Since the COVID-19 Pandemic begun, Donald Trump has been a mainstay on Television. After misleading comments and a whole lot of “sarcasm”, White House members have decided to cut his time. In the background of all this, people are asking “Where is Joe Biden?” The past three weeks, I’ve been hanging out around the neighborhood corners of my childhood, asking the youngsters what the latest scoop is. I finally got it.
Nick Fisch, 13 years old, was the head man of the V-shaped brigade of middle school bike riders. As I stood at the end of the cul-de-sac, where the sidewalk crossed through a part in the fence, towards the open grass field, I held my hand up to give high fives to the passersby. The kids stopped, mistaking my high five as a “holdup!” hand gesture. I questioned my sense of youth. Was I, Opal Green, too old for this crowd of hubba bubba chewers? No way. In an effort to catch the scoop, I played along with the seniority they perceived in me. Noticing how the group of seven badass eighth grade bikers had to lineup front tire to back tire in order to pass efficiently through the fence gap while maintaining social distancing orders, I assumed they were all pretty bright, upstanding individuals, with good family lives and a strong support system. It was around 3:00 PM, which meant online school had long been over; And, you could tell by the sweat on the tips of their overgrown hair they had been biking for quite a healthy while. I could offer drinks, or food, or something of the likes to try and win their friendship, but still hyperaware of stranger danger I quickly had those thoughts dissipate from my head.
”What’s your name?” I asked, in a scramble of making noise to fill the awkward void of five minutes of silence while still holding my hand up for a high five. “Uhh” he looked around at his friends, “Nick.” His friends all giggled. “Nick Fisch.” I spell it as Fisch with a ‘c’ being it seems the most believable way to spell a real last name, it would seem as if it were a joke if his last name were spelled without a ‘c’, as “Fish.” “Nice to meet you Nick Fisch, my name is Opal Green. I live right over there in the green house and used to be just like you.” Damnit, I’ve already given into what they want me to think. “Sorry, I’m still like you. I still live in that green house over there. I just have a bigger bike now, my knees can’t pedal on a twenty inch rim anymore. I use twenty four inch rims, but it’s only my legs that have grown.” The kid behind him shouted out “I’m Fisch Nick!” and they all giggled again. I joined them in giggling. “Fisch Nick, sounds familiar. Do you have an older sibling that might’ve been in my grade?” He looked dumbfounded, I have a feeling he was thinking “How did he know I had an older sibling?” but he responded “No, I don’t.” I know he did, I’ve gone to school with plenty of Nicks. I decided to let that pass, hoping to figure out the scoop soon. I was itching for it.
“What are you guys up to?” I then asked the group, at large. Nick Fisch answered again “Riding bikes, just got back from Wawa.” Of course, how did I not notice the plastic bags of cheese danishes already half eaten? The smell of soggy hoagie wrappers, the vinegar and now warm Italian meats. “I love Wawa” I said nervously, not offering anything new to the conversation, but rather looking for acceptance of my views. Right then, a sweet blonde haired boy poked his head out, third in the line of bikes, with a smile and asked “I have extra danish, would you like some?” Half the kids giggled and half the kids looked at him, angrily. I felt very vulnerable and held back tears caused by the wind over the grass fields. I spoke back to him “I’d like that young man. I’d like that very much. What should I call you?” He giggled, “Dirk Calloway. My name is Dirk Calloway.” What a sweet boy he was. The best ways to get the scoop, are with the people most willing.
So, we all sat in the field passing around Entemann’s Cherry Cheese Danish, licking the sticky sugars off our fingers before wiping them on the dirt and grass and earth. We talked about a lot of things, their online teachers, fantasies of fist fighting our dads and how it’ll all make sense when one day when the pandemic passes. When it passes, we all planned on playing for the Yankees, breaking the HR record of seventy three and buying every single Topps, Fleer and UpperDeck rookie cards of ourselves while driving up the price of them year after year. We all agreed we’d sell half of them and use that money to build a Billion or Trillion dollar estate that looked over the Cal Ripken Jr. fields in Maryland that we’d live in with our TikTok wives. While it seemed implausible we could all marry Addison Rae, we didn’t start a fight over who would be best suited to raise a family with her. If we talked about it, they’d all have to admit that I’d be best suited; And, no one wanted to admit that.
Shortly afterwards the boys led by Nick Fisch started talking about Call of Duty’s latest function, Warzone. “If I’m not too busy french kissing Emily, I’d play Warzone tonight.” The scoop I thought I’d been looking for was here, Nick Fisch and Emily Wilson had been tongue kissing. I had ran into Emily Wilson last week on the corner, she was wearing eye makeup and her friends she was with were not. “What’s it like?” Dirk Calloway asked. With a smug-faced smile, Nick responded “It’s just like Fortnite, but Call of Duty. They have this thing called a Gulag, where if you die you can respawn.” All the boys quickly started talking about Fortnite or Warzone as if to avoid the fact that none of them have kissed anyone but members of their family before. Dirk and I stared at each other with anxiety. “Do you play Warzone?” I asked Dirk. “Yes,” Dirk responded. “What’s your username?” I asked him. “It’s Calloway, See-Aye-El-El-Oh-Dubba-uwe-aye-why. Then an underscore. Then two-thousand-six, the number.” I took out my phone and wrote it down. “Will you be on tonight?” I asked. “I should be,” he said, “Unless my older brother is on.” I knew the feeling, not of my older brother being on, but my Dad.
Time passed slowly as the breeze continued to push and dry our hairs on the side of the bike and kid scattered field. It was getting dark, probably around five thirty, and Nick Fisch, Fisch Nick, Dirk Calloway and the other boys whose names I do not remember all had to leave for dinner. I imagined how nice their lives must be at their houses. They were all gentlemen who spared some time with me. Which, as a gesture, I appreciated very much. Walking home, I thought about the high five I offered, how they stopped and how stupid I felt, but through no volition of my own consciousness, a thought popped up in my own consciousness. They could not give out high fives, there’s mandated social distancing you dumb brain. It was self-defeating my brain would call itself dumb; But, even though that usually kept me down, I felt better about the high five. I thought about Nick Fisch, Emily Wilson and the scoop I had picked up hanging out another day on one of the neighborhood corners.
When I walked through the front door of my house, I decided that tonight I would not brood on the fact that it is bullshit I have to empty the dishwasher and clean the sink. I would not stay in the warm watered shower for an extra half an hour. I would not lock myself in my bedroom to vape, avoid my parents and limit sunlight. No, that was not me today. Not after I had received a few new best friends. The natural order made sense and for once, it worked out for me. I cleaned my plate and loaded the dishwasher after dinner. I kept an eye out for the basement door. If my dad entered it, I could not play video games tonight; Instead, he went into our living room to watch FoxNews and take pleasure in what he called “the best looking newscast in all of news.” I snuck downstairs and added Dirk to my friends list. He immediately accepted my friend request. I joined his party and shock awaited me.
Buttmuncher69, Shaquille_0atmeal, therealjoejr42, stinkypinky06, Lisaannsstepston, johnydeep, 69milfHunter, jawnsmith05, At0micFart, troudecul, doublewanker, triple_wanker, singlowanko, hunter4wabbits and Calloway_2006 were the names in the party. They had not started playing Warzone, but instead were talking about when they thought sports would resume play. The conversation was composed of questions and assertions “NBA started practicing again, they must start playing soon. Baseball can’t be canceled. Have you heard about the Cactus League? Is it crazy if the NFL doesn’t have a crowd? What about next year? There’s no way this lasts past summer.”
In an effort to catch the scoop, I asked “Nick Fisch, how was Emily?” Stinkypinky06, At0micFart and therealjoejr42 got a kick out of this, but no one answered. I decided to wait if it came up. If not, I’d press again later. The pandemic talks continued and eventually went away when it was time to play Warzone. We did three groups of quads and one group of trios, which included me with Calloway_2006 and the doublewanker. In the lobby leading up to the mission, Dirk asked me “Are you any good? On a scale of one to ten, what do you think you are? I’m probably a three.” I am probably a six, but I responded modestly “Probably around five. How about you doublewanker?” The mysterious username responded “I’m probably an eight. I beat Mr. Biden a few times and he let me call him Joe. I’m better than his son, Hunter and he’s probably a six or seven. So, I’m an eight, maybe a nine. Mr. Biden is a ten.” My curiosity peaked, Mr. Biden with a first name Joe? The man who Trump called SleepyCreepyJoe online in a bullying effort of a tweet to seem above him? The man who has been caught on tape falling asleep in Zoom Town Hall meetings during Quarantine? The man who has been rambling as if he could not concentrate in discussion? The man who squints his eyes when looking at people as if he’d been up all night playing video games? It clicked. “Dirk, doublewanker, is Joe Biden therealbiden42 and his son Hunter Biden hunter4wabbits?” Without any emotion of any kind, doublewanker responded cooly as if he were concentrating on the game, which he was, “Yea. He’s probably the best in our friend group. Consistently wins Warzone.” To which Dirk responded “I feel bad for Hunter. It’s not that Joe puts any pressure on him, but he isn’t as good as his Dad. That’s got to be tough. I wouldn’t enjoy Warzone if I were him. I’d probably get good at another video game or something, and make my argument that the other video game was better than Call of Duty.”
I was shocked at how easily the beautiful and bright young Dirk had made that assessment. It made me wonder if his brother was better at Madden, or something else, growing up; So, Dirk started playing Call of Duty to avoid a competition that would amount to nothing. I thought of my Dad, watching the news and whatever beautiful, stubborn blonde they casted as anchor that made him salivate and blame Disney for selling sex to kids. I thought about how hurt he might be if I had told him Joe Biden had a better kill to death ratio, win percentage and more points earned than him in Call of Duty. It would cause a flurry of quick, YouTube-fed responses including “Probably uses Aimbot! He forgot to stock the national stockpile of emergency equipment! Even though Tara Reade was probably lying, it’s still something! Fake News!“ and worse “What does this have to do with the fact that I’m better than you at Warzone?” It did not need it to get personal, it was not healthy for me. Instead, I decided to post this article under a cool and hip pseudonym to keep his feelings separate from my work as a writer.
While I still don’t know the story about Nick Fisch and Emily Wilson, I did learn something new today. Joe Biden, Presidential Candidate for the Democratic party, is filthy at Call of Duty. I later had the honor to play with him, finding out his favorite combination of weapons and perks. For those wondering, he uses the M13 with extended mag, FMJ and a thermal scope. Other attachments didn’t matter, he said, just attach any combination of two more things and the gun will get better. What surprised me was his RPG in gold camouflage as a secondary, saying “You don’t know how many teams I’ve wiped in, ugh…Sorry, had a team on me. Took care of them. But, teams camp in houses and stuff until the circle moves in. The RPG is perfect to wipe them. Or, as I say sometimes, those teams are ripe for the wipe.” Has he had his mistakes? Sure, he admitted of having a few, but he’s learned. “It’s a new game, you’re gonna learn along the way. You can’t stress about hiccups. You’ll learn to drink water.” I felt comfortable speaking to him, and even asked him about his PR hiccups, often seeming like a man out of touch, grabbing younger people by their hips as if he were part of their family, looking over top of them. “I was just trying to get a better view of their hands, in all cases. I’m always looking for new teammates and have found kids are the best teammates for Call of Duty.”
At one point, in an online party separate from Hunter, he told me he wished I were also his son. I was touched. In all twenty-one years of my life, I had thought video games were for the purpose to compete. While that’s an aspect of them, it’s limiting to think it’s the only aspect. I thought about telling my college and city friends about this experience, but I withheld myself realizing I hadn’t reached out to them at all since the Pandemic began. They hadn’t reached out to me either.
To me, Joe Biden, isn’t SleepyCreepyJoe, he’s therealjoe42. It’s the name he chose for himself and how everyone should know him. As my Dad yells “PANSIES!” at the television while standing on both of his feet gripping a controller, I know Joe Biden is better than him. At least, when my Dad pulls me aside asking if I know “the truth” about Joe Biden, I can say with confidence I do. No matter how often he berates and tells me I’m wrong, I know the reason Joe has tired eyes, the reason it seems his brain is slipping, the reason he nods off in meetings: Call of Duty Warzone.
Thank you therealjoe42. Love,
Opal Green