A Response to Robert's Post

--Jimmy Hibsch

All of my life I’ve wanted to be someone.

Anyone.

I thought college would be the place to do that, and it seemed to be: I had a great group of friends, I had been writing for the newspaper, I had been doing well in my classes.

That was all until a Nintendo 64 invaded my dorm room.

My already limited time with my roommate (limited because of his nightly three-six hour Skype sessions) quickly withered. What had began as our “dirty little secret” (the Nintendo 64 – we didn’t want the masses to know of our treasure) soon divulged. Our room is now a soup kitchen for the smash bros of Mark Twain, and no one is hungrier than Garrett Richie and Robert Langellier.

If I had thought being the third wheel when Garrett Skyped his beloved was bad, I was mistaken.

This was worse.

Occasionally I’ll plug in and kick some ass with Yoshi or Jigglypuff (I’m not kidding), but any “kill” I get is usually brushed off with a “fucking cheap shot” or some other adage of the sort. My queer character preferences aren’t a cry for attention. I see glimpses of myself in both Yoshi’s and Jigglypuff’s eyes.

We are the forgotten. The neglected.

Our cute exteriors shroud our internal desolation. All we ask for is someone to let us shine.

As I sit and watch the duo wallow in their smashing, I feel like a voyeur.

I’ll plea for some acknowledgment:

“Kirby looks cool when he’s blue.”

“I’m going to go jump out the window.”

“Wouldn’t it be funny if I wrote about me having to watch you guys play this game?”

“Hi.”

My only response is the ring of a virtual home-run bat or a “Fuck!” from either of the two. My existence has been degraded to nothing. Sitting entombed in invisibility at my desk, I am left to only my iPod as a source of solace.

And even it taunts my existence. As soon as I began penning my sorrows, I put it on shuffle. Celine Dion’s “I Surrender” was its first choice. And I do.

I’d surrender everything to feel the chance to live again. I reach to you two --

Every night, the games get longer and the fire inside me gets stronger. I swallow my pride.

Can’t you hear my call?