dad’s first second life (My perfect dad 29)

This is a repost from a Tumblr series that I called “My perfect dad.” I’m preserving these older stories and continuing to write new ones available on this site first.

My boyfriend and I lived together, but you’d never know it for how little time we spent with each other ever since he got that stupid computer game.  As soon as he came home from work each night, he’d go straight to his laptop and sit, hunched over and glassy-eyed, clicking and typing for hours. Whenever I’d walk by, he closed the screen. When I asked him what he was playing, he mumbled something about it being “kind of like The Sims.” When I asked if we could play together, he shooed me away, saying he wasn’t ready for two player just yet. 

This went on for a solid month, and I was getting frustrated. One night, after lying in bed for hours waiting for him to join me, I’d had enough. I stormed into the living room and slammed the laptop screen down. He looked at me like I’d just robbed him at gunpoint. 

“What the hell?” he barked. “I was in the middle of something.” 

“You’ve been in the middle of something for a month now, Jake,” I said. “I swear you haven’t even said a word to me for the last week. I’m not going to lose my boyfriend to some stupid computer game.” 

“It’s not stupid,” he pleaded, looking genuinely offended. For a moment I thought I’d actually hurt his feelings. “It’s important.” 

“If it’s so important, why can’t you tell me what it is?” 

He raised the screen, bathing his face in a glow of eerie blue light. I used to think he was adorable, but he’s become a completely different person since getting into that game. He even looks different. 

“I just can’t,” he said. “Now leave me alone. I’ve got work to do.” 

In hindsight, I should have just left that night. But dammit, I cared about him, and I know that somewhere, deep down, he cared about me, too. It wasn’t his fault; it was that stupid game. I had to get to the bottom of it, so I waited in the bedroom until I heard him snoring. It was just past 3:30 a.m. when I crept back into the living room and found him asleep, drooling over his keyboard. 

Carefully, I lifted his hand and rested his index finger against the fingerprint scan. It worked, and as the laptop came back to life, I let out an anxious breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. I gasped just as anxiously when I saw the screen. 

At the center was a near-perfect likeness of myself, naked except for plain white briefs. It spun slowly as long blocks of text scrolled down either side. I recognized the stats on the left. At the top were my age, height, and weight, but further down the information got unsettlingly granular.  Intelligence quotient. Religious affiliation. Professional ambition. 

On the right side, the stats described a completely different person, older, bigger, and dumber than I. Most of the fields were blank. 

“What are you doing, Kevin?” 

I physically recoiled as my boyfriend’s hand grasped mine. His eyes, while bloodshot and tired, shot daggers at me. 

“You wouldn’t tell me what you were doing,” I growled. “I had to find out for myself.” 

“Christ,” he spat. “You ruined it.” 

“What are you talking about?” 

“Forget it. I’ll just have to go with what I’ve got.” 

He dragged his finger across the touchpad and clicked the button. 

The sun felt hot on my big tummy, so I got out of my hammock, turned around, and laid back down facing the other way. Now my legs were getting all the sun. I smiled and put my arms behind my head, proud of how when I really think things through, I can solve even the most complicated problems. 

I love laying out in the sun because it makes my pits nice and sweaty. Sometimes I just lay out here and sniff them for hours. I guess it’s hours. I don’t know.  My Son started wearing all my watches. That was fine with me since I couldn’t tell the time anyway. 

“Oh, come on, dad,” I heard my Son yell from inside the house. I wonder what I did wrong this time. Son always gets on me for every little thing. I never seem to learn.  He peeked his head through the screen door to the kitchen. “How many times do I have to tell you to lift the toilet seat?” 

“Sorry, Son,” I said with a chuckle. I was sorry. Honest. Son gets mad at me because I don’t feel bad when I do stuff wrong. I can’t help it. It just feels so good to smile. Smile and rub my big tummy and sniff my pits. 

“I’ll do better next time, Son,” I said, adjusting my favorite baseball cap. 

“No you won’t,” Son said. “But that’s not your fault, dad. It’s mine.” 

Son went back into the house without another word, and I heard the clanging of pots and pans.  At first, Son had me do all the cooking, but he got tired of cereal and peanut butter sandwiches, so now I just hang out here in the sun and wait for him to make stuff. 

Man, my pits smell awesome today. I love it here.