I hesitated for a moment before answering, “I fell while skating. You know. Texting and skating. Still a bad habit of mine.”

Mom raised an eyebrow. “If that were the case, you wouldn’t have tried to hide it. Do I need to call somebody’s mother?”

“No. No. I can handle my fights on my own. That sounds like something Dad would say. Well, I dunno. I’m just assuming so.”

Mom's expression softened. “But at least you’ll know your mother is telling you she can help handle your fights alongside you.”

You just gotta love her, “Thanks, Mom.”

The conversation shifted back to its original focus, “Look, I know a lot has happened. Right now, she needs that positive big brother support in her life. You need to talk to her and be there for her. Can you do that, Kieren?” 

“Yeah, I’ll do that,” I said after a bit of a pause. 

Although still unsure, I knew one thing, Mom needed me, and so did Keziah. I exited the kitchen and made my way upstairs myself—a heart-shaped decoration laid in the middle of Keziah’s door. The words Keziah-Serenity’s Room was written in script. My hand hesitated to form into a fist. Knocking should not have been this tough, but there was a pressure welling up in my chest. The pleasant sounds of Galaga gameplay echoed in the back of my head for comfort as I contemplated what would come next. There were not many outcomes that I could think of. Best case scenario, she would want to talk, and we would eventually become close again to relive our early childhood just like it was right before everything went to crap. More likely, though, she would either ignore the knocking or slam the door in my face. That was if she even chose to open it. There was no good outcome except a pipe dream. So, I accepted defeat and went to my bedroom just across the hall. 

I placed a bandaid over the scratch on my cheek and started up Galaga on my PC. Playing retro games had always been a common practice for me to clear my mind. It was what allowed me to become so good at games in general. It was comfort food for a weary soul. I heard an NPC say one in one of those indie games. Which one? Beats me. I was too busy playing Galaga to give it much thought.

Between rounds, I sent Skull Hacker a couple of messages requesting an update on the job but received no replies. Frustrated, I went back to playing more, trying to block out the worries and uncertainties surrounding me. Unpacked moving boxes were scattered across my room. It was less compared to the amount downstairs. On top of the forest green paint, most of my walls were covered with pictures from my esports days. A couple of group shots from my previous teams holding league trophies and my image featured in gaming magazine cover appearances were the biggest highlights of my wall collection. A glass trophy case rested on one side of my room. Besides a couple of anime figurines, a first-place league trophy and championship trophies took up most of the space. My medals were modest, about the only thing I folded properly. I had to avoid them gathering too much dust. 

Mid-gameplay, I closed my eyes as the sound of a roaring audience replayed in my mind. “Our undefeated champion, Kieren the Game Blogger, has made it onto the scene! And the crowd is going wild!” An overhead announcer exclaimed. Fully immersing myself in the memory, I was there. I was back there at this Summer’s Gaming Championship. In those couple of months back, I remembered walking through a crowd of esports fans located at the event center. The flickering of camera flashes lit up the dark path I walked down. Approaching a stage covered by smoke, the stage’s neon outline and jumbotron-like screens illuminated my walkway. “This championship finale has him competing against our newcomer, KAZ!” My eyes tightened as the memory continued playing in my head. “Oh no! It looks like The Game Blogger’s barely hanging in there! Will this be the end of his streak? Will our newcomer beat him? Ladies and gentlemen, this is by far the most intense game we’ve had in Texas Gaming Championship history!” 

But then, the loud noise of a pixelated boom interrupted my memory, and I was no longer there. Instead, I was back in my room filled with old plastic and bitter dreams. I looked at the screen, not realizing what had happened. The last ship in my game blew up. Restarting the game for a second time was frustrating, but a gamer is going to game. My eyes, though, were constantly drawn to a box in the far corner of my room. The writing on the side was not made clear by the dim lighting, but I knew exactly what it was—Dad’s stuff. 

Damnit... My last ship blew up again. Then again, I was at fault for being so easily distracted. 

I roll away from my computer and to the box. I picked it up by its sides and moved it down to the basement. It was pretty chill down there. A couch, coffee table, and rug were set on a wood-stained floor. The cellar was reminiscent of an old-school living room, down to the picture of dogs playing poker on the wall. The only thing missing was some TV. Digging my way through boxes stored in the corner, I found one. An old television was buried deep under the junk and old memories. Struggling to push that brick-sized bulk behind the center of the wall, I successfully recreated the classic living room setup. Who knew VHS-compatible televisions were so heavy? How did kids back in my Mom’s day even move their setup? Pulling out blue, red, and yellow HDMI cables, I inserted them incoherently to the port’s colors, hoping it would work regardless. Why did I have to do a puzzle quest to turn this on? Wait… Was this where most developers got the inspiration for in-game puzzles? I pray for humanity… 

Pressing the power button, it screeched. There was an alarming sharp whistle-like noise. I guess it was to signify that it was working. But all I could feel was my hairs standing on ends and my ears nearly popping from the abrupt yelp this psycho TV let out. Was this thing angry at me? Even the screen exploded in a display of fuzzy, white, and black scratches. Instead of simply pressing the power button again, the audio startled me so much that I went the extra mile by unplugging the entire television. It took me a minute, but I was able to catch my breath for a while as the screen faded back into darkness. 

“You don’t have the colors synchronized,” said a familiar voice. I turned out of panic… Ok, so I jumped. That crazy TV put me on edge. Snickering, I recognized that it was Keziah sitting on top of the stairs in front of the basement door. “Stupid...” Not wanting my heart to jump out of my chest again, I sat on the couch as Keziah matched the colors of the HDMI cables to the ones displayed around the cable ports. She selected a VHS from Dad’s stuff and slid the tape into the video cassette entry slot. The tape finished processing as Keziah sat next to me. 

So bizarre. The video played, opening in a family living room, the one from our old house in Rowlett. Rowlett was only a few cities away, but seeing it made me nostalgic. Anyone would be. The fidelity on the TV screen was all wonky and grainy. The camera operator panned down to show a four-year-old me and two-year-old Keziah. We sat at a table coloring with crayons and markers, scribbling on a wide piece of construction paper. The date on the bottom right-hand corner read the fourteenth of May 2006. It was Mother’s Day. Marveling at the picture quality despite the grainy nature, its quality was unnaturally high for a decade-old videotape. Our family had heavily preserved the VHS and for a good reason. I held four different colored markers in-between my fingers on my left hand and colored with the other. 

“You’re adding too much gween!” Child Keziah exclaimed. So she was a pain ever since then, huh? 

“It’s gwass!” Child me was so unflinchingly honest. “It’s supposed to be gween!” But I think most people would have just called it rude. 

“You drew too much gwass!”

“How are you guys coming along?” A familiar voice was behind the camera. It was my father. I had not seen him…

“Almost finished,” child me replied. 

Dad focused on the paper. It was a portrait of our family in a field with a rainbow in the sky. Even back then, I was the artist of the family. I chuckled a little when realizing I drew Dad’s dreadlocks by drawing numerous straight lines sticking out from his head. He was like a mutated porcupine. Keziah’s hand entered the frame as she drew stars in the sky. 

“Keziah! No stars!” Child me was a pain—no wonder she gets so mad at me. 

“Why?”

“It’s daytime! You can’t have rainbows and stars at the same time! Stupid!”

“Yes, you can! Dummy! You can see the stars when it’s the evening or early in the morning!”

“That’s not the same thing!” What were we even talking about? And why was no one stopping us? We clearly were two kids about to hit each other. 

“What’s wrong with you!” 

“I think it looks coo-lio, Keziah,” Dad said. 

“Thank you, Dad!” Child Keziah proudly exclaimed as I pouted and crossed my arms. She felt so vindicated. 

Watching this, Keziah chuckled next to me. I took it she also found some amusement in watching her younger self. Unlike most kids our age, Keziah and I were well-spoken, vocabulary-wise. I guess that was the perk of having a professor homeschool you at that age. 

Dad panned and zoomed onto Mom, a decade younger, preparing grilled cheese sandwiches in the kitchen. I really could not tell that she was that much younger. She looked exactly the same. All this time, I thought she was an old lady, but maybe that was just what you looked like when you became an adult. Maybe she was young looking? I mean, some of my teachers who were younger than her looked so much older. I… 

Dad panned back to the two of us. “I think Mom is ready to see it. You wanna show her?” We nodded our heads. “Alright, let’s do it.” We each grabbed one side of the construction paper as we walked into the kitchen and presented it to Mom. 

“Happy Mother’s Day!” We exclaimed. The audio became somewhat glitchy, fading and distorting at times. The remainder of the audio completely cut off as the video switched to our younger selves eating the grilled cheese sandwiches around the kitchen table from the perspective of the camera’s eye. We looked so pleasant and content. We watched ourselves interact with both our younger Mom and Dad. I had forgotten these moments. They seemed so far away now, just like Rowlett was now, just like thinking about unpacking all those boxes. These were the happy times we remembered before. This was what it was like before everything went to crap. Happy… Surely, if Mom joined to watch, it would indeed be a pleasant family reunion.

To Be Continued...