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Number Five:
This summer was not the happiest of summers for one Tim Rogers. Whilst writing two novels, one about demons and Tabasco sauce, the other about a pair of long-distance lovers who share a psychic bond in the form of a non-existent telephone ring, I traveled all around the country, applying for jobs, eating with many friends, and playing many games.
I graduated from college in May of 2001. I've not found a thing to do with myself since then. All summer, I've been looking back at Japan, and my life in Tokyo, thinking I should move back, or move somewhere else, or go somewhere else.
In other words: this summer, I was always moving.
I spent the Fourth of July, 2002 with my friend Doug. We went up to his friend's house in New Castle, Indiana. His friend's girlfriend and father and brother are all addicted to Everquest. I take it they played plenty that summer, in that house. It was the perfect house for Everquest. It was always dark, and there were Christmas lights up, even in the summer. Either they were ready for the holidays five months early, they took "Christmas In July" as not a joke, or they just hadn't taken down last year's decorations.
Doug and I and Doug's friend Thompson went out to the shed, and I did some wowing with my ninja-dart skills. We then took a ride up to Taco Bell, where Doug started conversations with four employees, all of whom he'd known during high school. After eating subs, we tracked up to Denny's for coffee, and talk of religion and philosophy and industrial chemistry. We then went to a park. It was like a scene in one of those coming-of-age movies. We were swinging on a swing set, talking about "the future."
When we got to Thompson's house at two in the morning, Thompson's dad was still playing Everquest. Thompson told him to go to bed. Thompson went to bed, too. Doug and I sat in the recliners in the living room, and watched some anime (I believe it was "Those Who Hunt Elves") on the big TV.
Doug fell asleep, and I didn't. I went into the kitchen, and booted up my computer.
Without my asking it to, my CD drive spun, and my computer prompted me with a crash of music: do I want to start playing?
There, from five in the morning until a little past nine, I beat the first chapter of Neverwinter Nights. I'd booted up the computer wanting to get back into my writing. Instead, I played as paladin "DH Grey," named after the hero of the more laid-back of the two novels I was working on at the time. I slaughtered a prison full of undead. I almost thwarted an evil madman's plan to keep the city of Neverwinter plague-stricken. I drank half a can of Dr. Pepper -- multiplying my recent caffeine intake by infinity.
Thompson's mother came downstairs at a little after nine, followed by Thomspon's girlfriend. Thompson's girlfriend headed for the computer, and Everquest. Thompson's mom fed the cats, and talked to me. Who was I, why was I there, what game was I playing?
I was playing a game by myself, I told her.
"Nice house." It was a compliment from me. She really did have a nice house. It seemed like someone had lived there forever. They had photos tacked up everywhere, semi-Bohemian-style.
"We've been here about . . . fourteen years?"
"Oh. Where were you before that?"
She pointed at the wall. "Just down the street."
I enlisted a new companion in the city at the beginning of chapter two, and turned off Neverwinter Nights for the day. When I stood up, my back cracked. What position had I been sitting in, all those hours? The house smelled like a dark morning and coffee.
That morning I played Neverwinter Nights alone in my friend's friend's mom's house, a week before I'd mess around with the Aurora Toolset and take the game online, had been my most natural gaming experience of 2002.
[next: number four: thousand-yen nachos and a million-dollar good time]
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