My mother gave the Nintendo to my cousins when I was in sixth grade after Christmas, when I got my Playstation 2. She gave it to them because their father spent everything on motorcycles and boats and guns and beer. One year, my uncle blew his and my aunt’s savings or credit or both on a new four-wheeler that my cousin would later flip after going too fast over bumps and around corners. When my uncle found out my cousin was uninjured, I imagine he beat him for crashing it even though my uncle would be shouting, what the fuck do you think you were doing? You could have killed yourself.
In ExciteBike 64, my cousin and I are prompted to select whether we are Novice, Amateur, or Pro at virtual motocross. We both select Novice, even though we are probably Amateurs, but falls are more easily forgiven, this way. We select our riders and our dirt bikes. I usually choose the blue bike, but sometimes I change the color to green or purple. This time, I choose blue. Next come the avatars. I like that you can be a man even if you are a woman or a woman even if you are a man. You can choose from riders with names like Bobby ‘Big Dog’ Malone, Nigel ‘The Duke’ York, Sarah ‘Sugar’ Hill, or Vicky ‘The Vixen’ Steele.
I pick Bobby ‘Big Dog’ Malone mostly because his outfit is blue, but also because I don’t want to be Sugar or The Vixen. Once, I was The Vixen because it sounded better than ‘Sugar,’ but I learned that compared to Big Dog, she fell off the bike more easily. She was lighter and not good at landing.
When I switched to The Vixen, her sides sunk in and her chest and hips puffed out. Her arms and legs shrunk, and the helmet was too big for her body. Her head tipped forward on her neck and her hair stuck out the back. I wanted strength, so I switched back to Big Dog Malone or Tricky Ricky Stern. I watched as his chest puffed back out, as his shoulders became broad and his legs filled out, as his head became stable on his thick neck. I’d watch his gloved, thick hands grip the handlebars and his body overpower the machine beneath him.
In my cousin’s room, we play the Stunt Course because I am convinced I can do the most tricks even though he’s chosen Tricky Ricky Stern. We do Nac Nacs and Bar Hops and No Handers and Cliff Hangers. We take turns, and I focus on the man on the screen as hands move to and off the edges of my breasts and back again. The hands are strong like the man’s and do not fall off easily.
We pause the game and freeze the avatar mid-air, above the bumps and mid-trick. My limbs are small and I fall off easily next to strong legs and unzipped jeans. I don’t know what it means to put my mouth on him. I can’t puff out my sides or make myself big. I can only draw my arms to my ribs and fold myself in.
When I look up at him, he is strong, even at fourteen. He stands with his chest out and his hands on his hips. When he kneels to try me, I am not strong and when I look down and see his eyes closed, I look to the screen and then to the floor. My legs are thinned and threaten to buckle and I know I won’t land easily.
The screen reads GAME PAUSED and offers the options to RESUME, SAVE, or QUIT. There is a vent in the floor and I can see the tops of my mother’s and uncle’s heads. They are laughing and drinking Busch Lite. All they have to do is look up, I say.
I try to click RESUME or QUIT but he wants it PAUSED. He directs me to the room with the bed. It is a bunk bed with a white frame and a white ladder and black sheets that are cold against my skin. I look at a magazine and try to go to where the words are, but there aren’t many words, just topless women with fingers to their mouths, so I close it while he asks me to let him; he needs something more intense.
I can’t, so I think about how to get back to the screen. On my turn, I will go back to the round and out-trick him with Big Dog. I will hit the high jumps and I will land easily. After, he will take the controller, even though it’s purple. He will do a Nac Nac and a Cliff-Hanger and a No-Hander and sometime later, the screen will read PAUSE, RESUME, PAUSE, RESUME.
Nichole Rued is an English Composition and Communication instructor at the University of Wisconsin-Green Bay. Her works have appeared in or are forthcoming in Paper Darts, Sheepshead Review, Crack the Spine, and others. When she’s not teaching or writing, you can find her walking Boris, her three-legged dog, or motorcycling.
