There's this place I know, an arcade by the beach.
It's not the main gathering place for tourist like the
pavilion is. Instead, it is across the street and up
the drag a block, or is it two? It doesn't matter,
just know it is an out of the way place which you have
to enter by a side door. The door's about halfway
down a trash littered alley. If you look closely at
the trash, you'll notice that the farther away from
the road it is, the more dated it is too. Like steel
beer cans instead of aluminium, then older bottled
beer, then empty vintage wine bottles. There's not
any really errie feeling about walking down the alley.
It's just another back side of vacation city.
I met this young kid on the street late one
evening. More like he picked me out and checked me
out then came over and said, "I know this place down
the street. You ought to go." He said something about
really great video games there. Maybe he saw I was
an addict. I always thought it showed just like a
junkie or alcoholic. So that's why I know about this
place.
So now you're standing before this black, massive,
wooden door in an otherwise empty white wall. It's
a stucko type, plastered wall. Sort of reminds you of
white homes on the Carribean Islands. Like I said
before, there's nothing errie about the place, but
you're just a little hesitant about putting your hand
on the handle. You touch it and before you know it,
you're standing on the inside. Nothing to it.
There's two or three dozen people in the place.
Only two or three turn to see who just came in. The
games are laid out in a maze and along the walls,
except the one where the bar is. It's made of a red
oak and glistens from the few lights and thick varnish.
The bar stools are wooden too, with no backs, seats
well polished from years of use. Wonder why these
haven't broken yet? They usually fall apart before
they get that much use. The floor is wood with that
ground in dirt color. So what's the deal about this
place? The machines, the people, the bar, I've seen
other places just like it.
That dude playing an old pinball, he's dressed
like a hippie, fresh off Haight and Asbury during sixty-
seven. Flower child with pasily print shirt and multi-
color headband and Levi standards. Look at that guy
sitting at the bar. He's got an old Beatle haircut and
wears one of them Liverpool suits too. Is that I WANT
TO HOLD YOUR HAND playing on the juke box?
What a strange looking dude that is. Wait, that's
no dude, that's a girl dressed up like one of George
Lucas' rebel soldiers. And what a strange machine she
plays. It looks like a three D holograph. This old
man dressed in pin stripped coat and pants punches
you in the side and says, "Go take a closer look. It's
a fun game to play. And she's good too." How can one
resist. It is a holograph! This really is a great
arcade. Real time, controllable holographs. There's
nothing like them anywhere else. This must be a
testing place for advanced designs.
The game was sorta like the other videos. A chase
around, shoot'em down theme; except somehow it grabbed
a hold of my mind. Which ever player I was thinking of
moving, I sort-of felt what a real player would feel.
Like, will I survive this guy's next move? He didn't
and neither did I. The old man was right, she's good.
She was silent too. Didn't say a word about how to
play, or her name, or where she was from. She only
looked at me twice; when we started to play, and when
we stopped.
The old man punches you again, "Ever played one of
those before?", pointing to an old style pin ball
machine placed in the corner of the room. Do you
remember the machines with shifting patterns? You
would light up lights and shift the patterns around
till you got all the light in a series lite up. It was
a complicated scoring system, but you could really make
money from the house if you knew how to win. It looks
like something James Dean would have played in REBEL
WITHOUT A CAUSE. Looks like it's what he would pay to
play, only a dime. "Sure man I've played before, it is
so old it has no flippers right? You shoot the balls
and let them fall where they will." It was almost like
that. It was as if James Dean was within me, using his
will to move the balls and make them fall where he
wanted them to fall. But then you think imagination
can make things seem too real sometimes. It only costs
another dime to find out if it was really real. Then
another and another.
"You remember the orginal ping-pong video?" It's
the old man again. "Like the one you played after
school." Now how did he know that? Just a guess. I
haven't played one of them since school. "Where is
it?"
After playing what seems like a dozen or so games
and feeling like a kid again, you decide to have a beer
at the bar. The only seat left is between Dylan and
Hendrix, and you think nothing of taking it or them.
Everyone here seems like an old friend now, both the
ones who do look familar and those who don't. So
there you sit, sipping your beer and pondering on how
really good you feel. In the mirror behind the bar,
you watch others play the machines. It doesn't matter
that no one talks much, you use to wonder why but now
it's unimportant. All you want to do is drink beer,
play machines, and feel good.
There's a wall clock above the mirror, it hase a
carved wood frame, Roman numeral face, and it's pen-
dulum powered. The time is two thirty in the morning.
You tilt your head back for that last swig and you see
the electronic calendar with large numbers and letters.
It shows Saturday, August 15, 1981. That's when it
hits you like a marajiuna buzz, time flys when you're
having fun. It was March the twenty first when you
came in. Five months and it just seems like early
evening when you came in. Everybody else knows you
know too; hear the heads turn, feel their eyes watching
for your next move. You self consciously and non
chalantly set the glass back on the bar and take a
looksee around the room. Yes, everyone is waiting to
see what the new kid is going to do.
So what's the deal? Can I stay here and feel good
for a long, long time? There's not any other startling
revelation to pay for it, is there? Or can I walk
out that door and just be five months older? What's
the kid's move? Should I play one more game? Can I
do that without becoming a videoholic, or is that like
the alcoholic's last, fatal, just one more drink?
Maybe I had better just collect my marbles and leave.
We were playing for keeps you know.
There's no need to be melodramatic. I'll just
get up and walk to the door and leave. The old man
punches you in the side, "Won't you stay and play some
more? Remember how good you feel?" You look at the
door and tell him, "No thanks man. It's almost
September and I really should be getting back to
school." You make your way to the door and now that
hesitant, errie feeling really hits. If you touch that
handle, you're going to grow old and die. "I know. But
I will live a life till then, won't I?" Just like
coming in, you touch the door and before you know it,
you're standing out in the alley again. It is night-
time. As you walk back out to the main drag, you feel
the weight of thoughts and gitty as five months of
aging takes place. At the entrance to the alley you
take a look-see back. Nothing errie, nothing unusual.
It's just another trash littered alley.
Back in the center of town, you meet this kid who
says, "I know this really great place to play. It's
down the road here." You look him in the eye and say,
"Yes, I know. I've played there before." The kid looks
puzzled as he eyes you. "Oh yes. I remember you.
What did you think of it?"