Short Stories - 1. The Arcade

“If you die on me, I’ll never forgive you,” I said, smirking wildly. Nathan wiggled the joystick gratuitously, looking over at me with amused, raised eyebrows.

“Oh yeah?” He said, eyeing the arcade machine once more. The little man on the screen skittered to one side but was immediately balanced by Nathan’s practiced hand. Still looking amused, he continued, “See? Look, I’ve - the level’s complete.”

“So? You’ve got, what? Like five more to go?” I made a incredulous noise, and took a large bite of my greasy pizza. Talking around the mass, I said, “Get crackin’ arcade boy. You’re the one who wanted to bring me here for our -”

“First date,” he said, caressing the words as if they were a small kitten. His green eyes met mine, and I fell for him all over again. Although that seemed to be a running theme. I smiled softly, and for a minute the game was forgotten.

“Yeah. Our first date.” I exhaled, still not quite believing it. “Jesus, Nate. We’ve been friends for how long -” I was meaning to continue with saying that it took us too long to get together, but at the last second I amended my statement. “- and the arcade is where you bring us for the first date?”

His eyes widened, as if he had just thought of that. Sputtering, he tried to explain himself while I watched on with an amused smile. “Hank, I, I mean, Christ! If I’d’ve known you wanted to go someplace diff - you told me I could pick!” He pouted, nearly ending in a whine, which was so unlike him. I shook my head and unceremoniously ripped another chunk off my pizza.

“I’m kidding, bro,” I mumbled, again chewing around my pizza. “Cut it out. I’d do anything with you; I don’t care.”

“Good,” he replied, his eyes downcast. But he immediately perked back up and then shot me with a sly smile. “Ya know, if you wanted to get some real food we could go to Palmer’s.”

My eyes widened. “You wouldn’t dare - Nathan!” I lightly yelped after him as he went for the exit, his mind already made up. I started to plead. “Nathan, this is so embarrassing. Dude! My brother will crucify us!”

“No, he won’t.”

“Yes - Nathan!” I jumped in front of him, between him and his car. “He’s captain of the swim team for Christ’s sake - one wrong word from him and we’re toast!”

“Oh please,” Nate said, easily moving around me and opening the car door. “You’re not giving him the benefit of the doubt. Just because you want to lead the team next year doesn’t mean that you can’t be true to yourself.”

Climbing into the passenger seat, I made an exasperated face. “Nate - I, yes it does. If he doesn’t approve then -”

“Stop, Hank. Just stop.” Nate looked over at me with a mixture of empathy and stubbornness. “Look, all he does there is wait tables. If you want to go out someplace nice, then we’ll go. Hell, he probably won’t even know we’re there.” He smirked. “Plus, you did say I could pick; just think of this as the second part of our date.”

“Fine,” I muttered, not meeting his eyes. “But if this goes south -”

“You’ll love me all the same?” He chuckled.

I grumbled a yes in response.

*       *      *

“Of course, you know Trevor,” I said, looking over the family before me. Family functions were getting more sparse as the years grow on, but this year had a strong attendance. The tent that was set up in the serene park buzzed with cousins rough-housing and parents chattering away. We were talking near the permanent, blackened grill that all parks seem to have, and even at 75 I still could cook a mean burger. A smattering of people surrounded me, all cousins and in-laws that had families of their own, and I basked in the light of the family that were around me. “He couldn’t give less of a crap,” I waved, causing the group to laugh. I rolled my eyes, “In fact, I don’t think he knew we were on a date until I told him. He was oblivious.”

“I was what?” Came a gravelly voice from behind. I smiled, and turned around to see an energetic older man that couldn’t’ve been more than 65. That was Trevor, though, going strong at nearly 80. His pastel yellow polo was tucked neatly into his jean shorts, and his rimless glasses sat without complain on his still youthful seeming face. He strode over to me, still as strong as ever, and shook my extended hand.

“Trev!” I exclaimed, aback with surprise. “I didn’t think you’d make it this year.”

He him-hawed. “Well… Mark is still back at home, but I got away from the firm for a few days.” His eyes sparkled. “Yeah, yeah, I gotta stop working. Well, I’ll rest when I’m dead.”

I was at loss for words for a moment, but then brought him into an embrace. “Good to have you here, brother.”

“Me too.” He looked over to the small crowd I was talking to and said, “Could you give us a minute?” They all nodded, and then talked amongst themselves as he put a hand on my back to lead me away from the group. We walked a ways, then stopped.

“What’s going on, Trev?” I asked. He looked me in my eyes and I could see hurt there.

“Hank… I wanted to apologize. I…” He couldn’t seem to get the words out. “I… heard about Nathan. It’s - that a tough road to go down.”

I hung my head, still too raw to say much - even four months on. Finally, I said, “He was happy. He had family… he had me.” I spoke, softly. “The end was rough, but the home was the last resort… the last time I saw him he thought I was Nick.”

Horror filled Trevor’s face; Nick was Nathan’s younger brother. But, suddenly the horror was mixed with guilt. “Hank...I - I have something to tell you.”

I looked up at him sharply. “Yes?”

“I went back. The 18th. I know you thought that I had left for San Antonio, but I stayed. Nate meant a lot to me, with Mark you know, all those years ago. He helped me through that. I had to see him one last time.” He exhaled. “I know you didn’t come back until the 20th, but that day - that day, Hank.”

I looked at him with a mixture of hope and supreme sadness.

“That day,” he breathed. “He knew exactly who I was. He was crystal clear, Hank. Sharp as ever.”

“Trevor!” I exploded, causing some of our relatives to quickly look over. When they saw we were in discussion, they went back to what they were doing. “And you didn’t tell me?! I could’ve -”

“Hank,” Trev said, putting his hands up in surrender. His old, wizened eyes looked into mine. “Nate told me not to. He knew it was hard on you, and he knew that the pain would even be more unbearable if you saw him lucid. He knew what was happening; he saw the writing on the wall.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them, looking past me. “We talked about all sorts of things - he asked me how you were doing.” He chuckled mirthlessly. “We talked about the kids. He told me to tell you that he still loved you with all his heart. He -”

Trevor stopped, as if he had just remembered something. Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out his billfold and thumbed something out of it. Handing it to me, I recognized it instantly: it was a 3D printout of the little character from the arcade game he played all those years ago. It was about as big as a small business card, and quite colorful.

Trev looked at me. “Turn it over, Hank.” I did.

In small, precise hand, I read

Sorry about the mess. I couldn’t bear to see you hurting another day. I love you so much, it hurts.

I know I died on you, but I hope you can forgive me. Yours, Nathan P. Riker.

1/18/76