The Console Tinkerer

I watched the short woman in the olive green sweater grab the last Nintendo Wii from the shelf. She was about to make a mad dash to the nearest cashier when I stepped in front of her.

“Alright. How much?”

“Excuse me?”

I reached into my wallet and pulled out a fistful of twenty-dollar bills. The woman’s look of annoyance turned quickly to a look of interest.

“A hundred dollars.” I said. “I’ll give you a hundred dollars for that Wii.”

The woman looked down at the large box in her hands and then back up at me.

“You got two hundred?” She said.

I sighed. I dug my hand back into my wallet and retrieved five more bills.

The exchange happened quickly, she handed me the Wii at the same time as I handed her the cash. And then we went our separate ways, without even so much as a “Merry Christmas!”

I was too overwhelmed with relief to notice any of this, though. I couldn’t believe I was holding one in my hands, a Wii, the hot holiday toy that had eluded me for two Christmases in a row at that point. I was close to crying, breaking down in tears in the middle of that busy Walmart. I kept imagining the look on Milo’s face when he found this under the tree on Christmas morning. He’d waited so long.

I snagged a copy of Mario Kart then brought my haul to the checkout aisle. Between the money I paid to the woman and the cost of the console and game itself, I spent a little over five-hundred dollars, an irresponsible amount of money for a single present. Still, I couldn’t bring myself to get upset over it. It was my own fault, I supposed, waiting till a week before Christmas to get all my shopping done.

Fort Wayne traffic usually isn’t bad, but around the holidays, it can get downright miserable. I was inching through downtown, just a few blocks away from crossing the Saint Marys River into Spy Run. Once I got there, it would be a relatively quick drive back to the quiet suburbs.

But for now, I was stuck here, left only with my thoughts and the radio. I hopped between multiple stations, most of them just playing Christmas music. I listened to “Frosty the Snowman” then “Do You Hear What I Hear?” before landing on NPR, just in time to catch the headlines. 

The only story I paid much attention to was the one about Afghanistan. Senator Kerry was in Kabul, visiting troops at ISAF headquarters. I wondered briefly if Jerome had gotten to meet him before remembering that, the last time I heard from him, he had told me he was at a base hundreds of miles southeast of Kabul. It was strange. I always imagined Afghanistan to be a small country, but Jerome had told me it was actually about as large as Indiana, Ohio, Illinois, and Kentucky combined.

9/11 happened right after Jerome and I got married, just weeks before Milo was born. Jerome never struck me as patriotic or particularly concerned with the fate of his country, but the attacks really affected him, maybe cause he spent much of his childhood in Queens. Even though he was a diehard Democrat and despised Bush, he was all for the invasion of Afghanistan. He quit his job teaching P.E. at Bishop Dwenger High School and went to the nearest recruitment office. By Milo’s sixth birthday, he’d already gone on a few combat tours. Everytime he came back home, I urged him to stay, but it never worked. Whenever he eventually left, he’d kiss me on the cheek and tell me the war would be over in a matter of months. I believed him the first few times, but now, I couldn’t help but think about something my high school history teacher told me, how back in 1914, when the First World War broke out, Kaiser Wilhelm told all the German soldiers that they’d be home by Christmas.

I was determined to end the war before it killed him. That’s why I’d dutifully cast my vote for Obama that November. He’d end all the wars in the Middle East, I was sure of it. Milo would have his dad back home in no time.

After nearly an hour, I finally got home. Checking to make sure Milo was sound asleep, I brought the Wii inside and went downstairs to the den. I dusted off the ancient, grainy CRT television that Jerome used to watch Yankees games on and began to plug the console in. I wanted to make sure it worked, and it was a good thing I did.

The small, white, rectangular machine made sounds and showed signs of life, but none that seemed encouraging. A small dot of red light blinked at me before dimming. The console made a series of harsh whirring and buzzing sounds. The TV didn’t display any image. When I went to examine the device, I found it extremely hot to the touch, as if it was about to explode.

My palms grew sweaty and my heart began to race as I spent the next hour trying to get the damned thing to work. I poured over the instruction manual several times, tried to search for answers online, and moved the console to the TV upstairs, only to get a similar result. For the second time that night, I found myself on the verge of tears and crushed with disbelief. I spent two years trying to find a Nintendo Wii, and the one I finally got was broken.

After hiding the dysfunctional console in the basement, I collapsed on the sofa from exhaustion. I woke up a little after nine the next morning to find Milo in the kitchen, putting Pop-Tarts in the toaster.

“Morning, Milo.”

“Hi, Mom.” Milo said as he walked over to hug me. “How are you?”

“I’m fine, baby.” I said, walking over to the toaster to cook the Pop-Tarts myself.

“You were asleep on the couch.”

“Yeah, I know. I was exhausted from shopping all last night. I didn’t make it all the way upstairs to my bedroom, I guess.”

A minute or so later, the Pop-Tarts were done. I put them on a small paper plate and brought them to Milo, sitting dutifully at the table.

“Thanks.”

“You’re very welcome.” I said, kissing the top of his head, noticing just how much his honey-colored hair looked like Jerome’s. “How are you?”

“I’m good. But I sorta had the opposite problem from you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I didn’t sleep well last night?”

“Why not?”

“Cause I’m just too excited!”

“For Christmas?”

“Yeah, of course!”

“You’ve still got a whole week, buddy.”

“Not a whole week! Just six days.”

“Well, still, basically a whole week.”

“I just know it’s gonna happen this time.”

“What’s gonna happen?”

“Santa’s gonna do it. He’s gonna bring me my Wii.”

My heart sank when he said that. I suddenly recalled the busted game console I’d hidden away in the basement. 

“Right.” I finally managed to say. “We’ll see, I guess.”

Eventually, Milo went to the neighbors’ house for a playdate while I stayed in the kitchen and brewed some coffee, thinking.

I was going to get Milo his Wii, there was no doubt about that. The only question was, how? That had been the only Wii I’d been able to find after visiting dozens of shops the previous night. I could spend hours driving around Fort Wayne and the surrounding cities, checking all the Targets and Walmarts I wanted, but I probably wouldn’t find anything. And besides, I didn’t have the time. I worked as a manager at a nearby Cracker Barrel and Christmas was probably our busiest time of the year. I had already signed up to work overtime most days this week. I couldn’t devote more than a couple spare hours to trying to get a new Wii.

The idea hit me when I walked into the living room and happened to notice the desktop computer. I turned it on and navigated to Google. If I couldn’t find a new Wii, I figured, then maybe I could find someone who’d be willing to fix the Wii I already do have.

A quick search took me to Craigslist. I got lucky. I found an ad put up by someone called “The Console Tinkerer”, who also lived in Fort Wayne, just thirty minutes away.

Got a broken game console? The ad read. If so, you’ve come to the right place. I work with all kinds of consoles--Playstation, Xbox, DS, Wii--you name it, I can fix it quick. Stop by my place and drop off your console or send it to me in the mail.

I noted down the address listed below and checked my watch. Still two hours before work. I had time to stop by.

While driving, I kept trying to picture what “The Console Tinkerer” might look like. The image my mind settled on was that of a middle-aged manchild, with foggy glasses, greasy hair, a bulbous bald spot, a five o’clock shadow, and an ever-expanding waistline. The house at the address listed probably wasn’t even his, but rather his mom and dad’s. He’d take the Wii down to his basement hideout and fiddle around with it while watching some strange, colorful, Japanese children’s cartoon he was obsessed with. By the time I reached the tan, rundown-looking, one-story house, I could see him clearly in my mind’s eye. 

I parked next to the driveway and noticed someone sitting in the garage. After confirming this was the correct address, I got out of the car and began walking toward the person in the garage. As I approached, I could see it was a teenage girl, all bundled up and sitting at a workbench, listening to a Violent Femmes song on a small radio.

“Excuse me?” I said as I stepped into the garage.

The girl jumped a little, then went to turn down her music before turning to face me.

“Hello.” She said. “Need something?”

“IUm, is this the place where I can get a video game console fixed?”

I lifted the Wii I was carrying so the girl could see. Her eyes lit up at the sight of it.

“Yes, this is the place.” She said. “I’m the Console Tinkerer.”

“Oh, wait, really?” I said. “It’s you?”

“Yup.” She said. “Name’s Rachel.”

“I’m Holly.” I said. “Listen, um, I’ve got a Nintendo Wii here--”

“Surprised you were able to find one.”

“I know, right? They’re sold out everywhere. Well, anyways, I just bought it as a gift for my son, but when I plugged it in and turned it on, it didn’t work.”

“I see.” Rachel said, taking the Wii from me.

“Can you fix it?”

“Probably.”

“How quickly can you get it done?”

“Oh, it usually only takes me a day or two. A week at the very most.”

“Good! Great! And, uh, what do I owe you?”

“Hundred dollars.”

I winced at the triple digit number, but I came prepared. I forked over the cash and thanked Rachel profusely.

“No need to thank me. Just doing my job.”

“Still, thank you. You have no idea how much this means to me. I--”

The door next to the workbench suddenly slammed open. A large, bald, shirtless man came out into the garage. Tattoos ran along his flabby arms. In one hand, he held an empty bottle of Budweiser, which he was about to toss in the trash can nearby when he noticed me.

“Who are you?” He said, his glare causing me to take one step backwards. “Rachel! Who is--?”

“Just a customer, Dad.” She didn’t turn to face him when she spoke.

“What did I tell you about letting strangers in the garage?”

“Dad, she’s just a--”

The man threw a bottle at the back of Rachel’s head. It hit her scalp before hitting the floor and shattering.

“You look at me when I’m talking to you!” He said. “What did I tell you about letting strangers in the garage?”

Rachel, both hands covering the spot on her head the bottle struck, looked up at me then with tears in her eyes.

“You can go.” She said. “I’ll get it fixed.”

I wasted no time turning on my heels and speed walking away from the situation. I climbed back in my car, trying to forget what I saw.

By the time I was through with my ten hour shift at Cracker Barrel, I was too exhausted to remember anything I’d seen that morning.

When I came home, I found Milo had fallen asleep on the sofa while watching the Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer movie. I decided not to disturb him, muting the TV and closing the living room door behind me when I left.

In the kitchen, I sorted through the mail. Most of it was junk, as usual, but my heart stopped when I found it at the bottom of the stack. A letter from Jerome.

I tore open the envelope and read the whole thing in less than a minute. It was a short message, much of it taken up by Jerome explaining why he didn’t have time to write more. He assured her he was doing well, asked about Milo, then delivered the news that I’d been fully expecting, but still dreading. He wouldn’t be home for Christmas, even though he’d promised. He’d never been here on Christmas, never gotten to see the joy in his son’s eyes as he opened presents and feasted on glazed ham.

Despite my best efforts, I started to cry. I was angry with him, but also with myself. Why hadn’t I prepared for this? Did I really think that there’d be some chance he’d scheduled a visit home without telling me? Why did I go out and buy enough food to feed three people, when I knew damn well it would just be the two of us on Christmas?

In a fit of rage, I crumpled up the letter and threw it away. I marched upstairs, changed into my pajamas, and dived into bed, trying to forget him and his absence.

Rachel’s email was posted on her Craigslist profile. I’d sent her multiple messages asking if the Wii was ready to be picked up, but I never heard back.

I was getting nervous. I wanted to rush over and ask if the Wii would be fixed by Christmas Day, but I also didn’t want to rush her or wander in another scene of domestic strife. I would give her until Christmas Eve. I got out of work a few hours early and drove over to her house.

It was already dark by the time I arrived and the garage was empty. The lights were on inside of the house, though, so I walked cautiously up the driveway and onto the front porch. I was about to ring the doorbell when I heard the screaming.

“You can’t escape me!” A voice I recognized as belonging to the bald man yelled. “You think you can get away? No, you gotta pay! You gotta pay for hiding all that money away from me!”

I heard the sound of a bottle shattering as it hit the wall as Rachel shrieked and wept.

“Help!” She called. “Someone, please, help me! He’s gonna--He’s gonna--!”

Another bottle hit the wall then. I turned to run. I was halfway down the driveway before I stopped and turned around. I rang the doorbell and immediately the house grew quiet.

A silent minute passed before Rachel came to the door, opening it just enough to stick her head out.

“Hi.” I said. “I’m here to--”

“Sorry.” She said. “Hi. Sorry. I’d been meaning to get back to you.”

“That’s OK! I understand if you’re not--”

“Oh, no! It’s done.”

“What?”

“The Wii. I fixed it.”

“R-Really?”

“Yes. Hold on.”

She closed the door. Another suddenly serene minute passed before she reappeared. This time, she didn’t stick her head out, just her hand, carrying the Wii.

“Here you go.” She said. “Merry Christmas.”

It all happened so quickly that I barely had time to respond. Just before she shut the door, I shoved the shoe into the doorway to stop her.

“Wait.” I said, grabbing her hand. “Come with me.”

“What?”

“Come with me!”

“N-No, I--”

“What’s taking you so long!?” The bald man called from somewhere inside the house. “Who is it!?”

I found her eyes in the darkness and stared into them.

“Rachel!” I said, whispering now. “Come with me, please!”

I thought I saw her nod. She stepped out onto the porch, not closing the door. I ran towards the car, never loosening my hand’s grip on her own.

“Mom!” Milo said when we came into the living room. “Where have you been? I’m so hungry, I--”

He stopped speaking when he noticed Rachel standing next to me.

“Hey, Milo.” I said. “I know we’re supposed to wait till morning, but how about I let you have one Christmas present early, OK?”

Milo looked from Rachel to me then back to Rachel.

“Um, OK.” He said.

I stepped aside to let Milo see what Rachel was holding.

“Here it is.” I said. “Your brand new Wii.”

“Oh my God.” He said. “Oh my God!”

Milo jumped off the couch and rushed to hug me, breaking down in tears.

“Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”

“You’re welcome. Um, Milo?”

“Yeah?”

“This is Rachel. Would you mind letting her play with you while I go make a quick phone call?”

“Sure! Of course!”

I looked over to see Rachel was smiling too, the first time I’d seen her do that all night. Milo ran over to TV and waved her over.

“Come on, over here!” He said. “Plug it in! I can’t believe it’s finally here!”