The following is an account of a somewhat sick obsession. Over the past few months I’d been hearing about people playing a game on the computer or Nintendo called “The Sims.” Now I’d never played the game myself, but I just couldn’t imagine how it could be so amazing that it kept people completely glued to their screens, unable to go out on Saturday nights, get their homework done, or even grab a bite to eat. I was just completely dumbfounded, until I got back to school after winter break and was sitting around in a friend’s room one night. He suggested I make a character on “The Sims,” on his computer, and for lack of anything better to do, I set to work.
Before I knew it, Jada Blume was born. I bought her a nice little house with a swimming pool in the backyard. It was quaint, with a kitchen and dinette, a spacious living room, a bedroom, a bathroom, even a basketball court. Shortly after moving in she got hired as a political intern, with a starting salary of $220 a day. Soon I was spending day and night in my friend’s room, trying to keep Jada’s stats up, get her promoted and help her make new friends. I wasn’t getting any sleep, and my schoolwork and social life were spiraling down the tubes. I had to quit, cold turkey, just to prove to myself I could live without her, even if only for a few days. Now I wish I hadn’t.
It was 2:37 p.m. when I got the call. Having just gotten of a sociology lecture, I was sitting in a corner of the Blue Wall with a hot cup of their finest French vanilla coffee. Music videos were on one flat screen TV, ESPN was on the other, and I had an hour and a half until my next class. Life was good, or so I thought. My cell phone was sitting on the table, as I was expecting a call from my friend to let me know when and where he’d be meeting me for our 4:00 class. When it began to vibrate it’s way across the table I picked it up casually. Had I known what I was about to hear, I may have let it cross the table and fall to the ground. We said our hellos and made a bit of small talk, and then, with a deep breath, he told me. She was gone.
I’d only known her for about a week, but it seemed as though we’d been together our whole lives. I remember the first day we met, helping her pick out her outfit, her face, her name. I remember the look of excitement on her face the day she brought home her first paycheck and was able to buy the bathtub with a level-8 comfort rating and a level-6 hygiene rating. It was the best, and she deserved it. I remember the first time she flushed the toilet without me telling her to, and the first time she woke up without throwing a temper tantrum. I remember the first time she kissed a boy, the first time she kissed a girl, and the first time she got shoved away from both of them for being a little too forward.
Yes, Jada and I had been through a lot of good times and bad times. Sometimes I would spend all night with her. At 4:00a.m., when everyone has gone to sleep, we’d be up taking out the trash, recycling the newspapers, and making sure to keep her fun level up, despite that she didn’t have quite enough money to buy a pool table. Sure, she only had an average job, and a couple of family friends, but things were looking up. She had just gotten a promotion at work, and a nice silver car was coming to pick her up in the morning instead of the rusty old blue one. The neighborhood was really picking up too. A nice new family had moved in down the street with two kids, a few other singles, like herself, and a family with a young son.
Sure, she sometimes got a little cranky when I made her stay up entertaining guests past 1:00 a.m. with little food and no bathroom break. The fingers that showed up in the mashed potatoes at dinner due to her lack of skill points in cooking were fairly easy to overlook. Despite her faults, Jada was trooper. She did what had to be done for the good of the people… err… pixels, and for this, I think her life, though short, was one which should be celebrated.
During the reformatting she felt little pain. It was all over very quickly, before she knew what had hit her. It was a massacre, really. The whole town was wiped out. I, however, have joined the many volunteers who have set to work on reviving this town. Though it will never be what it was, I feel that happiness will soon roam these streets once more, and the memory of Jada will live on in my index finger, for every time I click “use the toilet,” I’ll be thinking only of her. Jada Blume, friends and neighbors, you will all be greatly missed. I only hope our characters to come amount to be one quarter as fulfilling, and half as much fun.
Stacy Kasdin is a Collegian columnist.
