Notes on the X-Men Arcade

Some Notes on Tara

Tara looked like Jennifer Lawrence, had a kid, worked at Little Caesars. She had the Rolling Stones lips tattooed on the back of her neck. The lyric “Don’t play with me cause you’re playing with fire” on her collar bone. She would come through the self-checkout at the CheapFoods I worked at. Sometimes with groceries. Usually with a sixer of craft beer. I worked self-checkout because I suffer from exploitable reliability. It sucked. The people. The machines. Neither worked right and I was always to blame. Tara was a bright spot. She’d come through in her grease spattered Little Caesars uniform and I’d ask her about the Hot and Ready pizzas. They’re ready, she’d say. We’d complain about the humans of Boise, Idaho and talk about beer. How they treating you today, Trees? she’d say. I told her about the old man who wanted me arrested for rushing him through the line. How, in his anger, he’d shoved his items into the battery display.

I’d stop into Little Caesars to see her, even though their pizza is only one step above Red Barron. I’d get all nervous and shaky. Had to give myself a minute before I went inside. How they treating you today, Tara? She’d frown at me. It’s difficult, she’d say. Ordering an already made pizza is hard.

Trees, she said another time when I came in, It’s weird seeing you without those damn machines screaming at us. Exterminate, I said in a Dalek voice. That’s hilarious, she said. I hate Dr. Who.

I asked her out. February 2013. To the Old Chicago that used to be in the mall. Oh, it’s still there. Huh. Good for them. Anyway, I wasn’t her type. I mean I drank, but was negative in tattoos, not some alpha braggart who’d ignore her to go fiddle with big boy toys. Still, my life was starting a downward slide. I reached out. She said yes and that first date we had a good time. Ordered spinach and artichoke dip that dripped all over the table and made it almost ¾ through the world tour of beers.

Some notes on Fuddruckers

There was a line for food. A line for drinks. A line for desserts. One last line for the condiment bar where you could make your food edible. The lines never seemed to go down so the wait for a second beer was always too much to consider. They had arcades set up all over which emitted the only lights in the restaurant. And one of the arcades was the X-Men Arcade.

I ordered a cheeseburger, lathered it up with relish and mustard. Tara’s chicken sandwich remained untouched as she tried to get Hunter, who ordered a plain hamburger with only some ketchup on the side for dipping, to eat. Dates when she had Hunter tended to be family restaurants. Dates without him tended to be dive bars. I don’t remember who suggested Fuddruckers that night. I hope it wasn’t me.

“Trees,” she said. “You gonna help me out here?”

“Yeah,” I said, “Sure. Hunter. Hey. It’s not that bad. Dip it in the ketchup.” I dipped one of my fries into the mustard on my plate. Ate. “MMM,” I said. “Tasty.” Tara gave me a look. The same look she gave me when her car broke down and I stood behind her while she fiddled under the hood. It was tough with Hunter. He only wanted to talk about stuff his dad liked. Trucks and motorcycles. He’d told me all about his dad’s gun. How awesome it was. I nodded along like I was jealous.

“I’m not hungry,” Hunter said.

“Yeah, till desert,” Tara said. “If you don’t eat, no games.”

I kept stealing glances at the X-Men Arcade. Fuddruckers had other arcades, but I had eyes only for X-Men. Of all the arcade games of my youth, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, The Simpsons, Primal Rage, X-Men was the best. You bet your ass I meant to play it. Even though it wasn’t such a good idea. Truth, I kinda knew if I went and played, she’d break up with me.

“You might as well eat,” I told Tara.

“He needs to eat,” she said.

Our first date at Old Chicago had been fun. If we were drinking, it was still fun. The sex was still okay. Not as good as it had been at first, when I’d make out with the lips tattooed on her neck. We were not gelling. If the kid was around, it was like she needed me to be someone I was never going to be. I mean, we hadn’t been dating that long. And if I’m honest, when the kid was around, Tara turned into a bummer. She drank soda. When she scolded Hunter, it made me feel insignificant. There is a part of me, a part, that feels that people have kids for the same reason they get dogs. To have something to scream at.

“Come on Hunter,” I said.

Hunter took a bite. Chewed for what might have been ten minutes. Spat the wad into his ketchup.

“Welp,” I said. “All right.” Held up my empty bottle of Bud Light and headed over to the X-Men Arcade.

Some notes on Dazzler

She only appeared in a couple of episodes of the X-Men Animated Series of the 90’s. Dazzler’s moment was in the 80’s. A Cyndi Lauper with superpowers. Dazzler was an X-Man during the brief period they were based in Australia. Hooked up with Longshot, a mutant from an entertainment obsessed alternative reality called the Mojoverse. Had her own solo series. When my friend Albertson owned his comic bookstore, he brought in both volumes of the Dazzler Marvel Essentials. All 48 issues collected in black and white. He kept both volumes behind the front counter under glass.

Not looking to beat the game I inserted my quarters and chose Dazzler. Chose her over Cyclops, Nightcrawler, Wolverine, Colossus or Storm. Dazzler in her mid-80’s comic accurate full body blue tights and brown leather jacket. Her special mutant power, throwing an expanding glob of light at the ground, wouldn’t clear the screen of enemies.

I began the long journey of beating up Sentinels and evil mutants on my way to Magneto. I could hear Tara correcting Hunter back at our table. I didn’t turn to look but could sense her finger wagging in his face. Some kids came up and watched me, but they bored and made their way over to Big Buck Hunter. Took the rifle out without putting in any quarters and started blasting.

I died. Killed by a Sentinel with a long metal pole. Inserted more quarters. Got past the first boss, Pyro, a human flame thrower. Pumped my fist in victory. Felt this presence next to me. Way to fucking close. A tall, rounded individual wearing a jean jacket and the tiny glasses of a hipster Heinrich Himmler. I looked at him and raised an eyebrow.

“You shouldn’t have chosen Dazzler,” he said. “Why did you choose Dazzler?”

“I wanted to,” I said.

“You should have picked Wolverine,” Tiny Glasses said. “Wolverine rules.”

“Noted,” I said. Continued to move the joystick and button mash.

He stood there. He didn’t look at me. Only the screen. I edged away. Dude smelled strongly of mayonnaise. “Hit ‘em. Hit ‘em,” he said. “Get that power up. Get that guy. Yes! Yes. Got ‘em. Use your mutant power. Use your mutant power. Oh man! You’re dying. Look at your health bar. You need health. Should have used your mutant power.”

“Dude,” I said. “Just let me play the game.”

These upright alligator things killed me.

“That’s why you don’t pick Dazzler,” he said.

I returned to the table. Hunter had eaten maybe a quarter of his burger. Tara had finished her chicken sandwich. “Can you believe that?” I said after sitting down. Pointed to Tiny Glasses who’d taken my place. Was, I’m sure, playing as Wolverine.

“No,” Tara said, looking right at me. “I can’t.”

Some Notes on Seeing your Ex in the Self-checkout Lane at CheapFoods

A surprise to no one she broke up with me. Our whole thing lasted about a month and a half. I’d still see her at CheapFoods. Going through self-checkout, buying her craft beers. Sometimes alone. Sometimes with the non-binary individual she started seeing shortly before I got fired. Some days, standing in my little cubby where I could monitor people trying to pass off bulk pine nuts as spaghetti, I’d want to go talk to her. Not to get back together. To go back to how it was before we dated. Jokes about Little Caesars. Discussions about beer. When I was Trees, not failing to be the dude I thought she wanted me to be. I’d take a step toward Tara and one of the machines would start alarming or a customer in need of assistance would whistle at me and that would be that.

---

Ross Hargreaves has an MFA in Creative Writing from the University of Idaho. His work has appeared in Mikrokosmos, Quibble Lit, God’s Cruel Joke, Fatal Flaw, and Drunk Monkey. He lives and writes in Idaho.