They got a name for the winners in the world—I want a name when I lose
So, let’s just get this over with.
When I tell these stories, there’s one question I tend to get more than any other.
So I guess I’d better answer it.
“Murphy, is it true you were famed skyjacker D.B. Cooper?”
No, I was not.
I do feel obliged to point out that’s exactly what famed skyjacker D.B. Cooper would say. Do with that information what you will.
I’m not Doobie Keebler, either. (If you get that reference, we are of the same tribe.)
All right, I’m stalling. That is obviously not the question.
The question is this: “Murphy, you stupid fucking muppet, she clearly liked you; why didn’t you ever ask her out?”
To respond to this I honestly just want to post a picture of myself and a picture of her and do the Khaby Lame thing. When I say she was out of my league, I don’t mean I was the backup catcher for the Birmingham Barons and she was the starting centerfielder for the Charlotte Knights. It’s more like I was the backup catcher for the Birmingham Barons and she was an all-star playing in the Proxima Centauri system. We’re talking a distance that could be measured in parsecs.
But that’s not an honest explanation of the situation, because it implies something that’s not really the case—that I had a crush, and I was the poor wallflower hiding my feelings and hoping senpai would notice me.
I think the thing people get confused about is the nature of love. A lot of people (mostly guys) have this idea that love exists in basically two forms; familial, in which it’s a close friend or a family member and it’s fondness and affection, and romantic, in which the end goal is physical intimacy. And that’s kind of reductive, I think.
There’s a lot more to it. There’s the whole concept of courtly love, which came out of the middle ages, in which a knight might dedicate himself to the service of a noblewoman—usually unattainable from his station—and perform acts of fealty and devotion to her. Or there’s the four varieties CS Lewis wrote about, which includes philia (deep friendship) and agape (selfless, unconditional love) in addition to familial and romantic varieties. So love doesn’t always mean you’re looking for the happily ever after. It can be a very complex thing.
Or it can be really simple.
Sometimes love means the mere fact they exist in the world makes it a brighter place, and that’s enough.
Sometimes love means wanting someone to be happy, without reservation.
Sometimes love means being willing to put yourself in harm’s way to protect someone, no matter what that means for you.
About that…
Hold on to your wishes if you can’t hold on to me
(Yes, I’m getting to it. Give me some slack, this one gets embarrassing.)
One of the ongoing problems in fandom and gaming is how guys react to women. Just across the board, it’s rarely mature and good, and it was even worse back then. Women attempting to enter these male-only spaces were regularly challenged about their bona fides, or if they didn’t get a hostile reaction, it was more hopeful opportunism that any girl in the space was just looking for a geek boyfriend. And to be fair, some women played on that, collecting a harem of thirsty guys and playing them off against each other for attention.
Sid really hated that shit. She just wanted to be treated like anyone else, which is one of the reasons I think she appreciated me. But as her friend, I often got targeted by guys looking for an in, and I’d have to gently wave them off or let them down easy. Not all of them listened, and some tried anyway, and the resulting embarrassment generally sent them out of our group’s orbit.
But there was one guy she genuinely seemed to like, and he genuinely seemed to like her. And like some godawful rom-com, they just wouldn’t come the fuck out and say it. I got treated to endless heart-to-heart sessions with each of them, and it became clear they really wanted to give it a shot, but they’d never admit it to one another. I gave advice, I nudged, I hinted, I cajoled, but they’d always chicken out and stop short in the end.
Finally I dragged the two of them into a room. “He likes you,” I said. “She likes you,” I said. “Discuss,” I said. And then I went out and held the door closed.
They dated for a while. It was pretty stormy, and on more than one occasion, I stepped in to try to help patch things up between them. Because I genuinely thought he made her happy, and I liked him well enough. In retrospect, if I hadn’t kept trying to keep them together, it might not have gone south the way it eventually did.
They eventually fell out, and she began dating someone else. We all moved in the same social circles, so her ex was still present at events, and eventually the confrontations escalated. Eventually it culminated with a very ugly scene at a party, a scene that got violent. I wasn’t present for it; I’d been trying to defuse the situation, but had failed, and took a walk to clear my head. I came back to a broken door, some destroyed possessions, but thankfully, nobody hurt. It wouldn’t end there.
I hate to say it, but it’s probably me
A little while later, her ex made some oblique statements that suggested he was going to, not to put too fine a point on it, firebomb her house and kill them the following Saturday night. Sid, not being a shrinking violet, called his bluff and slated another party. She came to me and told me what was going on, and asked me if I’d run a game session. I told her of course I would, and we kept it to our inner circle.
The gaming session was pretty tense at first, but eventually everyone loosened up and got into the story I was telling, and it was almost like any other game night. Eventually we almost forgot about the whole reason we were there… until one of the crew got up to refresh his drink, peered out the living room window, and said, “Hey, there’s somebody on the lawn.”
(Cringing already here. Get through this, Murph.)
Sid and I locked eyes, and the realization shot through the group. And then all at once, everyone moved. Some folks started heading for the back door. Someone ran for the phone. I ran for the couch, dove behind it, and pulled out the bag I’d stashed there earlier in the evening. I threw it on the sofa, unzipped it, and pulled out—well, there’s just no beating around the bush here.
I pulled out a fucking sword.
(Yes, I was one of those nerds. In my defense, I’d actually taken some kendo so I actually kind of knew a little technique. And it wasn’t a stereotypical katana, but a wakizashi—I’ve always been better close-in than at arm’s length. But it’s still godawful embarrassing.)
Most of the crew froze, gaping at me, as I ran for the front door. Through the distorted glass, I could see a figure standing near the base of the steps leading up to the porch. I saw a flare of light that in my mind could’ve been someone attempting to light a fuse. In that moment, I had an clear image In my head of what was about to occur.
I was going to wrench open the front door and hurl myself down the steps, weapon held high, like some godawful parody of a Frank Miller splash page. And I was going to absolutely fuck up the person who was attempting to hurt someone I cared about. I have no idea what would’ve happened after that. Part of me understood that if there actually were some sort of explosive or incendiary device involved, there was a reasonable chance it would go off while I was at ground zero.
I didn’t particularly care.
When I think back on that moment, it’s honestly so weird. I’m a pacifist; I believe violence is wrong. I defuse situations with wit and humor and self-deprecation. I’m absolutely the last person to get physical. But in that moment, it was all wrath, baby.
I got my hand on the doorknob, twisted it, and began to yank the door open. I was seconds from leaping out and irrevocably committing myself. And all of a sudden Sid wrapped herself around my right arm, leaned in close and whispered desperately, “Murph, it’s a cop!”
You win some, lose some, it’s all the same to me
I froze as my brain tried to reboot. Sid effortlessly took the weapon from fingers that were suddenly nerveless and made it disappear. I managed to continue my motion and opened the door the rest of the way. The cop, startled by the sudden movement, shined the flashlight he was carrying at us. “Evening, officer. Can we help you?” I asked, putting on as much charm as I could muster.
Turns out the alarm had gone off at the jewelry store around the corner. Some kids were apparently horsing around, yanking on the door, and had set it off. The PD was sending cars into the neighborhood looking for anything out of the ordinary. We explained we hadn’t seen anything odd, but we’d keep an eye out. He thanked us and moved on to the next block.
As Sid shut the door, I had an adrenaline crash and nearly collapsed. I was literally about to leap off her porch brandishing a sword at an armed police officer, who likely would’ve shot me six or seven times. I would’ve died with an awfully stupid look on my face, and people would’ve shared the clippings online. “Local idiot has Highlander freakout and attacks cop.” It would’ve been hilarious.
Sid looked at me with worry and everyone else sighed with relief, and then we noticed our friend who’d spotted the cop in the first place was looking utterly bewildered. “What the fuck was that about?” he asked.
And that’s when we realized he hadn’t been in the group chats where we’d talked about the death threats. He had no idea he’d been invited to a party that could potentially be firebombed.
He was utterly furious with us and we had to buy his drinks for a while as apology.
(Some time later we all went out to see the premiere of Pulp Fiction. When Butch pulled down the katana in the pawn shop scene, I turned to see every last one of those motherfuckers smirking at me.)