My family moved to this country in 1990 in an attempt to get away from poverty and civil war. The premise of a post-nuclear California sounded fascinating, though baffling: how could the greatest country on Earth be destroyed, atomic bomb or no? That could never happen! It’s ridiculous! I had to play it to see what it was going on about, of course. But the game that caught my eye was Fallout 2. This box had a lot of junk in it alongside copies of Myst and Civ II. Being that up until that point, I’d only used the computer to play educational games, she assumed that all games are educational-isn’t that what the computer is for? Learning? (Oh, dearest mother.) My mother diffused this one via peace offering: she picked up a box of computer games for me in a garage sale. “Was that so hard, Patricia?,” my mother laughs.įights like these were always followed with days if not weeks of tension. Feeling defeated, I start to cry while I open the door. I look at myself in the mirror and feel a rage swelling as I notice how the embroidered patterns on bra through the shirt. I’m getting older and it’s a new school year, so I should finally be presentable-or else. I’ve tried to hold this moment off for a while now by wearing two or three shirts at a time so that it's harder to make my breasts out. Putting a bra on feels like cementing that boy-girl divide that started happening the year prior. The boys at school have started treating me differently even though they are my only friends, even though I try to erase our differences by wearing baggy clothes. Not being used to them yet, bras feel suffocating, always present. I look at the bra on the floor and am overtaken with a sense of humiliation at the mere thought of putting it on. My mother is outside, holding a belt while she screams at me. I am locked in the bathroom, holding my knees. I toss her hand away and start running again.įast forward to my being twelve, maybe thirteen. It’s the same one that rears its head whenever the adults ask me why I don’t like dresses, why I only play with the boys, why I’m so unladylike. “And why won’t you let go of my hand?” This question disarms me in a way I don’t understand yet. “What’s wrong with you?,” she angrily asks me. I pull the girl with me, running into the women’s bathroom. I watch him start to unfasten his pants, but before he can finish unzipping, I jet. Some of us don’t even know how to tie our shoes yet, but still think we know how love is "supposed" to work. Not that it matters-it’s not like we understand romance or attraction. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” one of the boys smirks. The girl grabs my hand to make sure I don’t go anywhere, and this calms me a little. I laugh too, but it’s a nervous laugh-we shouldn’t be there. The girl, in her unfettered giggles and whispers, tells me as much anyway. One of my most vivid memories of elementary school involves playing hooky after recess with a few other kids-two boys and one girl.Īt some point, our grade decided that the boys with us are attractive-that we should, in our urgent attempts to play house, “want” them. We agreed, and what she came back with was a stark personal tale of how videogame fantasy can inspire interest, provoke thought, and ultimately change how we see the world. Talented RPS writer chum Patricia Hernandez asked us if she could write about the influence of RPG-classic Fallout 2 on her life.
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