Hot Blacktop Ch. 12 – Danny

Dannys House

Saint’s heart tripped in his chest. Something didn’t feel right. His eyes opened, and he reached for Sienna. His hand went to the bed. Still warm. He listened. Experienced with the worst, his past with his sister and her drug abuse, Saint’s hearing narrowed for any disturbance. Sienna was in the living room. His feet automatically hit the floor. Too quickly he found his boxers and tripped over his shoes. It was too soon after Sienna’s mother’s appearance for him not to worry.

He found her and what he saw was abject fear.

“I don’t have that kind of money,” she said. Her alarm coalesced and took shape into uncontrollable tremors. He watched it happen and was at her back, his arms wrapped around her in an instant. The screen image on her phone, after seeing it, he understood why she couldn’t stop shaking. Her mother was in deep shit.

“Please, Sienn…” she’d been cut off. There’d been a knife at her throat. The phone went black.

“Mom!”

Saint blinked. “Holy shit! This is a mess.” Saint turned her around, and she burrowed her face into the hollow of his neck. All he could do was hug her close as she cried.

“What am I going to do?” she whispered. “I have to go. I have to get to her.”

“You’re not going anywhere.” The two stared at each other, and then Saint said, “not alone, anyway.”

*****

Danny hunched on the floor in the corner of the closet. The small four wall box a familiar prison. She’d locked him in; he couldn’t remember how long now. The cut on his lip and cheek ached like a son of a bitch. He didn’t dare move too much. The last kick he’d taken to his ribs had caused him to pass out. Luckily she hadn’t been wearing boots. She’d been wearing her red-soled high heels.

His mother’s outfit was pristine, no flaws in appearance. The perfect mom to anyone that knew her outside of the house. On the inside of her watchful sphere, though, his mom was the devil’s sister, her heart as hard and dead as a piece of coal.

Danny had just gotten back from school, his bag hitting the kitchen floor, and the next thing he knew he face-planted on the wood planks next to the marble island, his cheek bleeding…somewhere. “You broke my nail!” She’d screamed, he’d rolled into a protective ball holding his gaping skin so she couldn’t have another go at him. But she always found a way when she was like that.

Danny wiped the wetness from his cheek. “Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!” He yelled into the bleakness.

She’d played with him until he whimpered in the closet like a stupid girl. She dragged him up the stairs and into the dark room, walked out and locked the door. And by play, Danny meant beat the shit out of him. Again. His father had just stood there.

“Bastard!” he screamed at the locked door. He grabbed his ribs as he tried to catch his breath.

His father was a weak asshole.

To distract himself, Danny made a list in his head about everything he loved about motorcycles. The most important thing on the list, Saint. “Saint is nothing like my father,” he whispered over and over. But then he got angry.  Then he asked himself, why was he with Sienna? He shook his head and then regretted it. He hurt everywhere.

“I need to get out of the fucking closet.” He crawled with the energy of a sloth and leaned into the corner, propping himself up, so he could breathe better. The wood paneling was hard and cold, and the cedar smell made his nose itch. One day she would go too far? The fists, the nasty screaming rages, they were getting worse and harder to hide from people at school. Maybe he was better off if it did. Maybe she would finally kill him. Blinking his heavy eyelids, they finally drifted shut. The last thought he had before he fell asleep made him smile. Freedom on the back of a motorcycle with Saint. He imagined a long road winding away from here.

When next he opened his eyes light spilled into his prison. Water spilled in rivulets down his face as he blinked.

“Get up Danny. It’s time for you to go to school.”

“School?” He wanted to kill his father. “Are you serious?”

“You have to,” his father slurred.

“Fuck you!”

“Quiet.” He looked over his shoulder. Probably seeing if dear old mom was coming to beat the shit out of him too. Danny would have laughed if it didn’t hurt so much. Waving his hand Danny’s way, his Father said, “Tell them you got into another fight.”

Danny went to his hands and knees. He groaned through the pain and caught his breath. Grabbing for the wall, he lost his balance and struggled to get up. “I can’t keep giving the same excuse. Look at me,” his voice rumbled as he winced every time he moved to get out of the closet. Unlike his mother’s closet, it didn’t hold designer clothes and shoes that cost more than everything in his closet. He always had to beg for things he needed. Always.

When he was little, he’d dreamed he was adopted, which would have been a blessing. Danny had run a few times; his birth parents were out there somewhere, he’d thought. The last time he’d left, he’d screamed in her face. “I’m leaving to find my real parents.” His mother had laughed until tears had formed in her eyes. “You think you’re adopted,” she’d said.” He thought she wouldn’t give him any more explanation, but the light in her eyes gleamed with hatred that felt like a creature boring under his skin. To his surprise, she said, “Your Grandfather said I wouldn’t inherit what is rightfully mine unless I gave him a grandson. Your Daddy sure couldn’t get it up.” His father had been standing in the room with a far off look in his eyes that Danny hadn’t understood until she spoke again. “I fucked my way through my Father’s men and finally pushed out a kid.” His father had flinched and looked away. Then all Danny could feel was the pain. She punched him in the face. It was the first time she’d locked him in the closet. Danny was seven. “You’ll stay in there until you understand who has the power here.” After he’d screamed himself silent, his mind had blanked, and the darkness consumed him.

Danny pushed past the memory and the man that wasn’t his father sucking air through his teeth with every needling breath. When his so-called father tried to reach out and give some support, Danny weaved the other way and almost fell. “Don’t’ touch me,” he squeaked. He wrapped his arm around his ribs and walked toward his bathroom.

Most people thought he was a trouble maker so steered clear of him, but no one knew the extent of the control his mother had over him, when he could come and go, how he did it, what he wore, ate…everything. He wasn’t to have friends over, he wasn’t allowed to be seen going in and out of the house, so nobody knew the hell he lived. His mother hid the carnage she’d made of his life well. If he did go out, he couldn’t tell anyone what was happening to him, and his mother had too much power in their small town. Danny knew that much. But he’d told Saint.

“Stupid.”

If his mother or grandfather ever found out what he’d told Saint, Saint would be in danger. Danny knew it. He just knew it.

Danny had been able to sneak out of the house a lot more lately. His mother had to go on more business trips. It was the only time he was nearly happy until Saint put him on a motorcycle. When Danny wrapped his fingers around the grips of the bike and finally revved the engine for the first time, feeling the power underneath him, it was the first time in forever he was truly happy.

He sniffled and wiped his face. “Shit!”

Danny would chance running away again, but he thought someone watched him now. So he gave up. He’d given up on a lot of things. Until Saint.

He would find a way to race, though. Sitting on the motorcycle had been a revelation. Saint said being smaller was a good thing. He hated being smaller than other kids. But in racing, it gave him an advantage. He would do whatever Saint said if he could race. He’d find a way to get out of the house, do what he needed to, have a life. He would die trying if he had too.

Danny’s body jerked to attention. The banging on his bathroom door turned into a great thud. His father probably hit the wall. “Hurry up, Danny. Don’t keep your mother waiting.”

He moved as fast as his body would let him. Danny didn’t want to give her any reason to hurt him again. He winced as he finished washing the dried blood off his cheek and the fat lip. He grabbed the hat that hung from the door. Covered his head, didn’t bother to change clothes. He didn’t care if he was dirty or not. It kept everyone away. He couldn’t afford to have anyone ask questions.

Through the door, his father gripped his shoulder hard trying to hold himself up. He leaned in too far. The smell of booze was making him sick to his stomach. “She’s going on a trip, Danny. Run Danny. Don’t come back.” Danny’s mouth gaped open.

“Run! Are you crazy!” No answer. His father slid to the floor and passed out.

“Pathetic.”

Danny jumped when he looked up and saw his mother. He sucked in a breath, hit the wall and bit his lip so he wouldn’t cry out in pain. A cold sweat broke out across his skin as an acidic wash swirled in his stomach.

His mother jerked her head. Danny skirted around his father’s crumpled body and hurried toward his door, out of his mother’s reach. But she grabbed onto his neck digging her pointed nails into his skin. A hiss escaped his lips. She laughed.

“You’ll be back here after school. One of my father’s men will pick you up.” His shoulders slumped under her grip. “Did you hear me?” Her fingers gripped his hair, and she forced him to nod.

“Yes, Mother.”

Danny’s day was shit. He’d run into possibly every person that had been at the Speedway the day of his only lesson. When he hit the parking lot at school, the only girl from class, Tina, showed up.

“What do you want?” he snapped.

Tina’s eye’s narrowed, and she crossed her arms. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Whatever.” He started to move away but then she grabbed his arm before he turned away. His body jerked and he jumped away like a scared cat. “Shit!”

“Are you afraid of me?” He looked up at her face to see the look of disgust in her eyes, but they were full and bright.

“No!” Danny couldn’t look her in the eyes when he said it. He peeked up long seconds later.

Her eyebrows angled down, and she bit her bottom lip. She stepped back with a complete look of confusion, “Are you really okay?”

Danny took a stuttering breath. “I’ll be fine.” He needed to get away from her. Tina seemed nice. She was really pretty too, and her boobs were bigger than most of the girls in his classes, but he couldn’t trust anyone. No way. Not a girl. Especially Tina, because every time he was around her, his stomach got all weird. It wasn’t right. He wasn’t right.

“Will I see you at Paulson’s?” she said at the same time he heard his name called from the parking lot. He turned too fast and clenched his teeth so he wouldn’t scream like a girl.

“Shut up!” he snapped at her. He looked over his shoulder and saw one of his mother’s minions marching across to him. “Shit! Shit! Shit!”

“Danny?” Tina asked just as a hand grabbed his shoulder.

“I gotta go.”

“Who’s your friend, Danny?” He looked up and saw Gunner’s eyes on Tina. His mother’s guard was not to be messed with, but he couldn’t let him know who this girl was.

“No one.” He watched Tina frown.

“Huh,” he grunted. “Let’s go.” Another wince, along with Gunner’s fingers on his shoulder, and he was turned toward the car waiting off a nearby alley school. No one would be the wiser to how rich he was. How rich his mother was.

“Bye, Danny. I hope I see you at the Speedway for riding lessons,” she yelled. Great! He thought.

“What Speedway, Danny?”

He shrugged.

Gunner opened the door to the Lincoln MKZ when they reached the hidden garage. He helped Danny into his seat gentler than he ever expected. Danny looked up at the big man and saw that he was taking in every nick and scratch that marked him. Gunner backed up and slammed the door. Danny looked straight ahead. The bigger guy had never reacted to his injuries this way. Why was it happening now?

“Did your mother take her fists to you again?”

Duh! Danny didn’t answer. The guy would tell his mother what he said anyway.

Danny watched him straighten his arms on the steering wheel like he would push it through the dashboard. “Tell me,” he roared. Danny pulled back and hit the passenger door. He watched Gunner ease a couple of breaths in and out.

“Danny, I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Coulda fooled me,” he snapped back. Gunner’s head snapped around his eyes narrowing. He braced for him to strike. The air was thick in the car and the minutes seemed to slow right into the heaviness that was his life. And then the guy smiled. Danny took the time to figure this guy out. Danny had trusted Saint. He’d said the same thing. Should he answer? But there was no way he could trust one of his mother’s men. Was there? The way Gunner’s anger had spiked when he’d seen him. Maybe he could trust the guy. He nodded.

Gunner’s chin tipped down, and he inhaled real slow and blew it out even slower.

“What’s at the Speedway?”

“Nothing.”

“Come on Danny, tell me. I told you not to be afraid of me.”

Danny laughed and regretted it. His ribs hurt like hell. “Afraid?” He laughed some more and then for the life of him he just broke. His shoulders slumped and shook as he cried. He looked away and wiped his face.

“It’s freedom on two wheels,” Danny finally whispered.

“All right then.”

Gunner put the car in gear, and they quickly left the dark garage. When he headed in the opposite direction of home Danny started to freak out. “What are you doing? Where are we going?”

Gunner looked over and smiled again. The man kept driving.

When they pulled up at Paulson’s, Danny sat stiff and unsure. “What are we doing here?”

“We’re going to talk to whoever’s in charge.” Gunner sighed. “I’m not who you think I am, Danny.”

What did that mean?

“Now get out.”

“But,” Danny started, and was soon talking to air. He got out as fast as he could and followed Gunner. When Danny saw Saint come out of Paulson’s main office, he didn’t know what he should do, but evidently Gunner had no problem figuring out what was what.

“You the man in charge?” Gunner asked.

“Yeah. Who’s asking?” Saint crossed his arms and stopped moving.

“Gunner Phillips. You’ll continue to give him lessons.”

Danny watched as Saint’s eyes narrowed on Gunner, and then turned to him. Danny could see his jaw get tight and his eye start to tick in the corner. Saint looked back to Gunner, and they stared each other down. What, were they havin’ a secret ‘convo’ or somethin’. Jesus! What was going on?

“Did his mother do that to him?”

Gunner nodded.

Danny sucked in a breath. Gunner admitted his mother beat the shit out him. He bunched over and grabbed his ribs his breaths turning into coughs. Soon there were more hands on him then he could deal with, and he started to struggle to feel trapped.

“Leave me alone,” he gasped. He backed away from both of them. Saint stood and watched his face easing. Gunner put his hands up and took a step back.

“You okay?” Saint asked. It was Danny’s turn to nod. “Who is this guy, Danny?”

“I don’t know,” he said looking right at the man that worked for his mother. Maybe he had more friends than he knew.

Give It To Me Straight – Fates and Furies (Part 1/3)

Then, play it again.

Fates and furiesReaders of Fates and Furies find a big story of modern marriage and relationship wrapped between the covers of this National Book Award Finalist. Lauren Groff’s novel offers a wealth of literary resources with her creative reinvention of structure, style and character. This three part analysis begins with storytelling and structure.

The Straight Line – Sequential Plot

Lancelot, nicknamed Lotto, tells his story for the first half of the book, almost two hundred pages in this four hundred page novel. In The Detroit Free Press  published interview, Lauren Groff  refers to her story as a tale of privilege. Let me count the ways that Lotto is privileged. First, he has fortune when he needs it and choses to surrender his fortune for his desires. Second, he has success. Maybe he was lucky or worked hard. Or maybe he fits the description of privilege – well educated, wealthy, male and white. Third, characters surround him, offer support and champion his cause – especially his wife. These factors propel Lotto’s story to the forefront and the first half of the book.

The point of view begins omniscient as the reader sees the first married union of Lotto and Mathilde – lest it be thought that the entire story is about Lotto. From there, the point of view shifts to a deep third in Lotto’s point of view. His story dips back to his birth with a clever device of repeating a story told many times to him. Time moves forward with Lotto’s perceptions dominating the story of his friends, his dreams and his marriage to mystery woman, Mathilde.

The Jagged Line – Fractured Plot

Mathilde, the wife, encourages readers to identify with her rage. Let me count the ways that Mathilde is angry. First, as a child, she is blamed for a deadly mean streak, shamed and never forgiven. Her survival depends on distant relatives who have no concern for her wellbeing. Second, egotistical and pretentious Lotto is the best part of her life, and without him, she is the devastated widow – her education and hard work unraveled without her center, her husband. Third, Mathilde believes she is “the interesting one.” Mathilde’s past is an example of the writer pushing a character to the outer limits of believability. Themes of inequality thread through the novel. In Lotto’s point of view, he blindly accepts Mathilde’s lack of family and friends. Mathilde’s half of the novel, another two hundred pages, tells her scrambled tragic version of her life story.

Mathilde’s narration alternates between her angry widow world and chapters revealing her  past and the formation of her values and beliefs. Mathilde selectively takes the reader through her childhood slowly opening the doors to understand her motives. Mathilde’s mean streak dots every chapter for the reader. Her only softness comes for the man she marries, and he is not spared from her passive aggressive ways.

Play It Again – Story Arc

Throw the traditional story arc in the trash for this novel except that Lotto’s half of the book is fairly traditional. Mathilde’s point of view jumps back in time and returns to her widowed agony almost like a zigzag across a graph of time. Unlike parallel plots, this story challenges even the most ambitious of screenwriter. For example, The Girl on the Train uses multiple points of view, slowly revealing a suspenseful and complicated plot arc. And hence, bestseller becomes screenplay and film. Some stories succeed with repetition – a retry of the same idea like the “back to square one” game – as used in the movie, Groundhog Day, and new Sci-fi film, Edge of Tomorrow; Live, Die, Repeat. Each repetition moves the story one step further.

Groff’s repetition, however, drills beneath what the reader assumed was the true story. For every major event in Lotto’s life, the reader now sees the hand of Mathilde. Her callous placement of an obituary notice punishes Lotto for his abandonment. She deliberately denies Lotto the children he wants. And Mathilde leverages everything to make her husband and his plays successful. In Mathilde’s story, vengefulness and anger are ever present – from the bruising of a teasing schoolmate to the personal and financial destruction of Lotto’s best friend.

In her interview, Groff states she planned to publish the two stories separately. The two halves together form a rich comparison in structure, style and character. The next post “It’s Greek To Me” will examine Groff’s style and literary references. After that, a third post will explore character and the human psychology of relationship and attraction. As seen in structure, marriage “For Better or For Worse” is a risky endeavor.

 

The Trip of a Lifetime: Australia and New Zealand Part 2

After we boarded the coach on Saturday, March 19, our tour guide, Ronan McChesney, counted his flock of 22, then said, “Close your eyes.”

Oh, Lord, I thought. We have to pray. How bad is this coach driver?

“Visualize your room,” Ronan said. “Did you leave anything in the bathroom? On the hook behind the door? In the wardrobe?” (Wardrobe is Aussie for closet.)

As he continued, I laughed softly realizing he was helping us check for personal items left behind. Ronan repeated this ritual each time we left a hotel. Wise tour guide.

We arrived at the Melbourne airport in preparation for a 2½ hour flight to Alice Springs. Australia has such remote areas that traveling from one populated area or tourist destination to another is accomplished by airplane, long coach rides, or train rides.

Our first tour in Alice Springs was to the impressive Royal Flying Doctor Service (RFDS), one of the most comprehensive aeromedical services in the world. It provides emergency and primary medical care to Australian residents regardless of race in the rural, remote, and regional areas of the country.

Lunch was on our own in or around the local air-conditioned shopping center. Roger and I chose a small Thai restaurant that served sizeable, delicious portions. On our way back to the coach, we were embraced by an older Aborigine gentleman. We had been instructed by Ronan not to look at an Aborigine directly as a sign of respect. So we were shocked that he would grab us, hug us tightly, and say, “I love you,” several times. We could tell he was a little inebriated.

He released us only after I said, “We love you, too.”

The Telegraph Station was our next stop. Opened in 1872, the Station reduced the isolation of Australians. Previously the exchange of business and personal messages took months but the telegraph’s Morse Code reduced the time to hours.

Photos and written displays at the Station told the story of the Lost Generation (AKA The Stolen Generation). European men deliberately impregnated Aborigine women, forcibly removed the mixed race children, and raised them in dormitories many, many miles from home to become servants for the European settlers in Australia. The children were beat if they spoke their home language or cried to go home. The government encouraged this method for the slow eradication of the Aboriginal race. A riveting movie, “The Rabbit Proof Fence,” depicts the true story of three of those children.

The next day we rode the coach to an optional 4½ tour of the Desert Park. Because of a minor mobility issue, I opted to drive an electric cart at the park where we viewed a large aviary housing a variety of birds, thorny devils, and dingoes. We also saw an amazing Birds of Prey Show where the birds appeared and exited the arena on command.

It was enlightening to hear the Aboriginal Survival in The Desert talk. The Aborigines knew how to live in the remote area, eating what grew in the wild and what plants could be used for medicinal purposes.

joey2After lunch on our own, our afternoon was spent at Kangaroo Sanctuary operated by Kangaroo Dundee (AKA Chris Barns). He rescues baby kangaroos or joeys from the pouches of their deceased mothers who were hit by cars. He carries the joeys 24/7 in a blanket pouch until they are mature enough to roam around on their own in an enclosed area. When they are able to fend for themselves they are returned to the wild.

Each of us in the tour group took turns carrying one of two of the joeys as we walked the grounds to see kangaroos in the wild and a very aggressive one named Roger in an enclosure. He can’t be released in the wild because he’s too dangerous. Fighting kangaroos can disembowel a person with a single kick.

On Monday, March 21, Roger and I rode side by side on camels guided around an enclosure by a camel trainer. Let me just say, Roger is a much better rider than I am. Afterward we stopped at a picnic area in the Outback for a friendly, family-style picnic with roast chicken, salad, rolls, other fixings and bottled soft drinks provided by Ronan.

At 3:00 pm we finally arrived at the Ayers Rock Hotel and left by 4:00 pm on our way to The Olgas (or Kata Tjuta which means Many Heads) for a 50-minute site-seeing walk. This was followed by a sunset viewing of Uluru, the sacred Aboriginal name for Ayers Rock. The massive rock formation seemed to change colors as the sun set. We were served delicious hors d’oeuvres, fruit, and champagne.

Roger and I and five members of our group joined other tour groups on Tuesday, March 22 to enjoy the beautiful sunrise over Uluru. After breakfast we took a couple of guided tours around parts of Uluru and visited the Uluru – Kata Tjuta – Cultural Center. After lunch we returned to the Ayers Rock Airport for a 2½ hour flight to Cairns to stay at the Double Tree by Hilton Hotel.

Wednesday started with Hartley’s Crocodile Adventures. The guided walk revealed large crocodiles, wallaby feedings, and adorable koalas. Yes, we did get a taste of crocodile meat. Tastes a little like chicken, tough chicken.

Afterward we stopped at an Aussie Pub to listen to the owner discuss his life in Australia and have lunch. This is when I tasted Australia’s famous ginger beer, a delicious, non-alcoholic soft drink.

In the evening we stopped at the Wetherby Cattle Station (Aussie for ranch) to hear the owner lecture us about the cattle business. His wife treated our entire tour group to a delicious home-cooked chicken dinner. We returned to our hotel to rest in preparation for a trip to the Great Barrier Reef on Thursday.

 

Tags: Alice Springs, Royal Flying Doctor Service, Aborigines, aeromedical service, The Telegraph Station, Morse Code, The Lost Generation, The Stolen Generation, The Rabbit Proof Fence, Desert Park, Birds of Prey, Kangaroo Sanctuary, The Olgas, Kata Tjuta, Uluru, Ayers Rock, Hartley’s Crocodile Adventures, Wetherby Cattle Station

 

Fallout 3: WTF Moments

Despite now being an avid fan and having logged over 300 collective hours of gameplay, I had zero knowledge of the Fallout video game series until I took a game design class at a local community college. One of my classmates played a clip of the first twenty-some minutes of Fallout 3 while pointing out elements that made it a well-designed video game. The notion of playing as a character who lived their entire life in a fallout shelter venturing out into an unknown world in search of a missing parent was enough to intrigue me. I got hooked and wanted to experience more of this world.

JeanetteDeadwood-2016-6June-Photo1

First view of the world outside the shelter

I’ve since come to learn that I am a lot more cautious and patient than most players. I spent the majority of my time trying to go unseen by the game’s dangerous monsters, robots and humans while wandering through this post-apocalyptic wasteland. And sometimes, what I would find more frightening than some of the mutated creatures were the glitches that seemed to pop up unexpectedly. After much thought, I decided to put together a list of 10 of the most jarring or bizarre things I encountered from Fallout 3 and Fallout: New Vegas.
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1) Didn’t see that coming
I knew from my classmate’s demonstration that one set of creatures I could expect to encounter would be giant black ants. I ran into some early on in my gameplay and didn’t find them all that difficult to kill. A few good hits with a melee weapon–my general favorite at the time–made short work of them. Then I acquired a quest to clear a town of giant fire ants. The first one I saw upon reaching this town was red instead of black. I didn’t see any other difference until it got close. Before I knew it, my entire screen and vision was filled with flames that the fire ant was spewing at me.

2) Think I just had a heart attack!
All enemy units appear as a red blip on the radar, but you can only see the blips present in whatever direction you’re facing. That being said, I was crouched and sneaking through a wide, open area with the computer’s volume off when the word “Danger” flashed on the screen. This means that something is moving in to attack. I could only see one blip on my radar. Since I was playing without any sound and unable to hear anything coming, I watched intently for several seconds to try and see what was approaching me. When I failed to spot anything, I turned around…and a molerat’s face filled the entire screen with its mouth open.

3) Do I have to fight this thing?
I had exercised so much caution during my first play-through of Fallout 3–even sometimes taking detours to avoid a fight–that I didn’t see or even know about the game’s most dangerous creature until very late in the main questline. I was trying to escape from an underground facility known as Raven Rock when I came upon this large crate at the top of a staircase. I used a nearby computer terminal to open the crate and watched in terror as this demonic-looking creature with long sharp talons stepped out. Fortunately, it didn’t see me and it moved away to attack the enemy units further down the hallway. It took me three to four minutes of sitting by the crate before I worked up the courage to move.

4) The mother of bad ideas….
One of the side quests for Fallout 3 entails retrieving an important document being guarded by a dangerous cyborg inside a small office. I didn’t have the skill set needed to persuade him to hand over the document without a fight. After several rounds of trying and failing to beat this cyborg, I got frustrated enough to try an alternate–and very stupid–tactic. In a nutshell, firing a mini-nuke launcher in a small, enclosed space is effective at both killing and committing suicide.

5) This area is totally f***ed!
There is a location in Fallout: New Vegas called Black Mountain where so many odd things occur that I call it Game Glitch Central. Repeat occurrences of seeing monsters literally appear out of thin air right next to me, my character being randomly thrown back down to the base of the mountain path, and game crashes, among other problems, eventually made this an area to avoid at all costs, for me at least.

6) Can’t we talk this over?
When I first started playing Fallout 3, it was on a laptop with a mouse touchpad. The touchpad was highly sensitive and more than once, the gun I was using would discharge when I least expected it. This really became a problem when I was roaming around one of the friendly wasteland settlements and accidentally shot someone. The next thing I know, I had every single adult inhabitant running at me with guns drawn ready to take me down.

7) Oops!
Being a gamer who prefers stealth over frontal assaults, I had adopted a unique tactic over time. With a high Sneak skill and decked out in the Chinese Stealth Armor that made me invisible when crouched, I planted land mines in the path of any enemy unit or monster I came across to take them out. This tactic didn’t work as well when several Enclave soldiers made a turn at an intersection before reaching the mine. I maneuvered to get ahead of them undetected and planted another land mine without picking up the first. Once they had been taken out, I was looting the bodies for good stuff to sell when I heard this booming sound behind me. When I turned around, I saw I’d inadvertently killed a merchant who was passing through the same intersection.

8) Reload required?
The first expansion pack for Fallout: New Vegas, called Dead Money, took you to a highly toxic area centered in and around a derelict casino. The overall mission requires the player to access the casino’s vault in search of treasure. For me, it was a very time-consuming and dangerous undertaking. At one point, I had to escape from a radio tower that had half a dozen monsters roaming about outside. This wouldn’t have been a problem if I wasn’t at only one bar of health, had no healing items, and very little ammo; all it would take to kill me would be one or two hits. It took some doing, but somehow I made it out of that situation in one piece. A good thing too, since the last time I had saved was about 50 minutes of gameplay earlier.

9) This is beyond freaky.
I don’t know how many players, if any, encountered the unique game glitch that I did in Fallout 3. Strangely, this one only seemed to target a specific creature, the Yao Guai, a mutant black bear. When killed, it would sometimes fall into the ground and then spring back out with a distorted, taffy-like appearance. I sort of wish I had a picture of this effect, but it was always unnerving enough to send me running off in another direction.

10) WTF?
One of the weirdest glitches I encountered in Fallout 3 was when I approached one of the many mountains and was seeing two red blips on my radar. It’s a good thing I looked up to see the sky, or I would have missed seeing two black shapes launching into the air. My initial, irrational thought was that something was jumping over the mountain to attack me. I looked around wildly until my gaze landed on my A.I. companion; he was holding his gun at a perfect 90 degree angle. I watched him stand in that position for a couple seconds. Then, lowering his gun, he said, “Oh, they got away.” I later found out that there’s a glitch that randomly launches some monsters into the stratosphere.
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Prior to my hours spent playing Fallout 3, I don’t believe I had ever played an open-world game. I’ve since come to love the idea of exploring a large map to your heart’s content and being given the option to just ignore the main game story indefinitely. Despite how many hours I spent playing and replaying Fallout 3, I don’t think I explored every nook and cranny on the map. The world of Fallout: New Vegas was a smaller scale, but gave the player the option to gamble on slot machines or card tables set it apart from its predecessor.

Yet, each game had its flaws. I don’t feel the main story of Fallout 3 was compelling enough to make me want to play it over and over. Fallout: New Vegas does have an interesting plot and gave the player the option to become the ruler of the Casino Strip, but it doesn’t have a big enough map in which to roam around.

Even though I may never go back to playing the two previous games, especially after the recently-released Fallout 4 has eclipsed them by far, I can still look back fondly on those moments that made 3 and New Vegas a particularly memorable experience for me.

Do We Remember?

2014-Memorial-Day-FeaturedNot every Service Member who dies does so in combat. Sometimes it is in an environment you would think to be completely safe, in the barracks, on base, or at home. Sometimes it isn’t violent. When Memorial Day comes around it’s very easy to remember the Soldiers, Sailors, Airmen, and Marines who gave their lives in combat zones.

When I was stationed on Camp Foster in Okinawa, I had a friend who was a good Marine. He was good at his job and even better at making friends. He liked to party and sometimes got himself into trouble, though to be honest there were very few Marines who didn’t get in trouble at least once. He was an overall wonderful guy whom everyone liked.

One day I was at the house of an Air Force friend who lived off base.  A few of us were spending the weekend there in order to get away from on-base life for a couple of days. It was early in the morning when I received a phone call from another Marine in my unit asking me if I had seen my friend at all that weekend. I had not. They asked me to call them if I did. I said okay. Later that night I was back in my barracks room getting ready to turn in for the night when my roommate came in and told me they found him.  He was dead.

It was the last thing that I, or anyone else for that matter, had expected. He was younger than me. Only 19. We weren’t in a combat zone. We weren’t deployed.  We were on a beautiful island in the Asian-Pacific where we worked out early in the morning and worked in our shop from 7:30 in the morning to 5:30 in the afternoon and had weekends off. We shot our rifles for one week once a year in order to re-qualify. So how, in this safe place, was our friend dead?

The very little detail we were given was that he had a negative reaction to some pain medication he was taking while he recovered from a broken leg. We weren’t told any more than that. Maybe they didn’t even have any more than that to give us. They hadn’t done an autopsy yet. I never got the rest of the details.

It didn’t take us long to put together a memorial for our friend on base. Those few days are kind of a blur now, but I remember the memorial. I remember bringing flowers and helping set up. I remember the video that was played with pictures of his life. I remember crying when a picture of the two of us came up. We were in our Dress Blues attending a Marine Corps Birthday Ball.

I also remember a few of us standing at attention in formation as the casket was carried to a vehicle that would take my friend’s body to the airport. I remember the look on his father’s face. It was a very sad look. He was crying, but it was a calm and quiet sort of crying. The sort of crying you do when you’re trying to be strong and barely succeeding.  As I stood at attention I could only imagine what this father was thinking. When your child joins the Armed Forces you have to accept the chance they might not come home alive. But if that day comes, you expect it to happen during deployments in combat situations. I could imagine this father being confused and angry on top of the sadness. His son was never deployed. His son was not a grunt, but an office worker. His son died in a barracks at the age of 19 because of a medical situation.

I think of my friend often. I remember his smile and his laugh. I don’t think he knew what a bad day was, even when he was in trouble. I’ve thought about him more this weekend. I see all of these posts on Social Media for Memorial Day. People are planning BBQs and parties on lakes. People are honoring service members who gave everything for their country. People are remembering mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, sons, daughters, and friends who came home from deployments with flags draped over their coffins.

All of these things are happening and I wonder. Do they remember the ones who died at home or the ones who died not among bullets, but from natural causes or accidents? Some, more than I care to think about, die by their own hands. Do we remember them? They may not have died fighting terrorists but they died heroes nonetheless. Heroes who volunteered their lives for their country regardless of how those lives ended.

So as Memorial Day comes around I have a simple request. Enjoy your BBQs and your lake parties and as you do please open an extra beer. Pour an extra shot. Set an extra place at the table. Remember the men and women who served and can no longer be here. I will.