Arcade

by Chased Amy

Skee-Ball
"Oh, to hold that wooden ball in your palm and know the possibilities. ... Be it the candy necklace or the magic card trick or the baton or the kazoo, you know how many tickets it will take to claim your prize, and so you know what you have to do."

She's opening for *NSYNC as you make your way across the America in the heat of the summer. She's as pretty as you remember, and her smile is as bright and wide. You think she'd be a good girlfriend. She thinks so, too.

Not everyone agrees. You wail against the unfairness of it all. "Why can't I hold her hand in public? She's my girlfriend!"

"She's your opening act, kid. Pure and simple. You're all young, available men, and you're going to stay that way until I tell you you're not."

You pout all the way back to the bus.

Space Invaders
"Backed by a thudding bass beat, dozens of invaders from another world descended on our planet in 1978. Within months, Space Invaders was one of the hottest fads on the globe, helping propel the video arcade into a multi-billion dollar industry."

Fame descended upon you like a woolen, hooded cloak. Inside, you were protected from the elements, secure in your world and yourself.

But, it didn't let you see past the hood.

You played. You sang and danced and dripped with sweat. You never saw your family, you barely saw Britney. But it was worth it. Your dream was coming true, one glittery posterboard at a time.

The United States held more promise for *NSYNC than any of the countries of Europe. But before you could partake of the riches it offered, you had to strip yourself out of your coverings.

Frogger
"The object of Frogger was almost Zen-like: to get to the other side."

In your fight to keep your name and your career and your sanity all at the same time, it became harder and harder to hold your relationship together. You vowed to try. Through long-distance hours and no touching! public events (she was still bound by her strings) you fought to make it work. You laid in bed at night, wishing you could just throw a casual arm around her shoulders and kiss her cheek without the National Equirer turning into this week's cover story/pregnancy scare.

Even virgins knew you couldn't get pregnant doing that.

Maybe 2000 would be easier.

Pole Position
"Prepare to qualify. ...it took a little finesse to find the balance between speed and control, trying not to smash into the large billboards at the side of the road, but with a little practice, even novices could qualify for the big race."

In some ways, it was. Your fans broke the record and your tour was on HBO and you had your first number one, and the night you "got a moooon-man" you decided it was time for that first, too.

In some ways, it wasn't. You paced. The guys teased and bought you flavored condoms. Your mother -- whose instincts were always spot-on -- sat you down for the serious talk. Pregnancy. STDs. Committment. Fame.

But you wanted this. You wanted her. You wanted that. You wanted fame.

And you could get anything if you wanted it bad enough.

And it was good.

Galaga
"[What] started as a simple take off on the popular Space Invaders theme turned into one of the most popular and long-lasting hits of the arcade's golden years."

Life was perfect. How could it not be? You spent your days with your four best friends, doing the only job in the world you ever could have done. You spent every night you could in the arms of the most beautiful woman in the country - "Just look a those abs! Those thighs! How could I say no to that?"

You wondered if she valued the riches in front of her, your devotion, your love. You'd do anything to make her happy: jewels, cars, a house, flying here and there on a moment's notice.

You hoped she appreciated it.

Pac Man
"Bonus points came in the form of tasty fruits--cherries, strawberries, oranges, apples and more--which popped up near the center of the screen. The gobbling yellow hero could also escape the ghosts by slipping through a tunnel at the side of the screen."

All things gold, if left to their own devices, will eventually tarnish.

You were on tour. She was in Sweden. There were ... tempations, and not the kind from Motown. You figured a little frolicking wouldn't hurt. After all, she was probably doing the same thing - with her dancers, with her producers, with, well, whoever, really.

Clubbing was always good. The beer cold, the women willing, the pharmeceuticals available. You let yourself play - experimentation, you told yourself. You were a young man, with manly desires.

And Brit couldn't be around every day...

You were sure she wouldn't mind too much.

Q-Bert
"Q's purpose in life was to hop around on the tops of these cubes. On early levels, this was as simple as a single hop on each square, but later rounds became more challenging -- cubes had to be touched twice, cubes changed back to the wrong color if they got hopped on again..."

Turnabout is fair play, it'd seem. No, she didn't mind too much, so you couldn't, either when she confessed to much the same activities. So you agreed: be safe, have security, and never with someone the other knew.

She agreed, you shook on it, then, as you went down on her in the limo, she told you about doing it with this hot dancer chick in Berlin during a weekend trip. You didn't realize she swung that way, but you were relieved.

It made blowing that guy in that club in Philadelphia a little easier to swallow.

No pun intended.

Donkey Kong
"Mario was employed as a carpenter until a giant ape named Donkey Kong kidnapped his girlfriend, Pauline."

You were in L.A. to shoot "What's Goin' On," and today, you were going to bend the rules. You and Nick Carter had had a little flirtation thing happening for months...years. You'd seen him at the VMAs, and the pulsing tension between the two of you was just about unbearable.

You were Justin Fucking Timberlake, for the love of god. How could he refuse?

But refuse, he did. And it made sense when you spotted the long bottle-blonde-with-brown-roots hair on his shirt. And pants.

You were Justin Fucking Timberlake, but he was fucking Britney Spears.

Ninja Gaiden
"Wielding two fists of fury and a handful of special moves, the masked ninja took his quest for vengeance to the streets, ready to rumble wih any thug in the way."

Nights out took on a whole new level of activity. No longer satisfied with the random tongue in a dirty bathroom, you sought flesh like a heat-seeking missile. Strippers, men and women, benefitted from your tucked twenties. A few benefitted from your tongue as well.

You didn't--couldn't--care anymore. You took all the chances you were afraid to take while attached to Britney. The whole world was your oyster, and it was time to dive for the pearls.

The others watched you helplessly: covert glances, shrugged shoulders. But the day you showed up for soundcheck drunk, they took action.

Whac-A-Mole
"If there's such a thing as arcade therapy, this could be it."

"Hey, Justin."

"What, Chris?" Your head was throbbing.

"Little woozy out there.

"Shut it. I'm fine."

"Fuck that. You're not."

"Whatever." Water. Need water now.

You felt cold hands grab your neck and shoulders, then push. You tried to catch yourself against the commode, but no dice. Your head was dunked in the icy--fucking FOUL!--water. You stood, shaking. Enraged.

He threw a towel at your head. "Get over yourself, Timberlake. You fucked up, too.

He turned to leave, then stopped. "And I ever catch you drunk before a performance again, I'll make sure I piss in it first."

Defender
"A planet under siege by marauding conquerers from space, a lone spacecraft was the native species' only defender..."

There was only so much you could take. Yes, it was all fucked up. Yes, she was fucking Nick. No, you didn't need to see their fucking faces on the cover of every fucking magazine.

You really needed to cool it with the "fuck."

Chris was your saving grace, building hotel shower bonfires made of Cosmopolitan and Harper's Bazaar with a big ol' Britney Spears fashion doll flambé on top. He took you skeet shooting, and taped Oops, I Did It Again and Black and Blue CDs to the discs. He reintroduced you to fun.

Chris was one helluva guy.p>

Tron
"With the stellar success of Tron in arcades, however, Bally Midway decided to release a souped-up version of the fifth stage as Discs of Tron in 1983. Both games, as well as the original film, have become classics of the cyber era, fond memories and valued collector's items for the techno-geek generation."

They didn't disappear. The Enquirer wouldn't let them. But you learned to deal. To thrive. Your CD dropped, and you waited for the numbers to determine your fate. Nick's CD had only cleared 50K opening week, and her new movie was doing shit at the box office.

You wanted this. You wanted the numbers for yourself, of course, but your success was a copious revenge. They may have each other, but you were still Justin Fucking Timberlake, and your gold shone brighter than both of theirs combined.

You could get anything if you wanted it bad enough.

It was good.