Pac-Men

On the phone, my mom implored me to visit.

“I made my famous meatloaf,” she said with a lilt. 

I knew it was a ploy, but her words tugged at my heartstrings, and she knew I couldn't resist her cooking. Even though my parents were only a few hours away, I felt guilty for not seeing them in a while. So after work on Friday, I kissed my husband goodbye and hit the road with my favorite true crime podcast blaring through an old Bluetooth speaker in my cup holder.

When I arrived, of course, my parents had already eaten, but they insisted that we all sit together so they could watch me enjoy my dinner. Mom regaled me with recycled stories about her catty coworkers, and Dad reminded me about his chronic back pain and all the doctors and medications he'd been dealing with. We laughed and chatted for a while before my parents retired to bed.

But I wasn't ready to settle for the night. I thought it might be interesting to take a ride around my old stomping grounds and I ended up at the local fun plex - a rundown venue housing a combination skate rink, bowling alley, and arcade. As a video gamer, I headed directly to the hazy arcade, skipping past the bowlers and skaters. The air was thick with the smell of cigarettes and stale booze, even though smoking had been banned there for over two decades.

The Pac-Man machine hid in the back corner, but I knew exactly where to find it, and I inserted my first of many quarters into the red slot. The joystick felt familiar under my fingers as I played. I devoured pellets, killed ghosts, and grabbed fruit, moving up each level. I was so engrossed in the game that I lost track of time. I thought about the Halloween I dressed up as Pac-Man when I was five. The hard plastic mask with a tiny slit made it hard to breathe and the vinyl onesie was a heat trap, but it was the best costume ever.

As I was entering my initials for the top score, I heard a familiar voice calling my name. It was Zane - my high school bully. I froze for a moment, but I quickly regained my composure as I turned to face him. Zane still had the piercing blue eyes and sharp jawline from our high school days, but now his hair was thinning, and his belly was bulging. He was not as intimidating as I had remembered him. 

“Hi Zane. Long time. How’s it going?” I tensed up a bit waiting for some kind of confrontation.

“Not bad, bro. I thought you moved to the big city.” He seemed casual. 

“I did. I’m just here visiting my folks,” I explained cautiously.  

“That’s cool, dude. Congrats on top score!” He smiled sincerely. I started to relax.

“Thanks! It’s been a while. I guess I’ve still got it,” I humblebragged. He chuckled.

“Yeah. Hey, you wanna grab a beer? I’ll buy.” He pointed towards the concession stand.

I agreed, “uh…sure. Why not?” 

The memories of my high school years with Zane still haunted me as we leaned casually against an old pool table, talking about the weather and college sports. I found it difficult to reconcile the middle-aged father shooting the breeze with me like a long-lost pen pal when as teens he had made my life a living hell for being gay. And I was surprised that he was even interested in speaking with me now that I was out and openly married to a man. But if he was going to play friendly, so was I. Maybe he didn’t remember being so mean. High school was a long time ago. We all did things we weren’t proud of.

We headed to the “bar” at the concession stand, grabbed a couple of cheap pints, and squeezed into a bright orange booth near the bowling alley section of the fun plex. The sounds of strikes and spares clattered in the background as we caught up on old times.

“I’m just gonna come out and say it,” he muttered as he plopped his half-empty glass on the table. “I was a dick to you in high school and I’m sorry for that.”

I stared back blankly for a moment, not knowing what to say. “Don’t worry about–”

“No man. There’s no excuse. It’s all fun and games…I was a jerk and I feel awful. I hope you can forgive me.” He looked down at the flat beer. 

“Of course I can. It was a long time ago. We were kids. I’ve moved on. I’m glad you have, too”

“I guess I was jealous cuz you had so much confidence back then to just be yourself. I always felt like I could never do that.”

“I never thought of it like that. I’m sorry you felt that way.”

“Ain’t your fault. Forget it. You want another one? I have to tell you about something else.”

I agreed to another beer and Zane started in on what sounded like a pitch for a pyramid scheme. I politely turned him down and he went in again this time he brought up how he was in a financial bind and needed to bring on other people to help him succeed in the business. 

“My wife and kids are depending on me to be successful and I can’t let them down, man.”

“I get it, but I’m not in a place to invest right now, Zane. I’m so sorry.”

“I’ll drop it then. Thanks for listening.” He downs the rest of his beer and looks at me with a grin, “You wanna get outta here?”

He was hard to read but something in his eyes told me he needed a friend so I agreed to a joy ride.

We ended up at our high school parking lot where we talked and laughed and reminisced about old friends and teachers, some of whom stayed in town and others who had moved on or passed away. The mood got intense as we sat quietly for a moment thinking of those we’d lost. I turned on the radio to end the awkward silence. Suddenly Zane reached over and kissed me right on the lips! I was so shocked I didn’t stop him at first, and his kiss was warm and soft. As soon as I could react, I pulled away.

“I’m married, Zane,” I said, “You’re married.”

“I know, but I’m so unhappy. My life is not what I imagined it should be. And I look at you and you seem so happy and I want…”

He tried to kiss me again, but this time I stopped him. 

“Zane, I can’t do this. And you should talk to someone–not me–about what you are feeling. You know, if you are gay–”

“I’m not gay.”

“You just kissed me.”

He shrugged. I didn’t know what else to say. He looked at me with the same anger I had seen back in high school. He grabbed my leg and went in for another kiss. I pulled away quickly and opened the door. 

“I think I should go back to my car.”

I got out of the car and started walking back towards the fun plex. Zane drove up next to me and tried to apologize again, but I didn’t want to hear it. Soon, his apologies turned to insults and eventually, after getting no response from me except an offer to call the cops, he sped off with a screech. 

Once I returned to my car, I called my husband and told him everything that happened. He comforted me gently and told me to come home. I left a note for my parents to say I’d be back the next weekend, and I made the three-hour drive home in silent reflection. When I finally crawled into bed, my hubby held me close. But I could still feel Zane’s hot beer breath on my neck. I got up to take a shower and then slipped back into bed. I told my husband about the pyramid scheme and he mentioned a podcast about what a nightmare those things are. 

“I got the top score on Pac-Man.” 

“I’m so proud of you,” he whispered as we cuddled to sleep.