Two-player

The place was like one of those rich people resorts you’d see in the movies from the 60s and 70s. You know, the ones with the giant white mansion with the columns and the flowers in pure white, cement garden plots. No gravel roads here either, everything was paved and leveled. Even the slightest incline in the road was smooth enough that you didn’t get out of breath when walking upward. No one wanted to see ladies with sweaty skin or drippy makeup, god-forbid. The building, Ellicott Hall, faced a professionally manicured golf course, or, if you were unlucky enough to get a room at the back, a view of the employee parking lot, the shop where they fixed the carts, and low, oily hills in the distance. The carpets stunk like mold when you went back that far into the building. Too many leaks left to fester, too many flooded tubs and toilets . . .

           The peasantry — like me and my family — stayed in the cottages that lined the roads leading away from the main building. They were quaint, don’t get me wrong. I think they were like duplexes, or something. Full-sized apartments in a single-level building, with a porch that ran the length of the front. “Complete with green turf that will make you think you’re standing on the putting green!” the brochure claimed. It was prickly, nearly fluorescent, green scrubby-sponge material and smelled like wet wood and moss; nothing pleasant about it, really. On the inside, the rooms were large and comfortable, furnished with standard fare. Plain wood tables and chairs purchased wholesale in the 60s, gaudy couches and loveseats, loudly patterned linens and curtains, and a large fireplace that took up most of the dining room. It was the only thing, other than the porch, that was shared between the two sides, but it didn’t matter. No one wanted to light a fire when it was 80 degrees at 8pm on a Saturday in mid-July.

           The reason my siblings and I loved going was because way down deep, at the back of the main building; following white rugs, that turned to brown, then red, then finally a dark navy blue — there was a ginormous arcade. We’d never seen anything that big! They had six whole stand-up Pac-Man machines, three Donkey Kongs, and Street Fighter! Last year, they added a Jaguar system — the latest and greatest console in the video game world. There was a bunch of old pinball machines, a couple air hockey tables, a foosball table with every third team member broken at the waist. There were a couple Whack-A-Mole games and Skee-ball, but the best part was that it was always dark and a little chilly in there. It was the best place to be all summer long.

           On the wall above the prize counter that no one bothered to man was a digital screen that had the initials of the person with the top scores. First, second, and third place were always the same: R.A.L. Each year, they were the same. Every day, every week, every year. But, the last time, we — Jimmy, Becca, and me — we decided to figure out who R.A.L was. And, for lack of time, I’ll just tell you straight, we didn’t and got into a ton of trouble for how we went about it. It ruined the whole trip. Dad promised he’d help us figure it out this year.

           So, here we are! The moment we unpacked and had a quick lunch (bologna and ketchup sandwich and nacho cheese Doritos for me!), the three of us were off to the arcade to get a fresh start on the R.A.L. mystery. Dad stayed behind to help Mom, even though we’d practically begged for him to come with us.

           Zig-zagging through the maze of limos and big black cars, we dodged the latest wave of vacationers heading to their rooms in the main building. Last year, management had mailed new rules stating that those patrons who were not paying to stay in Ellicott Hall must go around the back and use the service entrance to access the entertainment rooms and shops. Sounded to me like the snobs in Ellicott Hall didn’t want to mingle with the peasantry. PFF! Still, we headed to the back and weaved around a group of twenty-somethings in uniforms: black polo shirts, white pants, white shoes, each with a cigarette hanging from their lips, holding bottles of Mt. Dew. None of them paid us any attention.

           The smell of damp and mold was stronger than it had ever been before. The waft of air at opening the service door was almost enough to make me gag, but nothing was going to stop us from figuring out who R.A.L. was. We followed the red carpet to the navy blue and found our arcade in complete darkness. Not the cool neon, black-light darkness of years before, with the glow of screens casting kid-sized shadows on the walls, but the pitch-black of a night without stars far away from the regular world.

           The three of us had stopped short, all in a line, staring in horror at the darkness behind the glass and locked door of our arcade. OUR arcade! R.A.L.’s arcade. What was going on? I turned to look behind me for one of the people in the black polo shirts, but they had either not yet come back inside, or had gone another way. Becca started to cry. She was seven, so it looked to her like the world had ended. “Whyyyyy?!” she wailed.

           Jimmy backhanded her shoulder in the way only a brother would to get their stupid little sister to shut up: just hard enough to hurt, but not hard enough to make her cry harder, louder, or start screaming for their parents. He was a professional and had done it just right. Becca snuffled, wiped her nose on her arm, and pouted instead.

           Jimmy, the big 1-0 this year, tugged the sleeve of my hoodie, “Is it closed? What happened? Did they shut it down? Sam, Sam, this totally isn’t real, right?”

          I needed a minute to think and brushed off his hand. I turned to look back in the other direction to check for someone to ask, but the hallway was still empty. I nodded at Becca, which was Jimmy’s cue to tug her along behind us — and he did.

           Navy blue, to red, to brown, to white; straight to the front desk. “Excuse me,” I said to the man wearing a black three-piece suit behind the desk. He looked up from an open notebook and lofted an eyebrow.

“Are you supposed to be in here?” he asked. There was instant annoyance plastered on his smug, droopy face.

         “Why is our arcade closed?” Jimmy yelled at him.

I smiled. Leave it to Jimmy to cut right to it.

Walter hyphen Concierge, his gold, clippie nametag-thing said, scrunched up his face in disgust, as if Jimmy had let go a silent egg fart right there.

“It’s been closed off because of water damage. It will likely never reopen, either. Now,” he waggled a long, pale finger at the three of us, “go on back to the cottages. You have no other reason to be here. Out! OUT!” He shouted the last so loudly that the main lobby went completely silent, everyone stopping and staring at us. Well, until Becca started bawling. I grabbed Jimmy and shoved him in front of me toward the main entrance, and he’d had enough sense to grab Becca and drag her with us.

“No! No! Out the back with you! You aren’t allowed to use the main doors! The back, I say! No, no, no!” He tried to come around the desk, but I turned and flipped him off with both middle fingers, and the three of us disappeared out the into the throng of men and women in white with big hats and even bigger suitcases.

Becca sat on the metal glider on the porch with her feet dangling. Her hot-pink shorts stained with kid-goop: boogers, dirt, food, and whatever else. “Why won’t they let us in?” she asked for the fiftieth time in ten minutes.

“’Cause water got in there or something and screwed it all up.” Jimmy violently shook out a tube of little brown, wooden logs onto the scrubby-sponge-colored turf. The tube said Lincoln Logs on it, and there were instructions on how to build a log cabin from the pieces. Someone had left behind a game called Tiddly Winks, a spooky house and plastic people Mom had called Weebles, and this tube of Lincoln Logs. She said she played with them when she was a kid, too.

At that moment Mom stepped onto the porch; the old metal screen door clanging shut behind her. “What’s this I hear about the arcade being closed?”

Becca immediately started crying.

“It’s bogus, Mom. Walter Cong-sea-urge said it would never be open again. I wanna go home. This place sucks.” I told her, crossing my arms and sulking.

A genuine smile lit up her eyes, “Listen, kids, sometimes these things happen. I’ll see if Dad will run over and talk to Walter when he gets back from the clubhouse, okay?”

We moped the rest of the afternoon. Well, we moped with cookies and chips, and the neighbors all came by to check on Mom and get the latest gossip. But, as the smell of charcoal and lighter fluid began filling the air, Dad came walking up the path toward the cottage.

“Dad—” I started in a rush, ready to tell him everything.

He waved a hand dismissively as he started up the steps. “Sam, it’s fine. I talked to Walter on the walk back. I’m going to pop in there tomorrow and take a look, make sure nothing is fried. Then, you should be able to get back to playing — or sleuthing — for the rest of the summer. Okay?”

Yes! The search for R.A.L. was back on! The rest of the night was great, and we all slept good knowing the next day was going to be the best day.

Or maybe not.

I swear, every kid at the resort sat against the opposite wall of the arcade, staring intently at the three men on the inside of the glass working with lights on extension cords and flashlights. Whispers of “Can they fix it?” “Anyone see any screens?” and, “I wanna play so bad!” bounced down the line, as did the sound of crunching chips, and the TSSSH! of soda bottle caps discharging their fizz.

“Dad will fix it for us, I know he will,” I reassured Jimmy and Becca. They sat beside me, both crunching on chips and drinking soda.

Neither of them really seemed to care about what I had to say, they watched the men, too. Then, a spark of joy shot through the hallway as lights and screens and advertisements came on with a jolt of static in the air. The kids jumped up and shouted, chips and soda flying in every direction as all other cautions were thrown to the wind.

Walter’s face showed around the corner for the briefest second, slathered with surprise then rage at the mess that had just happened in the hallway. I laughed; that guy was going to have a heart attack one day. He took everything way too seriously.

Then, all our hopes were dashed – the arcade went dark again. All except for one lone machine: Donkey Kong. The hallway kids didn’t seem to care, the shouts of glee turned into wails and sobs. Some threw down their bottles and stalked off, others grabbed their siblings, or threatened to tell their parents if it wasn’t fixed.

It occurred to me, if they left the one machine on – just the one – my summer would be fine. Donkey Kong was my favorite, and with it being the only machine, I could have all the chances in the world to break onto the high score chart and maybe find out who R.A.L. was.

“You guys wanna go back to the cottage? I’m sure Mom’s got lunch ready, and you can play with Jake and Ella on the porch after.” Becca wiped something that had been on her hand on her shorts, leaving a red-orange smear. Was it strange that I hoped it was just boogers?

“Yeah,” Jimmy said. “Better than being here.” I grabbed hands and led both kids back out into the sunshine.

An hour later I was back at the arcade's glass by myself. The one machine was still on, but the lights in the room were still off. The men, including Dad, had wandered to do other vacation things now that they’d figured out (hopefully) what was wrong with the electric.

On an impulse, I tried the door handle. It pushed in easily without so much as a squeak. I had fifty cents in my pocket. Two plays. Six lives. I snuck over, avoiding touching anything on the floor and slipped a quarter into the slot. Every light, bell, whistle, and sound came out of that machine like a fire alarm had gone off. I slammed my hand on the button panel, hoping something would turn the sound off and miraculously, something did. I was left with no sound and the screen. I let out the longest breath of my whole entire life.

And there he was, the little man in the red cap and overalls, running across the bottom of the screen, climbing ladders, jumping over barrels, doing everything he could to get to the princess before the giant gorilla took her to the next stage, and then the next, and the next.

I’d forgotten how many free plays I got or how many extra lives I earned – but it felt like I’d been there for hours and hours when my second quarter finally ran out. Had I been? I couldn’t find a clock nearby since the rest of the arcade was dark. But, when I turned to look back at the screen, there was a flashing white dash in the middle with the message text: “HIGH SCORE! Enter your initials!”

“YES!” I shouted and punched them in – S.R.L. and I slammed my hand on the enter key. The screen switched over and there it was: 9 entries of R.A.L. and number 10 was mine!

The next morning, I scurried in the back door of Ellicott Hall with a roll of quarters in my pocket and all the time in the day. The arcade door was unlocked, and the one machine was still glowing. I slipped in the first quarter and my soul was crushed: Each of the top ten spaces were filled with R.A.L.

How had it happened? It had to be the owner’s son or a worker or someone who knew how to program the machine. There was no way. “No way!” I let loose a string of curses and even kicked the base a time or two. I slapped enter and the little man in the red hat popped up on my screen with his hammer. I was going to fill the whole top ten list with my initials before the end of the summer. Then R.A.L. would have to show themselves.

Day after day, I had filled spots two through ten with my initials. And in the morning when I returned, they were back to R.A.L.

We were nearing the end of our vacation, only three days left before we went back home, and I decided I was going to take number 1. Today was the day. I slipped in the back door with a couple rolls of quarters, a bag of chips, a fudge round, a sandwich, and a soda.

R.A.L would show up, introduce himself and tell me I was awesome. I knew it. I felt it. I just needed to be number 1 first. When the first quarter clinked into the change chamber, I slapped on the sound and smiled to myself. If no one knew I was in here, they would know today.

It was nearing 5pm with my last quarter long since been dropped in. My fingers numb, my shoulders and feet sore from standing in the same position for hours, the screen came up in front of my face with gold and silver colored fireworks. “HIGH SCORE! CONGRATULATIONS!” I entered my initials and slammed the enter key with a shout and a roar at the screen. I was number 1!

I nearly climbed out of my skin when a voice spoke in the darkness behind me.

“I didn’t think you had it in you, kiddo.”

I turned to look at the person standing in the shadows of the other machines and nearly passed out from terror. “Dad! I’m so sorry! I was just playing . . . It was the only one on . . . it’s my favorite! I’m. . . in big trouble, aren’t I?” This was it, I was done.

He laughed, came over, and gave me a huge hug. “You did it, Sam. You solved the mystery.”

“No!” I said, pulling back from the hug. He seemed so happy about something. “He never came, Dad! R.A.L. is still out there somewhere. I was hoping he’d show up when I got first place — Ooooh. Randall Andrew Langley. You. R.A.L. is you, Dad.”

My dad’s face was pure pride in that moment. “Wanna try two-player?”