Now, that happens sometimes with a computer game. The will
of the Gods are with you, all your jumps have landed on target, every
axe thrown has hit home. And you just KNOW that you're not going to be
able to do it next time, or the time after, or the time after that. You've
been given one chance, and you've got to take it.
I needed time to think, though. It was getting late, I didn't want to
rush myself. All this was in the days before you could save your progress
on a computer game, so I put the game on pause, and went away to bed overnight.
I wanted to wake up to my WonderBoy. I was ready for the level. As I slipped
off to sleep that night, I dreamt I had green hair and was wearing that
pink minidress myself.
I woke up in the morning, and WonderBoy was gone.
What I didn't know at that tender age was that at some point during the
night the console had rebooted itself. Consoles in the 1980s weren't happy
being paused all night, and mine assumed it had been forgotten about.
When I rolled over and opened my eyes, and turned that screen on once
more, I felt the pang of my first broken heart. First disbelief, then
sadness, then anger, and finally acceptance. My chance of completing that
game was gone. WonderBoy was no longer mine, but skipping along under
the control of game in some tedious automatic demo.
I turned off the game, feeling rejected. He couldn't wait for me. Had
I been too controlling? As I thought of that princess in her skimpy number,
I felt a need to regain some of the power back in my life. I unplugged
the cartridge from the console, put it back in its box, and I didn't touch