On Gardening

In 2002, a ballistic Hail Mary port from Sega lands Sonic Adventure 2 in the hands of kids whose parents asked the Circuit City guy which console has the least violent games.

In 2002, I’m the sort of girl who’s too old to wipe her nose on her sleeves but does it anyway. There’s a vast and murky expanse of river between 11 and 12 and I’m still stood on the bank catching frogs. There’s a sister, younger but somehow not, and a baby we didn’t ask for.

One of our parents is angry at everything and the other one is pretending not to be. Something is always being held hostage in our house. They feel badly about how we’re afraid of them, the upshot of which is we get a Nintendo GameCube for Christmas.

No game gets more mileage between my sister and I than Sonic Adventure 2.

The Chao Garden minigame is like baby’s first dogfight. Chao are sweet little ambulatory blobs that turn into bigger blobs. You force-feed them small animals so they can learn karate. If you pet them on the head while playing a good guy, they become Good. If a bad guy pets them, they become Evil.

You start off with two eggs. Our first game, the lottery name function designates the hatchlings Mystic and Tango. Mystic has a neutral expression. Tango has a toothy frown. We decide that it’s ugly.

Mystic evolves. It’s Good and purple and beautiful.

Tango’s punishment for being ugly is getting bounced off walls until it growls when we come near it.

“Cars will not see you! You are a little boy!” my dad screams at the baby in a busy parking lot. He’s got the baby by the arm and they’re both afraid.

I’m afraid, but my mouth isn’t. “Would they see him if he was a little girl?”

Tango evolves. It’s orange and finally acceptable.

On the strange shores of 12, a girl called Emily tells everyone I’m a lesbian in the PE locker room. I’m a very tall girl and I loom over her about it. Neither of us has any idea what a lesbian is.

Chao have a lifespan. When they evolve, they’re surrounded by a bubble. When they die, there’s a different bubble. Mystic’s bubble is pink and returns a baby, already Good.

Tango gets a gray bubble. When the bubble goes, there’s nothing inside but grass.

We fumble for the hard reset and Tango’s still there, still orange and afraid. We cuddle it frantically, trying to cram a lifetime of gentleness into its final five minutes, over and over. The bubble is gray every time.