Game Boys and Go-Karts

When I was small, I used to look at my reflection in the shiny bathtub drain. I’d see my distorted features twist and expand. I’d sit and stare into the water until my fingers were prunes. I’d become bored and imagine that there were sharks in the tub trying to eat me, but they couldn’t get me because I was faster than them. The great white shark game was what I called it. This was my bath time routine.

One night, I became bored of the game after outsmarting so many sharks, and I went back to my reflection. My cheeks were pink, and I felt alone. My eyes were large and dark, but I couldn’t see through them to the inside of myself no matter how hard I tried. I wanted to know who was in there. I knew it was me, but I didn’t know what that meant or where they were hiding.

My freckles were light and my skin was pale. My hair was dark and slicked back like a greaser from that one movie with Pony Boy in it. I imagined what I’d look like if I could wear a leather jacket with a white t-shirt. Suddenly, I wasn’t just a little kid in the bathtub. I was a teenager lighting a cigarette. I broke away from my day dream and went back to my reflection. I looked just like my brother. Was it him looking back at me or was it me? I couldn’t tell, and I thought maybe my eyes were playing tricks on me.

When my mom came into my room at night, I’d pretend that I was already asleep. I waited a while for her to check on my brother and go back downstairs. When it was quiet, I would slip out of my bed and flip on the bedside lamp. I’d sit at the small table in my room where I put together puzzles. Once I grew bored of that, I’d switch on my purple Game Boy Color. This series of Game Boy had no back light, so I’d attach my little green LED light. This was my bedtime routine. I’d watch the little green light flicker on and grow brighter, and I knew that the Game Boy would take me into a different world. I could choose to go any place as long as that world existed inside of the few small cartridges that fit the handheld game. I’d play Pokemon, Super Mario Bros, Tetris, and Power Puff Girls until I fell asleep.

There was a wall of dolls in my room. They all sat perfectly lined up on the shelves, watching my every move in the dark. They knew my secrets, and I wished they didn’t. Their porcelain eyes followed me around with judgement every night. They hated it when that green light for the Game Boy Color flashed on. Sometimes I’d hear them whisper through their curls and frilly dresses. They’d say, “You are not one of us.” In the morning, when my mother would curl my hair with the hot iron, they’d all smile at me approvingly. Then, she’d dress me in my brother’s hand-me-down pants and shirts, and their faces would bunch up as if they tasted something sour. They only liked me when I wore sparkles and pink. They didn’t like me when there was dirt under my fingernails, or when the knees were blown out of my brothers’s baggy jeans. But I liked both, and I wanted to be both, and I was both, and I didn’t know what that meant or who I was.

When I started going to school, I felt sad and scared of what the other kids thought of me. I became so anxious that I felt sick every morning, and my mom didn’t know what was wrong with me. She tried giving me ice cream for breakfast by recommendation of the school nurse, but it didn’t help. I felt so far away from the kids sitting in desks barely a foot apart. I’d talk with the girls and try to be their friend, but they didn’t like me. They didn’t like my old clothes that were worn and too big, and they didn’t like my brother’s sneakers. They all knew that I was different from them. They saw their daddies go to work every day while their mommies went shopping for glittery tennis shoes. My mom went to work every day, and my dad went to work every night, and I was wearing my brother’s clothes.

Before I knew it, I’d become the mean girls’s messenger. Their groups would fight and break up, and it was always my job to get them back together. Once their forces were reunited, I was finally welcomed into the group. I was one of them until they broke up again. I felt like a tool being used to win some silly game, except there were no winners in this game, only losers. They all wanted to be loved the most by their friends, but none of them even liked each other.

I started swinging alone at recess instead of delivering messages across the playground. I'd swing so high that sometimes my shoes would fly off my feet. I’d swing so high that I thought I might reach the moon. I imagined that when I got there, the moon would be made of cheese, and I’d eat it. I felt so free until I had to go back inside and sit next to the same people.

Sometimes the classes overlapped on the playground, and I’d push the merry-go-round as fast as I could for the kids in other grades. We’d pile on as many bodies as possible. Some kids would go to the middle and cling to each other for dear life. The rest of us would hold on tight to the metal bars lining the outside of the merry-go-round and hang one leg off the edge. We’d all push so hard with our one foot that it felt like the entire hunk of metal might shoot out of the earth and up into the air like a cannonball covered in bodies and limbs. Everyone on the ride would scream and laugh together while we spun around at what felt like the speed of light. It didn’t matter what anyone looked like or what they were wearing. We were all just thrilled to be alive. In those moments, that green light would flash in my head. It was almost as if to say, "Keep going, you’re doing great!"

I guess the mean girls finally noticed me having a good time without them, and they sent a new messenger to plead with me, to guilt me into rejoining their group. I felt bad for the new messenger, but I never went back. I chose to swing alone and fling my shoes, to push the merry-go-round, to race boys in the field, to play clog the slide with strangers, to sing songs with the kids who climbed in the trees. Eventually, I made a real friend or two or three. They weren’t mean, they didn’t care that I was wearing boy shoes, and they all felt different too in ways different from me. We embraced our differences, and we started an Eskimo club in the wintertime because we all had to wear the ugly puffy jackets that our parents picked for us.

I’d come home after school and play outside with the neighborhood kids. My brother and I felt really lucky because we had been given a go-kart for Christmas one year. There was an empty lot next to our house, and we’d race go-karts with the neighbors. We turned that field into a track, and we were out there nearly everyday. I’d imagine that same green light flickering up as if to say, "Ready, set, go!" I’d slam my foot onto the gas pedal and fly. My brother and I would take turns driving, and we won every race. When the sun would set, I’d come inside covered in dirt and grass with my hair in massive knots. I’d go back to the tub, wash off the grime, and rip through the mats on my head, but the image in the metal drain just kept twisting up until I didn't recognize myself anymore. The dolls still frowned at night, and after a while, I was too afraid of their judgmental stares to sneak out of bed anymore. When I closed my eyes, I’d see the green light flicker on, but instead of motioning me to go, it would abruptly change to red. In my dream, I was sitting inside the go-kart, waiting for the light to turn green. I’d look down at myself to see that I was wearing a frilly dress with my long hair in curls, just like the dolls. I couldn’t move out of the glow of the red light or even reach my foot to the gas pedal. I couldn’t even shout or make a sound. The light wouldn’t turn back to green no matter how long I was paralyzed.

One year for Christmas Eve, my mom made me wear a hot pink knitted sweater with a bow on top of my head. She paired it with some of my brother's old jeans without the holes in the knees. She curled my hair and cut my bangs short for the first time in a long time. I looked in the mirror, and I cried when I saw myself. It didn’t feel like me, and it was confusing. My sweater matched the bathroom rug. The longer I looked in the mirror, all I could see was that green light flickering to red. It was as if to say, "Do not pass go. Do not collect two hundred dollars. Just give up."

That night, my stomach got really sick, and I felt like a Christmas ruiner. I was so sick that everyone had to help take care of me. I felt bad, and I felt it in both kinds of ways. Then Christmas morning came, and I unwrapped a stuffed bear given to me by my mom. I held him tight for the whole day until I didn’t feel so bad anymore. I named him Sleepy, and I told everyone that he helped make me better. As the years went by, the dolls on the shelves disappeared and were replaced with a plushie collection of bears and other friendly creatures. They were so much nicer to me than the dolls. They didn’t mind when I would sneak out of bed at night to puzzle or play the Game Boy. They understood when I spent hours outside playing in the dirt. They still smiled at me no matter if I was dressed in boy clothes or if my hair was brushed. They kept me warm me at night, and suddenly my dreams of the flickering light were always green. I could explore any world that existed inside my imagination.

Sometimes life felt easy. It was nothing more than watching cartoons on the weekends or playing Nintendo all summer long. Things were as simple as digging holes in the backyard that we thought would lead to China, catching caterpillars from the giant tree of life, racing go-karts, playing roll the barrel on the trampoline, or hitting a rock and falling off the razor scooter while flying down a hill. There were plenty of video games to beat, endless mud puddles to jump in, and a litany of injuries to tend to, so we didn’t have to think too much about all of the things that were wrong.

As I grew older, real life became more surreal than anything living inside my head. It was often scarier than the eyes of the dolls that followed me around my room, but I still watched that green light flicker on every night. When the Game Boy color died out, then came the Game Boy Advance.