DDR
(the posted description)
DDR, or Dance Dance Revolution, is a four panel dance rhythm game in which blah blah blah.
Listen. You ever feel like there’s something holding you back? Like if you just had some way to try a little harder, think a little faster, you’d be able to accomplish anything you wanted?
What if I told you that DDR was the secret? That it’s the key to success, the heart of progress, the engine of self actualization?
Would you believe me?
…no?
That’s fair. But it doesn’t hurt to try.
At the Insanity Complex
100 Skate Park Dr, Madison, AL
(the planned description)
“It’s scary,” he said. He wasn’t facing me, and instead looked out the car window. We were passing a hedge made up of short boxwoods punctuated by taller firs. They cast shadows on the road, painting it with dark stripes. The sun flashed in and out of view as we traveled down the road. The strobing was both predictable and panicked.
“What’s scary about it?” I asked. I applied the brakes as we approached an intersection. The strobing light slowed down until we came to a stop in one of the pockets of shade.
“You don’t make any decision without killing something,” he said.
“You don’t have to do it,” I said.
“That’s a decision, too,” he said. “Futures that could exist are always dying.” The light turned green and he lurched backwards slightly as the car accelerated. The strobing light assumed its previous rhythm.
“Do you really think it will make that much difference?” I said. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
“It’s kind of like a car,” he said. “Kind of like driving. You don’t have a destination in mind, and you only have one tank of gas, and every minute spent idling is burning fuel and reducing your options. And you don’t have a map. You might have stories from other drivers coming back from the direction you’re thinking about heading, but who knows if they’re right?”
“You could always turn the car off for a bit,” I said, poking fun at his metaphor.
“Yeah, great. Let me know when someone figures out immorality,” he said. I could tell he was getting frustrated.
“Well, technically turning the engine off would be more like hibernation,” I said. I could see his shoulders slumping as I said it. We broke free from the hedge shadows and the light became nearly constant, interrupted only briefly by the narrow profile of utility poles and streetlights. A great field of wildflowers stretched away. Thickets of trees rose from the sea of petals like islands.
“Can you just take this one thing seriously?” he said.
I felt a burning guilt at my pedantry. It was a while before I spoke again.
“The roads connect,” I said.
“What?” he said. “Of course they–”
“You have so many chances to correct your course. You’ll learn where you are and where you’re going. You might even have to turn around a few times.” I reached over and grabbed his hand. “But you’ll figure it out. You’ll get where you’re trying to go, even if you don’t know where that is yet.”
“But how do I know?” he asked.
“You can’t know until you try,” I said. “And that’s what’s scary.”
He looked out the window again. The sea of wildflowers rushed by in a whirlwind of color.
“I’m going to do it, then,” he said. “Even though it’s scary.”
“That’s all we can do,” I said. “Anyway, we’ll be at the arcade in about 10 minutes.”
“Still can’t believe you roped me into this,” he said.
“Trust me, you’re gonna love DDR.”