Nera and Jonah (3)
She regarded Jonah soberly over her fountain cup of Sprite.
"He's penning his life's work… using the high-score list on that arcade game."
Jonah nodded brightly. "Galaxian, yes."
Nera put down her drink. "I can't believe it," she said. "This is why we're not going to the Pizzatarium for my birthday?"
"C'mon, Nera," said Jonah. "We always go to the Pizzatarium. It's the only restaurant we go to. It's close to being the only place we go to."
"That's not true," said Nera. "We went to the DMV the other day."
"Uh huh," said Jonah. "And where did we go afterward, to celebrate Driver's License Photo That Does Not Make Nera Look Like A Tasered Llama Day?"
Nera muttered something and then quickly reached for her soda.
"I'm sorry," said Jonah. "I didn't quite catch that."
"Look, I'm sorry," she said. "But they were doing that Pink Floyd thing, and it really was a pretty good driver's license photo. You saw it. Hardly looks like a tasered llama at all."
"And I am not arguing," said Jonah. "But occasionally, it does us good to try other restaurants that, admittedly, are not as awesome as pizza parlor built inside a decommissioned planetarium."
"Not hardly as awesome," said Nera, glancing around at the dining room proper of the Hope Diner, a study in checkered cloth and grease patina. Yellowing afternoon light dripped in through the oily windows and gathered in pools on the table. Aside from them, the only occupant of the dining room was a tall-but-slouchy Hebrew-looking young man a couple of years their senior, working intently at one of the ancient and poorly-maintained console video games in the little arcade nook over by the far wall. "So this is Nelson Voltaire?" she muttered, jacking her thumb in the stranger's direction.
"Mm hm!" said Jonah, brightly, clutching his napkin to his chest. "He's my artistic hero."
Nera assessed him. "He looks fairly freakish," she said.
"Every day he comes in here and plays game after game of Galaxian," said Jonah, his eyes all aglow. "Every score is better than the one before. And when his game is finally over, he enters three more letters of his prose poem into the initials block. It's the most astonishing thing I've ever read."
"Is it a good prose poem?"
"His medium is so friggin' awesome," said Jonah, "it doesn't even matter what his message is. I want to be here on the day he brings this mother to a close, plays the greatest game of Galaxian anyone has ever seen, and caps the poem off with his actual initials, at last." He turned excitedly to Nera. "Honestly? I'm thinking of making a documentary about him. It'll be called 'Rub/End: Chronicles of an American Genius'."
"Yabut," said Nera. "How does he know that the next game of Galaxian is going to be just a little better than the last one? What if he screws up and gets eaten by a Galaxian too early?"
"'Galaxian' refers to the hero's ship, not the aliens that besiege it," said Jonah. "Common mistake."
"Well, whatever," said Nera. "How does he keep from getting out of order?"
"His command of the English language is second only to his command of Galaxian. He just knows, Nera. He'll score, like, five more points than his personal best and then he'll just drop his hands to his sides like a conductor and let himself die."
"Like now?"
"Huh?"
"He's doing it now," observed Nera. "He's taken his hands off the joystick."
"Omigosh!" said Jonah, in semi-religious tones, covering his mouth. "The magic is about to happen! In a few moments he'll enter his 'initials' into the machine, and we will all be one step closer to experiencing the finished product."
Nera blinked a couple times at Jonah, and then turned her attention to Nelson V. In a few moments, the magic happened. "I am nonplussed," said Nera.
"That is because you have no joy in your soul," said Jonah, watching the spectacle with rapt attention.
His latest entry complete, Nelson turned and shuffled away from the machine and out of the diner, slouching so profoundly that he looked a bit like a grouchy crescent moon, or perhaps a parenthesis. "I have to see what his entry is," said Jonah, starting to rise.
"I'll do it," said Nera, who was a bit quicker on the punch. "And while I'm over there, I'mo play me some Galaxian."
"What?"
"I," repeated Nera, "'mo play me some Galaxian. I think maybe Mr. Voltaire's work could use the assistance of a co-writer."
"You can't!" exclaimed Jonah. "You'll disrupt the fragile artistic purity of the work!"
Nera shrugged. "It's what I do. I shake shit up. You should know me by now, Jonah."
As Jonah looked on, horrified, Nera wandered over to the Galaxian console and plugged a quarter into the slot. Several minutes passed.
Eventually she returned to the table. "Well?" said Jonah.
"Two things," said Nera. "One, the latest word is B-U-T."
"Yes, and?" Jonah's leg quivered against the table, shaking the ice in their drinks.
"Two, I totally suck at Galaxian."
Jonah relaxed. "Thank god," he said. "'But'. That's brilliant."
"Yeah, or maybe he's just going to finish writing 'butt' tomorrow."
"That would also be brilliant," said Jonah. "Man, Nera, I've never been so happy to have you suck at something."
Nera picked up her Sprite again, but her eyes didn't leave Jonah.
"You're weird," said Nera.
"He's penning his life's work… using the high-score list on that arcade game."
Jonah nodded brightly. "Galaxian, yes."
Nera put down her drink. "I can't believe it," she said. "This is why we're not going to the Pizzatarium for my birthday?"
"C'mon, Nera," said Jonah. "We always go to the Pizzatarium. It's the only restaurant we go to. It's close to being the only place we go to."
"That's not true," said Nera. "We went to the DMV the other day."
"Uh huh," said Jonah. "And where did we go afterward, to celebrate Driver's License Photo That Does Not Make Nera Look Like A Tasered Llama Day?"
Nera muttered something and then quickly reached for her soda.
"I'm sorry," said Jonah. "I didn't quite catch that."
"Look, I'm sorry," she said. "But they were doing that Pink Floyd thing, and it really was a pretty good driver's license photo. You saw it. Hardly looks like a tasered llama at all."
"And I am not arguing," said Jonah. "But occasionally, it does us good to try other restaurants that, admittedly, are not as awesome as pizza parlor built inside a decommissioned planetarium."
"Not hardly as awesome," said Nera, glancing around at the dining room proper of the Hope Diner, a study in checkered cloth and grease patina. Yellowing afternoon light dripped in through the oily windows and gathered in pools on the table. Aside from them, the only occupant of the dining room was a tall-but-slouchy Hebrew-looking young man a couple of years their senior, working intently at one of the ancient and poorly-maintained console video games in the little arcade nook over by the far wall. "So this is Nelson Voltaire?" she muttered, jacking her thumb in the stranger's direction.
"Mm hm!" said Jonah, brightly, clutching his napkin to his chest. "He's my artistic hero."
Nera assessed him. "He looks fairly freakish," she said.
"Every day he comes in here and plays game after game of Galaxian," said Jonah, his eyes all aglow. "Every score is better than the one before. And when his game is finally over, he enters three more letters of his prose poem into the initials block. It's the most astonishing thing I've ever read."
"Is it a good prose poem?"
"His medium is so friggin' awesome," said Jonah, "it doesn't even matter what his message is. I want to be here on the day he brings this mother to a close, plays the greatest game of Galaxian anyone has ever seen, and caps the poem off with his actual initials, at last." He turned excitedly to Nera. "Honestly? I'm thinking of making a documentary about him. It'll be called 'Rub/End: Chronicles of an American Genius'."
"Yabut," said Nera. "How does he know that the next game of Galaxian is going to be just a little better than the last one? What if he screws up and gets eaten by a Galaxian too early?"
"'Galaxian' refers to the hero's ship, not the aliens that besiege it," said Jonah. "Common mistake."
"Well, whatever," said Nera. "How does he keep from getting out of order?"
"His command of the English language is second only to his command of Galaxian. He just knows, Nera. He'll score, like, five more points than his personal best and then he'll just drop his hands to his sides like a conductor and let himself die."
"Like now?"
"Huh?"
"He's doing it now," observed Nera. "He's taken his hands off the joystick."
"Omigosh!" said Jonah, in semi-religious tones, covering his mouth. "The magic is about to happen! In a few moments he'll enter his 'initials' into the machine, and we will all be one step closer to experiencing the finished product."
Nera blinked a couple times at Jonah, and then turned her attention to Nelson V. In a few moments, the magic happened. "I am nonplussed," said Nera.
"That is because you have no joy in your soul," said Jonah, watching the spectacle with rapt attention.
His latest entry complete, Nelson turned and shuffled away from the machine and out of the diner, slouching so profoundly that he looked a bit like a grouchy crescent moon, or perhaps a parenthesis. "I have to see what his entry is," said Jonah, starting to rise.
"I'll do it," said Nera, who was a bit quicker on the punch. "And while I'm over there, I'mo play me some Galaxian."
"What?"
"I," repeated Nera, "'mo play me some Galaxian. I think maybe Mr. Voltaire's work could use the assistance of a co-writer."
"You can't!" exclaimed Jonah. "You'll disrupt the fragile artistic purity of the work!"
Nera shrugged. "It's what I do. I shake shit up. You should know me by now, Jonah."
As Jonah looked on, horrified, Nera wandered over to the Galaxian console and plugged a quarter into the slot. Several minutes passed.
Eventually she returned to the table. "Well?" said Jonah.
"Two things," said Nera. "One, the latest word is B-U-T."
"Yes, and?" Jonah's leg quivered against the table, shaking the ice in their drinks.
"Two, I totally suck at Galaxian."
Jonah relaxed. "Thank god," he said. "'But'. That's brilliant."
"Yeah, or maybe he's just going to finish writing 'butt' tomorrow."
"That would also be brilliant," said Jonah. "Man, Nera, I've never been so happy to have you suck at something."
Nera picked up her Sprite again, but her eyes didn't leave Jonah.
"You're weird," said Nera.