Join us for the deeply moving final chapter in the story of Tim’s Galaga addiction.

The drabness of the café was comforting. You could return after twenty years and the faces would still be the same: greasy, drowsily congealed collections of eyes and jowls that drooped in comfortable defeat. Under the red-and-white striped tablecloths, paunches strained against check shirts that had seen better days, and everywhere, there were stains. The ghosts of a thousand cigarettes still made the eyes smart. You did not visit this cafe: you sank back into it.

It’s a pretty good venue for a break-up, Tim thought. There’s a sense of fatalism about an eatery where the chips have been fried in the same fat as their distant ancestors.

The door to the café opened. The bright noise of the bell stumbled and staggered through the shop, collapsed wheezing at the last table and faded away. Tim glanced up from his coffee. There was Galaga, walking through the sepia afternoon light towards him. She looked tired. Had she been crying? These days, it was hard to tell.

Pulling up a chair, she sat down opposite him. There was a silence. Tim tried to collect his thoughts as his eyes travelled up her body. He had once found her intoxicating, but now… there was nothing left. Not since Level Fourteen. He gestured at the counter.

“Cup of tea?”

“No thanks; I’m a computer game.”

She was right, of course. She had always been a computer game, really. Tim’s eyes met hers. “Well, I suppose this is it, then? I mean, there’s not much more to say, is there?”

Defiance fought tiredness for dominance of her voice. “I suppose that depends on you.”

A truck hissed past, causing the oily light of the café to strobe momentarily, startling the cat in the bay window. Tim blinked. He had thought it was a china cat. Galaga adjusted her hair. “We can still make this work, Tim,” she continued. “What happened last night means nothing. You got tired, you died on level two, it happens to everyone. Believe me, I know.”

“Oh, it’s not just that”, Tim replied tetchily. “Let’s face it; our whole relationship has been dying for a long time. I just feel like I can’t get anywhere with you anymore. It’s been a long time since I felt that flush of desire when I thought about you. It seems as if there’s no point to it. To us.”

Galaga leaned forwards. “How are we supposed to make it work if you just keep giving up?”

That was rich, coming from her. “Listen, I keep giving up because you don’t provide me with any incentive to carry on. Your difficulty curve is unbalanced. Did anyone ever tell you that? Surely one of your other boyfriends must have said something. Or did they just keep shoving money into you while they tried to convince themselves that you were worth it?”

Her eyes widened involuntarily. Tim had hurt her. Had he meant to? He wasn’t sure, but it felt good. “I know how high your score can go, Galaga. But I’ve never got you over 15,000 in all the time we were together. And I’m constantly thinking about all the other guys you’ve been with, thinking ‘did they get a higher score than I did?’” Tim’s voice became sullen. “I mean, they must. And that makes me feel so inadequate.”

“Oh, well,” she replied, her hurt turning to irritation, “maybe the problem is that you were never able to figure me out. I don’t know, one minute you tell me that I’m so predictable it bores you, and the next you’re complaining that I don’t make any sense. You’re impossible.”

“No, you’re impossible”, Tim said loudly. Heads turned. “You’re the one who has no level limit; no score cap; not even a congratulatory game completion message, for Christ’s sake. Do you understand how hard that is for a man? The knowledge that no matter how much attention I give you, I can never finish you? Never make you complete?”

“Did I ever try to hide that from you?” Galaga cried. They had the full attention of the truckers and the pensioners now. “You knew it right from the start! I can’t help it if I’m… unlimited. You never seemed unhappy with the way I was at the beginning. What changed? You know I still love the way you play me, baby! I still love you.”

What was it about her that seemed so insincere?

“If you love me so much,” Tim snapped back, “why do you keep shooting me down? Don’t answer that. I’ll tell you. It’s passive aggressive, is what it is. I mean, I don’t expect to win every fight we have, but for god’s sake, you’ve got to at least let me win one or two. I’m sick of walking away feeling like a loser time and time again.”

There was a pause for breath. Tim looked pointedly at the old lady who was mooning them from the corner. After several seconds, she returned to her scone. In a quieter tone, Galaga spoke. “This is about Level 14 again, isn’t it.” Tim nodded.

“Is it the lasers?”

“Yeah.”

“Too many lasers.”

“Yep”.

She looked sad. “Tim,” she whispered. “There will always be too many lasers. They’re a part of me, and I can’t change that. And the further on we get, the more lasers there will be. When we first met, you seemed fine with that. Are you hiding your feelings now? Were you always?”

This made him pause. He hated her right now, and maybe that was proof that she was right.

“Sometimes,” she continued, “when I see your attitude to lasers, I feel scared. It almost seems as if you wished I didn’t shoot any at all. And that makes me wonder about Oblivion, Tim. You never talk about her, but I know she affected you deeply, and she didn’t have any lasers at all. I can’t be Oblivion, no matter how much you want me to be. I just can’t.”

She was right.

“And if you can’t let go of her, then I have to agree with you. There isn’t anything more to say.”

The sun, bloated and orange, dipped its head below the line of the window; a funereal eavesdropper soaking up the ashes of their conversation. Tim felt its heat on his neck as he drained the last of his coffee and looked Galaga in the face. “So, I guess this is the end.”

“I guess so.”

“At least we had a good run. Some good times.”

“Yeah.”

Tim looked into the distance for a few seconds, and laughed. An ironic, bittersweet laugh. “I wonder what your mother will think of this. Probably be overjoyed. She never did like me, did she.”

“Tim, I don’t have a mother. I’m a computer game.”

“Yeah, that’s true.”

THE END

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