinders turn ordinary people into heartless beasts capable of inhuman cruelty for their cause. Accordingly, the ability to hold people accountable for what they say has shown itself to be vital for advancing a medium and minimizing the chances of mob rule ever taking hold. In reality, this is all a rather petty thing to have such a grandiose conflict over, but if one can't practice basic accountability and journalistic integrity in something like games, how in the world can that ever be expected for something as important as global news reporting? If there's one thing I've taken away, it's the value of having someone there to watch the watchmen, the value of demanding that those who report to the people, answer to the demands of their audience. There will always be some level of cronyism in a given field of interest, more so the more specialized it is, but knowing all I do now has shown me the power of many small voices bonded by a common cause, as well as how much sting there can be in their punches when they pop a kingmaker and show them how powerless they are when people stop listening and choose to look elsewhere for what they want.
So last time you said that the redhead I met at the bar reminds you a lot of me when we first met. When I got in touch with her after that night at CGBG, gotta say that I don't think you're too far off. Back in highschool I was just as single minded with how wrapped up I was in my grind. Shoot, outside of the clubs and my boy at the time, I hardly had a minute to myself, most of my social time coming from hitting up online forums and Yotsuba Channel to talk about music, video games and all that nerdy stuff. Part of that comes from the fact that as a kid, my mama didn't want her little girl going too far from home.
Growing up in Red Hook, which just won its 10th award in a row as the most dangerous distinct in Manehatten, my mama hated the idea of me going outside to do anything-and looking back, I don’t blame her. Right in front of our old, patchy red apartment there was always someone there slinging some sorta dope. A lotta kids in school there were straight up ignorant too (as best as I recall, out of the 40 of us they crammed into each classroom, I and about 2 others were the only ones to pass most of the time). Because of that, my mom always tried to either enroll me in afterschool programs away from that ‘hood or get me into things that let me chill at home all day, like writing, music, manga, drawing and all that jazz. That, paired with how much hoodrat nonsense I saw go down on a regular basis(like when someone broke out a switchblade while riding their bike and made swinging motions about 5 feet away from some girl in a miniskirt), lead me to be way less social, to the point where my mom asked if I was becoming a Hiki-komori, the Japonican term for a total shut in.
A year or so after you gave me that laptop, I was gearing up to head to high school, and as I thought of everything I've heard about it, I wondered if all that would change the first day I attended, if I would transform into someone I never knew I had inside me. Reality, though? Outside of meeting my first love, my ghostwriting hustle and the hip hop club, not a damn thing changed. My daily routine was still mostly breakfast, school, after school thing, dinner then messing around on my neighbor’s wi-fi. One time, when me and my boy at the time were riding the L train, he even asked, “So, like, do you do anything else besides school work and your DJ stuff? Gotta work your body muscles as much as you do your brain muscles, man” Yeah, man, when I wasn’t on the decks in those days, I was a major homebody -and to some extent, still am, if you replace ‘home’ with studio. Don't get it twisted, now, if folks wanted to get at me, I always tried to chat with them, but more often than not, it was awkward as all get out. I was reminded of that every time my folks took me to meet their folks at birthday parties, and junk, and the only thing I could think to say was, “How about that weather, eh?”. With my mom's folks, the language barrier made it so much worse, and the only thing I could really do while they were running their mouth was listen, nod and smile, something I imagine Vivi went through, too, when she was learning Japonican.
When I asked her if she wanted to meet up at Urth Caffe, that overpriced coffee joint you seem to love so much(Seriously, 4 bits for that tiny serving of Espresso Macchiato? You must be on that bougie trip if you think that’s reasonable), I, like you probably did, expected to meet the fiercely insightful, game loving gal I got to know over our online chats. I got there kinda early, so I chilled in my car for a bit, and watched from my window, just to see how she talked to folks. For about 10 minutes she was sitting there playing her New 3DS, talking to absolutely nobody save the the one girl who asked her for directions. Haven’t heard so many errs, ahhs and umms since my family first went to Los Equinos, when we got totally lost trying to figure out the how to ride the buses and trains and my mom was asking the local yokels for directions(those bucking stuck up West Coast punks). It was mega painful to watch, so I strolled in there and greeted her while helping her give those complex directions, afterwards trying to figure out why she struggled so much with being social while we munched on a pot roast sub.
"I know you didn't have a lot of friends back in highschool, but I'm kinda curious on why. You seem chill enough, from what you've told me about yourself back then"
"Truth be told, it wasn't just that I couldn't. There was also a huge part of me that flat out wouldn't."
"Wouldn't? Why wouldn't you?"
"Well, in all honesty, I thought that, with a few exceptions, everyone around me was a complete idiot. Whenever my friends tried to take out to clubs or whatever, the only stuff on my mind was 'Ugh, I'm so bored in here, can we leave yet?' When I was sitting down for lunch, I looked over at the jocks and cheerleader types and thought 'Ugh, I don't care about these meatheads and bitches, I just wanna go home and play my SNES.' All through PE my inner dialogue was going, 'Ugh, I hate being outside with all these morons in the way. Ugh, why am I even doing this? Ugh, ugh, UGH'" Around that time I theorized that, from what she showed, her throwing major shade made her the kinda person people don’t like hanging with, something I saw in a lot of folks growing up (and I know you did, too). Brought back lots memories of the folks I’ve met, folks that, every time they opened their mouths, I wanted to punch right in the mush-and a few that I did when they got in the ring with me at the high school boxing club.
After getting to know her better, I figured that she didn't think a lot of folks were worth her time, so she never got many chances to break out of that anti-social mentality. That likely meant she didn’t have a whole of the common sense folks build from being social. I knew I was on the money when we were on the way to this arcade she brought up...Kakegawa Game Action, if memory serves.
“From what your friend tells me, you two are really close." she said while we were crawling our way through traffic, "Have you ever fought with her?”
“Things have gotten pretty heated, yeah. There was this one time we both got so heated, we actually scrapped in the park. Bruises, rolling around on the ground, knock outs, the whole nine. Was pretty bad for awhile, and for a long time after that our friendship was done.”
“'Done'? Really? I could never imagine one fight being bad enough to end that kinda friendship. Makes me feel a bit better about how I screwed up mine.” I was kinda curious as to what she meant by that, but by that time we had reached the spot, and she wanted me to see how awesome the place was. When I got through the front doors, I was...less than impressed with the average looking bowling alley that came into view. Vivi, though, insisted I take a tour of the place, taking me through the very well cared for Candy Cabs and driving games that look plucked from Japonica’s finest arcades and onto the next room. Man, that spot was stuffed with fun looking rhythm games! They had DDR, Beatmania, Pop’n Music and a whole bunch of super loud goodness I didn’t think they had outside Japonica. Was hoping to give one of the games a go, but she really wanted to keep it moving on to the next room. From what I saw, it was set aside just for console gamers looking to polish their skills for tourneys and junk, often times getting their grind in with the same games they had in the last room way in back. That one was reserved for fighting game cabinets only, both the modern stuff like Street Fighter IV and the classics like King of Fighters 2000, not to mention the stupefying variety in between they had. It was pretty dope, altogether, so as soon as I got the full tour, I bookmarked it as one of the places I had to hit when I was back in town. As I got the grand tour, though, I noticed something odd about her. In each room, she was all “Yo,” “What’s up,” “Hey, man, how’s it hanging,” and talking to the other dudes and dudettes like she knew them for years. Complete 180 from the Vivi I saw struggling to give directions back at the cafe!
I didn’t get it at all, but I knew there had to be something to it, something to why she was such a different animal there. When we got to the 3s machines, I had to ask, “How about this? If I beat you at this game, you gotta go to the club I’m spinning at next weekend. I’ll hook you up with getting in and everything, but you gotta go. You win, I’ll make some music for Bipson Bucks. That's the betting website you showed me on your phone, right? Remember, no backsies.” After I swept her with my SA3 Ryu, I did what I promised, then got my gear ready for the club gig, fully anticipating seeing her at Fyre Flye(you know, the tiny little 2 floor club a musician buddy of mine runs near the art museum!). When I went there, it was packed with cool folks looking to have a fun time and thought she would totally hit it off with someone there. I told her to approach it like those Dating Sims she's into, so there was no way she wouldn’t know how to get social, right? From the brief glimpses I saw of her, though, I could not bucking believe it. There she was decked in her sleeveless purple shirt, green fishnet top, black miniskirt, and silver DualShock pendant necklace, and she wasn’t talking to a single person in the club. As a matter of fact, she mostly sat at the bar and watched everyone ELSE get their party on, including the lonely looking guy sitting by himself about 2 bar stools away from her! I mean, seriously? Did she really go through all that effort to get dressed and junk just to people watch? It was like she ragequit the game before she even pressed start!
At that point, I had all but thrown in the towel on trying to break out of her comfort zone. “Maybe the arcade and places like that are the only places she can let loose.” I thought. “At least she isn’t a total Hiki-komori, right?” A couple weeks after the club thing, that was what ran through my mind when she called and asked if I could hang with her. I was set to meet Flint Rock later on that day, but the more I stewed on how chill she was with just me and, like, one other person-as you learned that day we went to Kakegawa Game Action together, it came to me that maybe it wouldn't be so bad letting her tag along. Told her to get ready and meet me at the spot while I was putting my face on and rolling on out the door, expecting her to stumble her way through introducing herself to my boy. Sure enough, he rolls in the spot in jeans and a muscle shirt, and she can't even form coherent sentences while he smiles and asks, "Wanna feel my abs?" Suddenly, I remember what a humongous flirt he was and was about a half second from popping him in the mush. Before I could, though, he lifted the shirt to show off that glorious washboard stomach. Vivi was feeling up on that chiseled perfection as he asked, "You're Vivi, right? My girl over here tells me you speak pretty good Japonican. Tell me something: Hiki-komori kai?" In that instant, she stopped and flashed him a smirk.
“Chotto sa(just a bit)” Out of nowhere she was loosening up like she's been tight with him, and the reason why came to me after I remembered something you told me about what happens when folks speak to someone in a different language. If I’m not mistaken, you told me that when someone speaks another language, how they speak, act and all that junk is altered by the associations they develop with the language.
“It’s like when someone speaks with a sexy intonation in their native tongue, then childlike in a foreign one because of what happened with others speaking it when they were young,” you said that time at bookstore. At the time, I thought it was kinda strange, but watching the two of them chat it up in Japonican made me a believer, more so when he convinced her to join us at Wild Card Gym to work up a sweat.
When we got there, we hit the treadmill, free weights, and jump rope and quickly learned she was desperately out of shape. I ain’t exactly the picture of health, myself, but when arms shook from modded push ups, the only thing I could think was, “Man, you’d think that DDR game would’ve done something for her cardio” Of course the whole time we were doing her warm ups Flint Rock was coaching her up in Japonican, getting her to crank out the one last rep she thought she was too tired to do. While I was demo’ing boxing techniques for her to follow, the two of them talked about anything and everything, including the personal stuff I heard her tell him. Seeing them talk so casually about how her mom taught her coding since she was a kid left me amazed-and admittedly kinda jealous.
Since I wanted Vivi to get more social, I went against every emotional yearning washing through me as we rolled out and let her sit up front with Flint. In our drive around town, she talked about the same thing we did while she was guiding me to Kakegawa Game Action, with the same waver in her voice she got when I first heard her bring it up. Right when I thought she was about to change the subject, Flint says, “Hey Vivi, how about we head to that drive in over there and get a bite to eat?” While we were munching on our shakes and such, Vivi let out a chuckle between sips
“Maybe my mom was right about me needing to be more social. Might’ve taught me how not to be an asshole towards the best friend I’ve ever had, you know?”
When I first got to know her, she told a story to an IRC chat she clued me into about a guy who visited a friend she hadn’t met in years, and how he was the most clueless asshole ever, never referring to her friend’s best friend by name, acting extremely boneheaded around them and not finishing the food they offered after he said he was hungry, using it as an example on why people, in her terms, need to constantly lurk, hide their power level in public settings and not spill their spaghetti. The moment she said that, I realized that she was talking about herself, and probably didn’t want folks to go through the same nonsense she did, to feel the pain of getting that close to losing your best friend to your own stupidity. Right after we got to the PC Cafe she wanted us to visit, Flint smiled at her and gave her a few bits.
“Why don’t you go ahead and get some practice matches in, yeah? Haven’t seen my gal pal here in a minute, and I wanna do a bit of catching up. We’ll be there soon, so just go rip it up, alright?” As soon as she left, I hopped up front, old school jams pumping through his car’s stereo while he rolled up the windows. “You know, in a lot of ways, her shyness reminds me a lot of you when we first met. What'chu think, though?”
"I think you're acting awful familiar with her, considering you knew her about 10 seconds before you let her feel up on you"
"You saw how tense she was, didn’t ya? Had to do something to cut through that and get her loose. If you want a feel, too, then be my guest" I remember my face feeling pretty hot when I socked him in his bicep (and to be perfectly honest, I kinda did want a feel). "Anyways, from what I've seen of her, the girl looks ready to make up for lost time, but it seems like she either don't know how or don't trust herself to"
"What do you mean?"
"C'mon, now, I know you heard how she was talking when we were gabbing it up. That sigh she let out when she talked about her friend? How she constantly cut herself down about being unreliable? Getting all dressed up to go to that club you were at, but not having the nerve to talk to anybody there? It's pretty obvious she knows how to do the social thing, but don't got have the self-confidence yet to do it with folks she don't know"
"How can she get that confidence if she doesn't have the faith to even try, though?"
"Same way you and I got it: results. Can’t run before you nail crawling first, right? Just like you got to spin for those big events by working your way up from those house parties and I became champ by putting in quality work as a no name contender. You know better than I do, so I think you’re better suited at showing her what she did right, what will give her the mental boost she needs to take that first sketchy looking step” While we were in there getting 360 no scoped all day, I thought back on all the chats I had with Vivi since that night in the bar, and despite her sharing tons with me about how much people respected her skills in her QA gigs, I drew a total blank on what she accomplished that was even remotely related to her getting better at socializing. As we were getting ready to roll out, Vivi was showing Flint the site she asked me to make music for, Bipson Bucks, and how the whole thing worked, Flint asking, “So how did you figure out making a site like this? Because I can’t imagine all this was easy to whip up, Vivi”
“Considering I knew jacksquat about building a website or using Javascript, I’d say I did pretty decent. Didn’t figure I’d spend months learning how to better let people bet fake cash on fightan games, though.”
“Seems like folks dig the work, if you ask me, especially the big chunk of 'em throwing down cash for that primo membership "
"Oh, for sure. My Bipson Boys have always had my back, so seeing their support come to where it pays my rent and more means a ton"
"Cash is always the loudest way to say you dig what someone does. What would you say if you ever met any of 'em?"
"Dunno. To be honest, I think I need to make things right with my friend first before I can even consider meeting my Bipson Boys. Just wish I knew where to begin" Soon as she said that, the lights went on and the wheels got rolling on how I could help Vivi being social, leading to me working on a master plan to set up that first step on her 1000 mile journey, a plan I knew had to involve her meeting her friend face to face
***
When we friended each other on FaceSpace, I saw that the person Vivi listed as her bestie was someone called Kuroki. As Vivi and I got to know each other, I learned her bestie was a translator she has a decade of history with, Vivi sharing the good times they shared each time we shot the breeze. I remember this one story she told me about them cruising while broke down a super high-class street over in Greenway(you know, the one you always call ‘The Avenue’). They were on the way back from some concert, when Vivi just stuck her head out the window and shouted, “I’m poor and I don’t care, woo!” Always chuckle when I remember that, just like I did on the way home from the Net Cafe, when I, on a pure whim, decided to contact her friend.
Over a couple weeks of chats and Oekaki duels, I got to know how much of a thoughtful kinda gal she was, telling me about how much her friends come to her about the drama they’re going(some at such absurd, how-is-this-even-possible levels I’m convinced she has the patience of a saint). Naturally, because I know it’s best practice to try and lay low online, she had no idea about who I really was and gave her threadbare hints to it. As I saw her sketch out a cat in mid flip, she asked, “Do you art professionally?”
“Nah, man, I just spin records for folks and get the party as hype as I can. Nothing special, you know?” When I set up a meeting at Kakegawa Game Action, I was totally expecting her to freak once she saw me in the flesh. Her virtually nothing reaction the day we met was a mix of relief and disappointment and left me kinda nonplussed. Maybe my name didn’t have that much fame? Maybe she’s wasn’t into the EDM scene enough for it to matter? Maybe I actually had to turn on the charm this time? The last one ended up being my best option as we roamed around town and learned more about what kind of relationship she had with Vivi. The major thing I took away was what she told me while I was stepping up to our bowling lane.
"As much as I believe in what Vivi can do, I don't think that Vivi believes in it, or at least not enough to act."
That much sat in the back of my brain while I was in the studio messing around with the Amen Break for a new song I had in mind, trying to think of how I could encourage Vivi to try being social again when the last time she tried to be social, she lead her bestie to question their friendship.
***
About a week after that studio session, I called up Vivi to see if she was down to hang, rolling up to her place in my drop top Camaro and ready to see if I could give her that boost. When she got out the front door, I noticed she was primped up nicer than usual. She didn’t have the bags under her eyes from the first time we met, her hair was combed relatively nicely, and she was in the same get up I recognized from when I saw her at Fyre Flye, minus the miniskirt she swapped out for a fresh pair of jeans. This was the absolute cleanest I’ve ever seen her dress, and it freaked me out. I mean, all that paired with her usually giving few flying flips about how she looked? Something was seriously off.
"Yo, Vivi, you cleaned up mad nice.” I told her as she approached. “Expecting to go somewhere special?"
"I am. With you." The way she kept glancing over at me during our ride around town told me she was looking for my seal of approval on her style, as did the way she tried to maintain eye contact when she spoke with me, just the way I told her about when she wanted to know how she could be better at socializing. Full on, it hurt me to see her fake the funk, more so because the way she talked about wanting to be better to make other people happy signaled bad things brewing. To see if there were, I asked, "Why do you think you gotta make other people happy?"
“Because when the people I care about are happy, I’m happy”
“Why, though?”
“It’s only natural. Doesn’t everyone want to happy?”
“I guess. So why does you being happy gotta come from them being happy?” Her silence left no doubt she was doing what she had to to not lose something, or in this case someone precious. That was an approach I knew would eat at her over time and make her snap at the person she's doing all this for, the exact same way I snapped at my piano instructor one time when I kept trying to change my tempo to match his.
“Look, you know what it’s like, don’t you?” She asked when we at a stop light. “To spill so much spaghetti trying to get to know someone that they end up walking away? To feel like there’s an ocean between you and the person you’re trying to talk to? To have so few real life friends you can count them on one hand?”
“I do, have since I was a kid. The few friends you do make are more precious than platinum, and you’ll do anything to keep them from leaving you behind. The second you screw anything up with them, you want to do whatever you can to convince them to stay, even if it means throwing away everything that makes you who you are”
“If you know all this, then why are you asking me about why making my friend happy makes me happy? It explains itself, don’t it?”
“It does if the explanation is that you’re letting them decide how happy you can be and are afraid that kind of happiness will just up and leave. Am I wrong?” We were getting on the freeway, when Vivi let out chuckle as a tear slid down her cheek.
“Man, where were you when I pissed my friend off last year? If I had known you then, I might not have spent so much time feeling lost on what to do about it”
"I felt the same way about a singer I met after my friend and I scrapped. Thanks to her, I realized that to treat others well, you gotta start by treating yourself well. Hard to be nice to folks when you ain't nice to yourself, right?"
"I suppose. How can I be nice to myself, though, knowing how much I've screwed up?"
"First, there's realizing that it ain't just you. Everyone screws up, sometimes in major ways at major moments. Second, it's being aware that life goes on after a screw-up and has a lot of wisdom to offer to make you that much better off a person. Finally, there's learning from that wisdom, forgiving yourself for that screw-up, then dusting yourself off and trying again. Easier said than done, yeah, but I know you can do it.”
“You really think so?”
“Me, your friend, your Bipson Boys, and lots of other folks. You made Bipson Bucks from scratch, didn’t you? If you can do that, you can definitely become the best you you can possibly be. All you gotta do to start is commit and make yourself too legit to quit. The important question right now, though, is do think you can?” She didn’t say a thing the rest of the trip, browsing the net on her phone, and showing me a video of cat hopping into a box while we were in traffic on the way to the spot. As I pulled into the parking lot, though, her eyes lit up, likely from the fact that my boy was waiting out front with her friend beside her wearing the exact same pink on white shirt and knee length slacks as the day I met her. With a smile, Vivi turned to me and uttered the words I was waiting for her to say with conviction.
“Ano ne, dekiru wa(You know what? Yes, I do)”
After that, I handed her a loaded prepaid card and a list of things she could do around town with her friends and left them to do their thing. After working his charm a bit more, my boy hopped in the car and rode away with me so we could do ours at the gym with a couple friends. From what her friend tells me, she's still kinda awkward around new folks, but she's much looser and more of a straight shooter than before, on top of being more aware of folks around her. The next time they met up with her best friend, she even talked with her and she called her by name, not "Your pal"! Ain’t much, but baby steps, you know? Gotta work your way up to running, steps I knew she was taking when one day in the studio, she sent me a sweaty looking shot of her, her friend and her friend’s best friend posing in front of the squared circle at the gym I took her to. With the pic, I saw that she wrote, “Your singer friend is super sadistic slave driver, and I regret ever asking her to be our trainer. Hope you can join us sometime soon!”
Vinyl, I’m sure you know that to truly excel at something, there must be sacrifice. This was a concept my instructor introduced during my first Cello lessons. When it was near the tail end of our session, I told him all the things I wanted to be, to which he said, “It’s fine if you want to be so many things. If you cannot pick the one you truly want, though, you won’t ever be exceptional at any of them.” When I asked what he meant by that, he asked me to stand beside him at the towering french window in front of us. Bathed in the waning light of the sunset, he said something I’ve heard many times during my time as a Cellist
“The great musicians devoted their lives to their art, often to the point of total obsession. Serious skill cannot be learned casually. To truly be great, you must be willing to sacrifice many other things, as your father has to give you the life you enjoy, the house you live in, and the dinner you are about to enjoy”
At the time, such concepts were difficult for me to grasp, but as I thought about all the hours he spent away from home and overhearing classmates wishing they could have time with the parents, I slowly realized that if I truly loved playing the Cello, I had to give more of myself to it, so it, in turn, could better express what I held deep within. This was affirmed when I was playing at the elementary school talent show, and my performance, with a classmate accompanying me on Piano, had the others on their feet in applause(If I’m not mistaken, the piece was a cello adaptation of Zigeunerweisen). I simply couldn’t believe that something I did could get people out of their seats, and almost lost grip on my bow from the shock.
It was shortly after that day that I swore to be as proficient at the instrument as I could, putting anything I thought detrimental to my progress far off into the distance. I had my caretaker, I had you, when when we became friends, and I had the luxury of devoting myself to my craft without having to focus on anything unrelated to it, I didn’t need anything else that wasn’t, somehow, related to me growing as a cellist. Honestly, if you and the others hadn’t been there, I’m certain I would’ve become far more tunnel visioned than I currently am about what has now become my profession. This much I realized when one of my mates in the college orchestra I was apart of convinced me, somehow, to go to a meeting for a club she was part of, this one centered around Japonican animation, or what you know better as Anime.
***
Before that day, I, through the late night viewing sessions you and I had from time to time, had a passing fancy for the medium. The image I had of its typical fan, however, was that of a fat, neckbearded male who took terrible care of himself and was even worse at basic socialization, something I picked up from fellow students who spoke horribly of people they called “Freaks and Geeks” When I got to the classroom where the club met, I saw a few people who fit that to a T, but among the people waiting to watch the Anime of the moment was a man who, even to this day, stands as one of the most dazzling hunks of man meat I’ve ever seen.
His skinny black jeans and sunshine yellow tee hugged every bit of his taut physique, the word Senpai seemingly imprinted across that chiseled chest. His jawline had the kind of strong grace you’d expect from a runway model, while his sunkissed hair flowed in waves around around his sapphire eyes. When our eyes met after the meeting’s end, I approached him, butterflies in the stomach, and before I could get a word out, he greeted me with a hearty handshake and, “Hi! I’m First Spring! Have you read the new chapter of Kashimashi!? ” At the time, I had no clue what he was talking about, so I had the friend who brought me inform me about the young man, learning that he was quite an enthusiast concerning a lesbian romance-focused subgenre of Anime called Yuri, giving me his FaceSpace account, so I could establish further contact.
In all honesty, though, I didn’t really know what I could say to him, considering I knew absolutely nothing about him nor what he was into. I spent what felt like hours on my bed staring at his profile on my laptop, seeing him post pictures of his cosplay featuring those rippling abs while my thoughts ran a kilometer a minute. I went to the fridge for some Bourbon Creams and Earl Grey, and out of the blue, I remembered a nugget of wisdom my butler shared with me en route to my first day of school, when I was openly wondering how I was going to talk with the other kids. Before I left, he kneeled down and told me, “Let others teach you about themselves. When you are open to learning from them, they will be open to learning about you”
With those thoughts as my guide, I requested First Spring's friendship on the site, learning over the few conversations we had that he was quite an ebullient young man, one quite bold about both his love of Yuri and his own personal struggles to be a social creature. He certainly wasn’t shy about showing the plethora of young female figures decorating his living space and inviting friends over to play single player games featuring them. One thing, in particular, though, stuck out to me while I was preparing to travel with the school orchestra for a global tour(because that’s a thing people are willing to pay to hear, college students playing orchestra music).
I was waiting for the other students to file into the bus and get their luggage sorted, when he asked if I had any dreams I wanted to achieve, to which, even with my passion for the cello, I had no answer to after all the research I did, and reading tale after tale of musicians scraping by while they sought a place to practice their craft professionally. Not long after I expressed such concerns, he told me, “Well it has to be better than working some nine to five wondering what could’ve happened if you had the guts to go after what you love to do, right? Life is way too short to be playing it safe and not having fun with things, if you ask me!” With those words in my heart, I rededicated myself to my craft, putting aside everything I thought unneeded in order to pursue what my heart desired.
During the weeks long pursuit, however, I had lost contact with that young man. He was still on my list of friends, but for whatever reason, he would not return any attempt I made at contacting him. I tried and tried in as respectful a manner as I could to encourage conversation, but a month of those attempts turned up absolutely nothing in return. I couldn’t understand. What had I done wrong? What changed in the month I could not contact him? How is it possible that the progress I had in getting to know him had suddenly been ground to a halt?
At the time, I didn’t think it was worth exploring any further, so I put the issue aside, and threw myself into my studies and my practice. The few times I could make time for meeting up with you and the others were the only face to face social contact I had my entire school year, including when you all saw me take the stage at graduation. It was a happy day to see you all, but wasn’t until years later that I realized the day I spoke with him on the bus was the last time I ever heard from him.
***
While I was in the studio with Takamine, her beloved arrived with a tray of Bourbon Creams and Earl Grey for tea time, all of us congregating on the couch to partake. As we sunk in, I remember saying something like, “It was sweet of you to bring this out for us, Neon. I only wish I had someone in my life to do the same” When he asked what I meant by that, I started to recount the moments I spent with First Spring, Takamine letting out a soft chuckle between nibbles.
“Seems like, while you parted ways with the boy, the boy never parted ways with you” I scratched at my crown trying to interpret what she meant
"How can you say we never parted ways, when I've heard neither hide nor hair from him in ages?"
"You're still making a space for him, in your heart, are you not? Or is there another reason why you still speak so wistfully of him after all this time?" A sigh escaped me, the violin I brought for the session resting in my lap during its tune up.
"In all honesty, I don't think anything ever got going between he and I, no matter what I did. I never even found the courage nor the time to tell him I liked him"
"Because you got so caught up in going after what you desire, correct?"
"I was." I said as I ran through the Mixolydian Mode. "To this day, I wonder if we could've started something special, if things had been different. What if I had been bolder, like he said he likes in a girl? What if I put more effort into meeting him face to face? What if I was better at being social back then?"
"What if you were so focused on what could have been, that you’re making it that much harder to realize what happened then and there?" For an instant, I froze from the realization. I never thought about it that deeply before that day, and in reality, I was so focused on what I thought I did wrong, I had forgotten how I felt when we had those moments together, even if most of them were in a Facespace chat room.
“Perhaps I was. I can’t help but think, though, that if the connection I made with him had ever made any progress, my life would’ve been that much richer”
“How would it have made your life richer?”
“For one, I would’ve had someone to find comfort in, the kind of comfort that mere friends cannot offer without taking it into that next phase of a relationship, if you catch my drift”
“Like something you can center yourself on?”
“Right. As much as I love playing the cello, it’s just not healthy to make that the thing I build myself around.” At that moment, her beloved slammed his glass on the jet black table, the cookies and trey skipping a bit as he stared dead at me
“Do you honestly think that building around someone instead of something is any healthier?” He asked. “If either go away, isn’t the end result the damn same?” I have to admit, the tension in that room felt thick enough to cut with a knife. A hand on the shoulder and a gentle smile seems to work just as well, though, as Takamine demonstrated after she got up to face him. Without a word, he nodded at her, and got up to head off, asking, “Meat supreme, okay?” right before he went out to pick up a pizza. Turning to me, she, with far more kindness in her voice, asked me the same question, and I had the same answer that I had for him: confusion and silence from not knowing how to answer.
“I understand if it isn’t easy for you to find an answer within. The reason, in my view, that he got so upset, is because he knows what it’s like to base your emotional growth and well being on something external. If I may, can I tell you a bit of a story?” I nodded, and took a nibble of the Bourbon Creams as she, and later he, after he got back home with the pie, shared this memory with me, which I’ll now share with you as best as my memory will allow.
***
When first I met him, he, like you, poured himself into his music. Like you, he was convinced his worth came from when his work was worth something, when it was something that ‘got the crowd pumping and the joint jumping,’ as he likes to say about the music he loves. A year and some change into our relationship, he hit a wall, as all creatives do, in how he created his style of music, and couldn’t put out anything that he considered good no matter what he did. Because of that, he started leaning more heavily on things that he thought would let him be more creative, such as Marijuana, alcohol and other, harder substances that he was frequently offered on tour, but never took. I’ve seen enough from others I’ve known to know that if he got too reliant on those things, it would burn him out like other creative greats before him, something that grew clearer to me from how much more ragged he looked and how much more irritable he grew to be longer his creative block went on.
The night I confronted him about it, we were both pretty smashed, which lead to us having less than stellar judgement, and lead to us hurting each other pretty bad. I swear, it was so heated, it got to the point where he slapped me for taking his music lightly and I decked him in return with a right hook to the temple. We needed a few days of space to cool down and see things at least somewhat objectively, something that revealed that I was being a bit of a prick, and he was a total wreck about where he wanted his career in EDM to go. I was the same way about being a singer a couple years before I met him, so I took him to meet my uncle, Meishu, back home in Japonica. Whenever I hit a rough patch, that cocoa maned, handsome waif of a man was always the one that ended up taking me in to help me get my head right. He was also the one that introduced me to Saddled Buddhism, as a matter of fact, and taught me a lot of stuff I still hold dear today, the same stuff he talked about with my boy in the month we were exploring the country, cleaning around the house and hitting up different concerts and clubs.
The morning we were supposed to get our stuff ready for the plane ride back home, my uncle woke us up super early, and asked if we wanted to go fishing, still wearing the same sleeveless lumberjack’s shirt and hand-made denim hakama he had on when I first met him. My uncle can understand our language as well as my boy could understand his(as in, when my uncle smiled at me and said, “Okaeri, Mine-chan!” my boy kinda scratched at his crown and had this ‘What?’ look on his face), so I had to play interpreter the entire trip. This was including while we were sitting on that little dinghy, and my uncle, with his pond scum green eyes fixed on his fishing lure, asked, “I’m curious, Neon. What kind of fish would you rather have: a 10 pounder that someone said they would bring you or a 1 pounder that you taught yourself to catch? Which one do you think would taste better?” The silence was killer, the anticipation fueled by the weeks of him speaking to my uncle about his issues-through texts, though, as my uncle’s written knowledge seems way stronger than spoken, for reasons, and looking like he picked up NOTHING my uncle was conveying.
During one of my uncle’s off days from his job at the cop box, he and I took a stroll through downtown Kakegawa, catching up on old times and him making sure I still had my head on straight. Over the course of our chat, I told him the only thing I wanted to do was help my boy find his center again, to which he asked, “Do you want to help him to where he don’t need your help no more, or to where you feel needed enough for him to turn to you when things get rough?” It was around that time he gestured towards the top of an incomplete skyscraper, my uncle sipping his Seabucks before he spoke about the welder working on the steel beams all around them.
“See that big fella’ up there? See how he’s working closely with all that intense heat and either lethal mixes of gases or fatal quantities of electricity? See how, with just his skills and his tools, he’s creating plasma with his hands? Why, to do that, they gotta have the highest level of focus the entire time they are working, ‘til their bodies get so used to what they gotta do that they’re ain’t no need to be continually conscious of it, ‘til the entirety of their being becomes ‘I am welding now.’ What they’re doing right now is their internalized bliss. Their act is sublime, and their focus is perfect. In the moment they weld, they’ve attained Mushin no Shin, something you young folks like to call The Zone.” You and I know that things happen, though, and welders like that might lose their job, or injure a hand, leaving ‘em unable to weld.
I said as much to my uncle and asked “What happens to their zone? What happens to their bliss?” His answer? “Well, if their zone was an expression of the zone they already had within them, does losing the ability to express their zone in one way leave them unable to do it in another?” I think my uncle saw my eye twitching, because not long after, he offered to treat me to some Azuki Bean ice cream from my favorite dessert spot in the city, his question swimming around in my head ‘til a few days later, when I met up with my boy at the local bike rental shop. As I saw him wobble about, he laughed and talked about the first time he rode a bike as a kid, about how good it felt when he didn’t have anyone or anything but himself keeping the bike straight and pushing forward. In that moment I started realizing that, like training wheels, the best way you can help another is to give them the wisdom they need until that wisdom is no longer needed to do what they want to do, for someone to help another until the help they provide is no longer needed, however tough on the ego that may be.
When I was a kid, my uncle taught me that when you can help others, without attachment or expecting anything back from them, that you’ll be practicing what he called Isshin, or in practical terms, One Mind. It wasn’t until years later that I realized it means, in part, that you’ll be benefiting all beings in the world by helping just one. I know how crazy that sounds, but as I got older, it helped me better grasp that the things I do don’t define me, the things I do are defined by me, something that, the more I saw him ride with that smile plastered on his face, I knew he had to realize on his own in order for it to stick.
As a musician, I'm big on the idea that our best work comes from what we create being an extension of who we are, where we’ve been and what we’ve been through, things I heard in his earlier work and part of what made me reach out to provide my services to him all those years back. After he fell into his funk, I could sense that quality in his music starting to flicker with each track he put out, each one sounding more like the other and less like something he really wanted to make. To help him get back to his creative zone, I had to trust that the wisdom given to him was enough for him to start the journey towards finding the emotional center within him, no matter how much it hurt to watch him struggle it out. Hours later, while we were shooting the breeze on that little dinghy, my uncle’s fishing line was suddenly taut and being pulled into the water, my uncle leaning back and pulling on his bamboo fishing rod like he was trying to yank out the world’s biggest bathtub plugger. After about 10 minutes of watching that massive salmon flop around on the water’s surface, my uncle was able to reel it in, panting as he triumphantly yelled “Finally got ya’, ya’ slippery little bastard!” in Japonican, and held it up next to him, so I could snap a pic of it on my phone(by the way, that salmon was over half as tall as my 5'5 uncle!) Not a moment later, he turned to my boy and asked if he wanted the big fish cooked up for dinner. With the softest smile I saw from him that whole trip, he answered, “Thanks, but I think I’ll catch my own fish.”
My jaw dropped as I watched my uncle confirm his choice, then unhook the fish and release it back into the water(as he’s a vegetarian and only eats veggies, and junk). I knew, though, that when my boy cast his line into the water, that he wanted to be able to catch his own fish, even if it took ‘til the sun dropped into the horizon to snag a fish you could hold in the palm of your hand(which is roughly what ended up happening, me sitting silently and patiently by his side the whole time). That act of determination told me that he was ready to start the journey my uncle told me all of us need to take, if we ever expect to find the emotional center waiting deep within to be expressed without, one I was glad to be by his side for during all those months back at home and while he was on tour. A few seasons later, I went to go pick up from the airport after he rocked the house at Japonica’s mega rave fest, Electric Lily Carnival, expecting to his eyes look as bloodshot as all getout. Sure enough, when my gaze locked with his cerulean blues, I could see the veins bumping, but something felt different. His gaze was bleary, but that half closed look showed so much about the kind of peace my uncle taught me about as a kid. About the only thing I could think to do was return that sleepy smile with my own, holding him close as I whispered, “When we get home, I’m gonna hop on you like white on rice”
***
As usual, my time with them ended with them asking if I was interested in a three-way, and me politely declining. When I headed off that night, however, I started to think more in depth about my life’s journey and how so much of it seemed to revolve around seeking something I could center myself on, whether it was the cello, First Spring or anything else. Perhaps it was also part of why I felt so lost after we had that time apart, why, during moments of solitude not spent in research nor practice, I felt so alone. That much crossed my mind months later, after I saw my butler off from one of his periodic visits, and I went to partake of my S'mores Frappuccino from the local Seabucks, taking in the winter afternoon from my window seat. I believe I was on my phone playing that Puzzle game you're always going on about, PazuDora, when suddenly I hear a voice call out "Octy? Octy, is that you?" From the corner of my eye, I saw the same sunkissed hair I first caught glimpse of in that anime club, this time wearing a tight black tee, jeans and a green apron and visor hat. My gaze locked with his striking sapphire blues, the familiar spark of life telling me this was indeed First Spring. With my own softest smile, I answered, “It’s been quite a long time, hasn’t it, First Spring?”
“Sure has! So sorry for never writing you back, by the way. You know how college gets, with classes, parties, and friends, and junk! I’m going to meet someone downtown, why don’t you come with me, so we can catch up on old times?” With that, I followed him to his somewhat worse for wear minivan, and rode passenger as he drove through the busy Manehatten streets, snow dusting the windshield and car horns filling the air. While we were crawling through traffic, I learned about the details of his life that I couldn’t glean from his FaceSpace activity, sharing his journey towards becoming more social the more I shared my own with him. When I heard him speak about how he forced himself into more social situations in order to improve his social skills-and ultimately himself, I started to remember the sheepish charm that first attracted me to him. I know a giggle escaped me when he said, “I never imagined I would be sitting a few tables away from someone for two hours debating with myself whether or not I should even talk to them” concerning someone he met long ago. Shortly after securing parking, he took me inside the Toy Bazaar, both us climbing the the stairs spiraling up towards the gigantic keyboard built into the floor. There, a young woman waited for our, or more likely his arrival. Covered in a grey winter coat, somewhat tattered jeans, and tan beanie, she waved at us, First Spring returning her wave and introducing her to me as his beloved(something I probably should have guessed from the daggers her murky purples shot through her coke bottle glasses and between her aqua bangs). With my hand extended, I smiled at her and told her, “It does my heart well to know a friend of mine ended up with someone as lovely as you.”
“L-lovely?” she stammered as she shook my hand firmly. “Well I don’t know about lovely. I’m hardly as lovely as her.” In one swift motion, she pulled out her smartphone and opened to this image of Skuld, from Oh My Goddess(a charming little romance series, if I do say so!). With a loving sigh, she cast her gaze upon it and said, “She makes me want to cut my heart out and serve it as a sacrifice to her beautiful face. Right, honey?” He nodded in agreement, then rushed us off to the local Hawaiian diner for us to try Loco Moco, a bed of rice topped by a hand formed burger patty, then topped with sunny side up eggs, then topped with gravy he said he grew up with. As I watched them feed each other their Loco Moco, a strange sensation came over me. As the savoury scent of the dish struck, I could feel my heart rip to pieces, but soon after, a warmth sprang forth to soothe the wounds. I felt a joy for them I never thought I could, like I wanted to be happy for them and do what I could to help them find a better happiness, even if that happiness was not my happiness.
When I got home to practice my cello technique, I noticed something unusual in how I played it. As I went through my repetitions, I felt more like what I wanted to express was coming through my instrument, not my instrument guiding what I played. Instead of straining to follow the rhythm, I learned to syncopate so I could more distinctly define it. Everything I learned about the world’s musical traditions, from the enchanting strums of Saddle Arabia to the uplifting swing of the Celtic isles soon blended together, better arming me to craft rich, intricate cross rhythms I was proud to call my own. My instrument was part of me, and I flowed through my instrument, in time drawing me closer to the zone all of us seek when we perform, a place where every act flows out as naturally as breathing. To this day, I wonder if that meant my journey towards finding the emotional centre within has finally begun. I have no doubt, however, that what I’ve learned has helped me more clearly realise what it means to be creative, what it means to be my own person and to draw from both the world around me and the thoughts and feelings deep within me. This much was dawned on me during a hangout First Spring had arranged between me, him and his beloved over back at that Seabucks, and his beloved asked me to play a few pieces from her favourite anime. I certainly do like to get paid for my performances, but seeing her eyes light up, as well as the small crowd of onlookers that gathered, reminded me of what my gift could bring to the world, of how my music could stir the emotions of those who heard it. Perhaps someday, I might even honour the request of the next hooligan who yells “Play Freebird!” instead of fighting off the urge to bash them about the face and body. It’s highly doubtful, but you never know what wonders the future will hold
