Chapter 1: A Failed Meditation

it’s late.

he sits in his living room, oft musty - on a ratty couch, clacking away at a laptop. he’s playing tetris.

the lights are off and the laptop’s glow illuminates his face, featuring a mildly tense pair of eyes. his slightly agape mouth is a telltale sign of focus.

he clacks away with, apparently, astonishing speed - with a satisfying sound effect pinging off every time he lands a ‘tetris’ (that is, 4 lines cleared all at once).

‘so all it took was this, huh…’

he lands another tetris.

‘being fast at tetris…’

he lands another.

‘not my appreciation for you…’

…so on and so forth.

he is on his 10th game, or so. he recalls playing this version of tetris in high school all the time. ironically, during this session, he actually managed to beat his ten year old personal record of about 1:30 minutes.

in 2009, he and his friends played tetris. the internet leaderboard amongst them was ubiquitous. on a daily basis, the names would rise and fall, giving someone something new to brag about (or lament). his was always at the top, though. not that he cared much.

in 2009, he had a girlfriend.

she would try to climb the leaderboard too, fighting over the 15th spot between her and her friends, teasing when they surpassed each other out by a second or two.

’of all the memories to hold onto…’

last weekend, he stayed at her place while on a trip. it had been nearly 10 years. things felt palpably gentle and sweet. through all of the revelry and lightness, tetris came up in conversation. her eyes positively glowed while recalling those old tetris scores. it was an interesting reaction. one he expected and attempted to get from a number of other artful gestures.

this sweetness was a feeling known too well - one explored to depths both beautiful and horrible. a feeling that has persisted, pervaded, lingered, & prowled over the 10 years since they dated.

it’s a feeling that’s caused as many vitriolic texts as it has soft hugs (when acted on).

this recent visit reanimated these feelings, however warily.

’i feel cursed.’

he, of course, had to confront it. she, of course, said she does not love him.

so here he sits, trying to calm his brain from this complex, nuanced heartbreak that has oscillated between benign and malignant for the past decade.

”it’s ironic…”

yes, here he sits, playing the game that wowed her - beating his old scores - while trying to destroy this feeling that has dodged his control and rationale for years.