Devastator
Squiggles and sunshine. Palm Trees in the school yard. That perfect feeling of a West Coast breeze. What a glorious place to eat lunch. Outdoors. Natch. Pacific salt in the air. Girl, please. The succulents swish in bloom. Purples and pinks. Popping off under the steel cross-beams. Which is, of course, earthquake resistant.
“Oh. My. God!” She screamed. “She put avocado in my lunch again.”
Lauren was in no mood to negotiate.
June rolled her eyes.
“Ugh, she’s, just, so cringe,” she said.
“Why, exactly, is avocado so cringe?” Madison blurted.
Madison was a goth. No one cared about goths.
“God, Madison, mind your own business,” Lauren huffed.
“I’m just asking,” Madison said. “It’s a vegetable.”
Lauren went supercritical.
“Exactly! Mom’s always telling me what I can and can’t do!”
Madison rolled her eyes.
“You don’t have to be such a spaz Lauren,” Madison said.
“That word is so canceled Madison…” she shouted, flashing her signature devastator look, “Just like you!”
Madison stood up and flashed Lauren a pisu sign. June rolled her eyes. Then, Madison left to go smoke in the parking lot. The mean girls were very proud of themselves.
“Get cancer Madison!” Lauren screeched.
“God, what a waste,” June said.
Donna sat down with her lunch tray.
“What did I miss?” she asked.
“Oh Donna, just gossip, gossip, gossip. Nothin’ but gossip!” Lauren said.
It was a bit from an old TV show.
“Oh-kay,” Donna said.
“Donna,” June interjected.
“What?” Donna said.
“Donna,” Lauren said.
“What?” Donna said.
“Donnnnnaaaa,” they both said.
“What????” Donna said. June crossed her arms.
“Oh, Donna,” June shook her head.
Somewhere across the continent, three women shared a moment.
“God, high school’s the best,” Lauren said.
Across the quad, Kyle Engleburger and his pampered crew of lettered jocks moseyed past tossing a football.
“Oh, Kyle, go easy on a girl why don’t you,” Lauren whispered (not so quietly) to June.
Kyle chewed on his gum and winked.
“He does nothing for me,” Donna said.
“Seriously?” June said.
Donna was the new kid at the school. She still rocked a prep school Heathers vibe. From the private academy that had recently tossed her out. Lauren rolled her eyes.
“He’s only, just god’s gift to wide receivers,” Lauren sighed.
“I still don’t get it,” Donna said.
“Seriously?” June said.
The two popular girls stared at Donna. June popped her gum.
“It’s a simulation babe, you gotta stay in character,” Lauren said.
“Try harder, Midge,” June said.
“Oh, right,” Donna said.
Donna subconsciously adjusted her cardigan.
“I was distracted,” she said.
Donna held her books tight against her blazer. She felt so awkward.
“You’re coming to cheerleading practice, right?” Lauren said.
“I’ll be there,” she said.
The bell rang.
“Alright, I got class,” June said.
“Don’t forget practice,” Lauren said
Lauren and June twinkled their manicured nails at each other.
“See you later, babes,” June said.
Then, they air kissed, and logged off.
Donna was alone on the quad. The school alarm rang louder.
Midge pulled off her eyepieces. She lay on their bruised sectional. The weather was cloudy. Jonesy, her dog, barked.
“God,” she said, “What’s that smell?”
She’d left the oven on.
“Oh, crap!”
Tragically, the scones were unsalvageable.
“Dammit, Julia Child…” she sighed.
And tossed the carbonized mess into the trash.
“You promised so much.”
She surveyed the disaster that was their Jersey two storey classic in Leonia.
“Hello world,” she said.
The laundry was strewn about like the wreck of a jumbo jet. She hadn’t folded it in a week. The groceries were half-assed. The food pyramid having clearly failed.
“But Justine says the Ultra-processed are gonna kill you,” she sang.
Justine was a Home Livin’ influencer who lived on a goat farm. She opened the kitchen windows to let in that cold February air. But the smoke still lingered.
“Story of our lives,” she said, “Physics and shit.”
The dog was making that little dance he did right before he destroyed an Ikea rug. She riffled through a Crate & Barrel tote to dig out the leash. They couldn’t afford the new couch, but they could still get the tote.
Definitely puffy coat weather. She saw her breath. She checked her smartwatch. 1200 steps give or take. Not bad. She had a 30 minute window. She dreamed of a turkey melt at Noah’s Ark. But their family had already used up their monthly takeout budget.
“Come on Jonesy, it’s cold,” she begged. Jonesy had places to smell.
She walked around the block. The asphalt felt nice on her New Balance trainers. That satisfying grip. That crunch of frozen snow.
“Welcome to your forties, Kid,” she said.
Stretch. Move. Stretch. She listened to a baking podcast.
“Real tradwive stuff,” she joked to Jonesy.
But Jonesy didn’t notice. He’d found some dank shit next to a juniper.
She put her dog in the car. She pushed some fast food wrappers off the seat.
“OK Jonesy, promise not to chew the leather.”
That was a joke. They couldn’t afford nice upholstery. Not after Kev’s crypto debacle.
She played a Nico album. It was a college CD that she’d dug out of a trapper keeper in the attic. There were peeled Interpol stickers on the cover. An old boyfriend had used a sharpie. “To Midge,” it read, “My Chelsea Girl.” Lately, she’d felt particularly nostalgic. Back to an era when she could still get a good night’s sleep.
The i-95 was a mess.
“God, where is everyone going?” she asked.
Bumper to bumper and nowhere to go.
She took an exit to navigate the city streets through Ridgefield. But that would take her near the shop. The Mom and Pop one in Ridgefield. Not the classy one in Paramus–that one was for the Audi moms. She drove a Kia. She chewed her lip. She felt a splurge coming on.
#
The Ridgefield joint was an old beige brick building with red trim. A little shack dating back to the last wheezes of the 90s. Still, it had that awesome neon sign: The Boca Raton Mindmeld Funjack (with light up palm tree). The name always made her snort.
A metal bell ding-dinged, as she stepped through the front door. Stacks of boxes. Old simulators: Farm Quest. Pilot Skies. War Pigs. Back in the oughts, every world imaginable got coded. In your free time, you could be a dental hygienist if your heart so desired. And the VR games hit their peak during the layoffs after the Crypto Bubble of ‘27. But they’d since fallen out of favor. The kids had moved on. Only grownups now played ‘em.
Midge’s jam was High School sims. As a kid, she’d been homeschooled in a religious household. Very strict. Interpol notwithstanding, she’d barely misbehaved till she met Kev. And she sort of always felt like she’d missed out on something foundational. A missing piece for what it meant to be a grownup in modern America. She was busy making up for lost time.
At this point, she’d run through high school, or at least a simulation of it, a dozen times. Her last school was Posh Academy™. She was the bad girl who smoked. It came naturally. But California was different. There were a lot of unspoken rules in the Golden State. And she was still learning the basics. Or at least a photocopy of a TV version of them.
Behind the counter, a skinny weirdo tinkered with his broken vape pen.
“Do you have the hangout expansion for Beverly Heights High?” She asked.
The clerk barely acknowledged her.
“Sunset Mall Plaza?” he asked.
“Yeah, the one with the food court and pinball arcade” she said.
He stared at her over his chunky glasses. He turned.
“Hey, Mah,” he yelled, “We got a customer asking about the School Games.”
An old woman in overalls stepped out. She waved at Midge to follow her to the back room.
The rear of the store felt like someone’s basement from the 70s. All fake wood and glass cases filled with action figures and knickknacks. Motion sensors activated the fluorescents.
“You got any mods for sale?” Midge asked, “I’ve been through all the online marketplaces, and I’m bored with variations on Field Hockey Enforcer or Busty Cheerleader.”
“Just Chess Club President,” Overall Lady said as she took a bite out of a cruller.
“I’m not ready for social suicide yet,” Midge said.
There was a pregnant pause.
“Ah… You’re looking for something harsher…”
The old lady, holding a tablet, leaned in all conspiratorial.
“School Shooter then?” she said.
Midge looked at the jackass on the tablet with his backwards ballcap and carbine rifle.
“Hell no!” she said.
Midge pushed the tablet away like it was infectious.
The old lady shrugged, and placed the illegal mod under the counter.
“Look, be who you want to be, I don’t care,” the old lady said, “As long as you pay me.”
“I know who…” Midge said.
Overall Lady gave her a knowing “Sure, Honey” look.
Midge changed the subject fast.
“So, you got a copy of Sunset Mall Plaza?” Midge asked.
“Developers threw in a convertible,” the old Lady said, “to drive to the mall in style.”
She pulled out a copy of the hangout expansion, and coughed.
“That will be $57.79,” she said, “Cash if you can swing it.”
#
Midge pulled up to her kids’ middle school in a hurry.
Bran slipped in. Quin crashed into the back seat.
“You’re late mom,” Quintana complained.
“I’m sorry Quin,” Midge said, “Traffic.”
Bran noticed a plastic bag with the neon palm tree.
“Did you make a pit stop, Midge?” he asked.
Her eldest was not into “mom” and “dad” much these days.
“Sometimes I buy a little something for me,” she said.
She drove the kids in silence to the playground at Overpeck park. The kids were on the edge of not caring anymore about playgrounds, but they could still stand around and talk trash with their friends. Plus, they needed the fresh air. And the kitchen still smelled like smoke.
In the back, the kids stared at their phones. Scrolling through the latest brainrot.
At a red light, she sang aloud to Ariana Grande.
“Mom, just no,” Bran said.
Midge performed a shoulder shimmy to the chorus. Quin gave her a look like all her teeth had melted. Her teenage scorn only made Midge tap the steering wheel that much harder.
The playground was busy. The little kids ran around. But the big kids had gathered in a circle under the slide. They conspired. Quin and Bran walked over to the huddle.
Midge sat down on a bench. All the other parents were silent. 1000 yard stares. Jacked into their sims of choice.
“Good thing that we’re raising them, right?” Midge said to another parent who grunted.
The moms were glassed out on beauty influencers. She could almost hear the refrain of how to apply a proper smokey eye. A nearby dad visibly strobed out on War Pigs-related trauma. He wiped the sweat from his brow, and dug his heels into the dirt. It was too early in the day for PTSD. Something about his synthetic death rattle turned Midge off sims for the day.
Instead, she watched the children. They were all wearing baggy clothes. Black and white. No colors. Since when did kids’ clothes get so somber? At least baggy pockets were making a comeback. Those were practical.
She didn’t like how Bran, her eldest, always felt so angry. And lost. Who was he becoming? Did he have any positive role models? Was she that angry when she was his age?
Quin stood behind her mom.
“I want to go home,” she said.
Midge shivered from the winter chill.
“Call your brother,” she said.
Her son walked over to the Kia.
“Ugh, Midge, took you long enough,” he said.
Then, Bran put on his headphones.
The kids went straight to their rooms. Except for the 15 minutes at dinner, that would be the last time that she would see them that evening. When did they all stop spending time with each other? Alone in their rooms. The sound turned on high. She fed Jonesy his dog kibble.
Through the floor, she could hear the sound of free weights. At first, Midge liked that Bran spent so much time taking care of himself. He was being responsible. Mature. He had interests. His version of embroidery. With protein shakes. And new friends. And endless workouts.
She didn’t like how he now stared at himself in the mirror (she wasn’t supposed to know that part). She didn’t like the fitness bros that he followed. And she didn’t love how they talked down to him. A deep shame following in lockstep with his desire for perfection. Once, she even caught him writing on his knuckles with a sharpie. She laughed. But that was the last time that she saw her son blush. At least he still could. She knew the exact date. She’d said it was cute. He’d slammed the door.
Quin followed fashion people. Midge liked how her daughter said, “So cute,” like the word was a small weapon. Then, after the clothes came a lifestyle that surprised Midge. There were so many rules. She noticed that her daughter stopped wearing short sleeves. Even skirts. Quin hid herself beneath white fabrics. “Purity” was the watchword. And underneath it all, her daughter seemed so fragile. So hurt. It was too much control for a young woman.
All Midge could do was watch her family become strangers. Scratch that. She was a stranger. Double scratch that. She was a teenager with cheer practice, online, in a couple hours. Who was she actually spending so much time with? Moms probably. Other moms.
She was folding laundry in the basement. How’d she end up here? Did she sleepwalk?
“Get it together Midge,” she said.
She made soup for dinner. It wasn’t fancy. With cheesy bread. But she could multitask. She swept the floor. She got a handle on some bills. She even got Quin to set the table. With napkins. Praise be to small victories.
“Thank you honey,” Midge said. “It looks lovely.”
At dinner, she tried to break the silence.
“How was your day?” she asked.
Nothing.
“Midge, this food is processed slop,” Bran said, finally.
She forced a smile.
“I didn’t get the chance to go to the store,” Midge said.
“Anders says that we should only eat that which comes from the soil,” Bran said.
“Is he a classmate?” she asked.
Quin broke her dinner roll into smaller pieces.
“No mom, he’s a fitness bro,” she said.
Under the table, Bran kicked his sister.
“Ow,” Quin blurted.
“It’s health and fitness, Midge,” Bran said.
“Don’t kick your sister,” Midge said.
“Yeah, Bran,” Quin said.
At least they were speaking to each other.
“Just stay away from Crypto,” Midge said.
“As if. Millennials are so gross,” Bran said.
Then, he left the table. He hadn’t finished his soup.
Midge washed the dishes. She put another load in the washing machine. Again. How? Parenting was nothing but laundry.
She said goodnight to the kids. They gave her an actual, honest to goodness, real hug. She held it a moment longer than she should. It was okay. She was allowed to; she was a mom.
She tidied the living room, and got comfy. It was late. Finally, it was me time.
Then Kevin came home. The front door closed with a clunk.
He slunk into the couch.
“Only $72,356 left to pay. Plus/minus interest,” he exhaled.
They’d never imagined that getting rich quick would take so long, and be so expensive. And there’d be so much interest. She played with his hair.
“Long day?” she said.
“Is it over?” he asked.
“Well, you could get sick,” she said.
He laughed. At least, he could still do that.
“Don’t joke. You’d have to take care of the three of us,” he said.
She moved a strand out of his eye. Her brain went to dark places.
“It is a joke… We don’t have the insurance,” she said.
“Maybe there’s a crypto for that?” he said.
She winced.
“No, there isn’t,” she said.
His belly grumbled.
“What’s for dinner?” he asked.
“Soup,” she said.
He quietly ladled himself a bowl. He ate in silence, as he looked up fantasy stats. She missed the warmth of his body.
“Don’t be up too late,” he said.
Then, he quietly went to bed.
#
Midge finally got her me time. She booted up her system. And logged in. 3.2.1.
As her authentication code, she shouted, “Go Lions.”
The school’s logo was a blue catamount. She held pom poms. She stood on a waxed floor. She was Donna again. Ed, the Janitor, was buffing the hallway. He pointed at the gym. He didn’t look up. A radio playing a basketball game. She heard a cheer. She nodded thanks.
Donna entered the big wooden room, just as cheer practice was wrapping up.
“I’m sorry, I’m late,” she said, as she took off her gym bag.
The Coach gave her cut-eye.
“Practice is over, Donna,” she said.
The other girls looked away.
“I know, but I had a…” Donna said.
A vein popped so far out of the Coach’s forehead that it could’ve strangled her.
“I’m not looking for excuses, I’m looking for execution,” the Coach said.
Donna looked like she was about to cry.
“Alright girls, I’ll see you on Thursday,” the Coach shouted to the rest of the group.
Practice was over and the cheerleaders picked up their gear to go home. Donna walked over to Lauren and June. But the other two girls gave her the cold shoulder.
“We have regionals in a week,” June said.
“You blew us off,” Lauren fumed.
“I had family stuff…” Donna mumbled.
“It’s like we don’t even matter,” June said.
June flashed her the Devastator. Game over. Donna ran out of the gym.
Tears flowed down her cheeks. Total drama. Like a Kate Bush song. Where could she go? She was a catastrophe. With no place left on campus to escape her own failures. Worse, there was nowhere to escape June and Lauren’s wrath. This was officially the worst day ever.
The walls of the virtual world closed in on Midge. She couldn’t breathe. She felt like she’d fallen into a laundry basket so deep that only her ring finger held out. But, then, she remembered that she’d bought the Sunset Plaza expansion pack. She wiped her eyes, opened the box, and inserted the bejeweled charm onto her bracelet. The upload was instantaneous. She might be a social leper, but at least, she would be a social leper at a mall in Malibu. She was now holding a car key.
She walked through the school parking lot. In the corner, she discovered a cherry red Corvette. An actual convertible! And she was going to drive it down PCH with the wind in her hair. Legendary. She clutched the keys, and proceeded to unlock the door.
Her brake lights flashed. She threw her bookbag on the calf leather, and, as she clicked on the seatbelt, she noticed that Madison was staring at her in the rearview mirror.
“What’s your problem?” Donna asked.
“Where are you going to go?” Madison asked.
It was an honest question.
“I…” she said.
“Your problems are just going to follow you,” Madison said.
The mall didn’t feel safe anymore.
“What do you know about…” she said.
Midge found herself on the ground. By the curb. And there were more tears. Madison sat next to her.
“I just wanted this to be perfect,” she said, “I tried so hard.”
She kicked her pom pom. California was different. Madison nudged her arm. She held a cigarette.
“I don’t smoke,” Donna said.
Madison blew out a cloud.
“Million dollar question: if you smoke here, do you get cancer out there?” she said.
Donna coughed.
“I dunno, it’s gotta be lasers and shit,” she said.
Madison coughed. The look on her face said beware your pleasures. They both knew there were no lasers.
“Why High School? Why not dragon fantasy? Or ninja bikes?” Madison asked.
“I hate swords,” Donna said.
“And that’s why your life is broken?” Madison said.
“You have no idea,” she said.
“All of our lives are broken,” Madison said, “Today I watched a TikTok video of a woman screaming inside her car that she’s so tired, that she has $30 to her name…”
“And that she’s a good person,” Donna said.
They’d both seen it.
“And she’s a good person, yeah,” Madison said.
Donna wiped away the tears. But her smokey eye smeared.
“When did it happen?” she said.
“What?” Madison said.
“When did life get so cheap?” she said.
“And angry?” Madison said, “It’s like that old MTV joke, and the money never ran out.”
They both giggled. Actual little girl giggles.
“Where are you Madison?” she asked.
“It’s Archie. And I’m in Arizona,” she said, “And it’s a scorcher.”.
“Arizona Archie?” Midge said.
“It’s short for Archana and pray that my AC doesn’t run out.”
“Then why are you running a VR rig, you lunatic,” Midge asked.
“It gets lonely when you can’t go outside,” Archie said.
“Can I hold your hand?” Midge said.
Archie held out her manicured fingernails, and for a split second they made eye contact. Archie actually blushed. Then, Donna remembered that she was holding car keys.
“Uh, you want to take a ride in my convertible?” Midge said.
“Not too far,” Madison said, “I gotta get back before curfew.”
They both got in the car, and Donna turned the ignition. The car purred like a thousand and one Olivia Newton-John movies. And the sun really did shine down like squiggles and sunshine. With that perfect West Coast Breeze. And Donna could share this glorious place with someone new.
Midge unplugged from the VR rig. She sat in the dark on their bruised sectional. She listened to the silence of their Jersey two storey classic in Leonia. In the distance, she could hear the sound of a freight truck downshifting on the turnpike.
She went upstairs, and opened Bran’s door. And Midge felt it. That terrible emptiness at the heart of everything. But, she also felt something else. She watched her son sleep.
“Oh Donna, just gossip, gossip, gossip…” Midge said.
Bran snored.
She stood in the door to Quin’s room.
“Donna,” Midge said.
She touched her daughter’s face.
“What?” Midge said.
Quin turned over.
““Donnnnnaaaa,” Midge whispered.
Midge got ready for bed. She put on her pajamas. The old ones that were stained with spilled soup. And kid puke. And the white paint they’d used when they’d repainted the kitchen. The clothes fit her soft and warm like a second skin.
“Oh, Donna,” Midge said.
She hugged Kevin like when they had first met. Car lights came in soft through the window blinds, as they snaked their way through their subdivision. Midge closed her eyes. Tomorrow was coming fast. It would be another long day of playing mom.
Jeremy is a writer whose work has been featured in print, TV and documentaries. He has won a Sloan Fellowship, the McGill Theater Prize and the Jubilee Prize. He is a graduate of McGill University and USC’s Peter Stark Producing program. For five years, Jeremy worked for Robert Downey Jr.’s production company as his head of research. As a writer, he is drawn to stories at the intersection of folk tales, high technology and human frailty. He was born and raised in Canada and now lives in NYC with his wife, their twin children and a calico cat.