I didn’t win that match. He threw it.
 
“Daaad! I saaaid, don’t go easy on me!”
 
“I didn’t, sweets. That was all you.”
 
“Hmph!”
 
“Wanna play another round?”
 
“Aahhh, I wanna play somethin’ else!”
 
“Aw, man. I wanted a rematch!”
 
I giggle. “Too bad!”
 
I lead him by the hand away from the air hockey tables into the main area of the arcade. Colorful machines line the walls and form new ones in the middle of the room.
 
Street Fighter. No, I suck at that. Pac-man. No, it’s stupid. And only one person can play it. Tron. Frogger. I suck at those ones too. Wait, what’s that? Yes. Perfect.
 
“Watcha wanna play, Emi?”
 
“A racing game!”
 
“We’ve been playing racing games all morning, though.”
 
“I wanna play a racing game!”
 
“I think we should give some other kids a chance.”
 
“Aww…”
 
“What about Tron? It’s kinda like racing.”
 
“I’m no good at Tron!”
 
“Sure you are.”
 
“You think I’m good at everything…”
 
“That’s because you are good at everything, sweets.”
 
“Yeah? What about singing?”
 
“Okay, you’re good at almost everything.”
 
“And I’m bad at using my hands, too.”
 
Dad stops for a moment and snaps his hands. “A-ha! So if there was a game you could play with just your feet, you’d like it?”
 
My eyes and mouth widen. “That sounds awesome!”
 
“I know a game just like that. Hop on!” He crouches down. I giggle as I wrap my legs around his waist and grab onto his shoulders from behind.
 
“Onwaaard!”
 
Dad carries me through a crowd gathered around the pinball machines to the center of the room. There are two machines there with a wide platform in front of them.
 
“What’re those?”
 
“This is called Dance Dance Revolution. Like I said, you play with your feet. Now, down you go!”
 
“Aww…” I whine as I dismount.
 
“Go stand in the center of those four arrows on that platform.”
 
I do as he says while he puts some quarters into the machines.
 
“Face the screen.” I turn to face the screen.
 
The machines register the quarters and play a short introductory video, finishing on the title screen. “Dance Dance Revolutioooon!” they say.
 
Dad steps strangely, and I look at our feet. There are four panels. One in each direction. Each has an arrow pointing outwards. Dad is tapping the panels with his feet to navigate the game’s menu.
 
“Select your character!”
 
“All right, sweets. You see those arrows? Use the left and right ones to choose one of the characters to play with.”
I cautiously step with my right foot, and the screen changes accordingly. I tap the left-facing arrow with my left, and it switches back. Right, left, right, left. It’s natural.
 
“Gonna pick one?”
 
“Ah, right!” I select a character that looks like a toy robot.
 
“Select a game mode!” Dad confirms that we want to play a “normal” game. I can’t hear what the machine says next, as it begins playing music. Generic J-Pop.
 
“All right. Now, use the left and right arrows to pick a song to play.”
 
I tap to the right. Something American. The next song is one I know, but it’s lame. The next song is just annoying to listen to. The next song is heavy metal. “No, no…” Too quiet, too loud, too deep, too high. Then I find one that I like. It’s in English, but I like it.
 
“That one? You sure?”
 
“Yeah!”
 
“All right. Now, listen, sweets. You’re going to see some arrows going towards some other arrows, okay?”
 
“Oookay…”
 
“When they line up, you have to press the corresponding panel with your foot.”
 
“... Uh huh.”
 
“Ready?”
 
“Yeah!”
 
Dad starts the game, and as the song begins, I see what he meant. I try to put my foot down right as the colored moving arrow lines up with the outlined arrow at the top of the screen, but the machine rates my timing as “Boo!” I try again with a right-facing arrow. “Almost,” the machine says.
 
Frustrated, I focus harder on the game. “Almost, Good, Poor, Great, Almost. Good. Almost, Poor, Boo!, Almost, Good.”
 
“Dad, this game is hard!”
 
“Just keep trying, sweets.”
 
The song ends too quickly, ending its long line of jeers at my performance. A large letter “C” appears on the screen.
 
“That’s not too bad for someone just starting out!” He says. His screen has an “A” on it.
 
“Hmph!”
 
“Next time, you just have to do better, and better, and better, and eventually you’ll be great!”
 
“I’ll keep that in mind!”
 
“Want to try again?”
 
“Yeah!”
 
“All right!”
 
Dad puts in another round of quarters.
 
“Same song?”
 
“Yep, yep!”
 
This time, I reach a state of focus more quickly than before and manage to get by with a “B,” while my dad has an “S.”
 
“‘S?’”
 
“It stands for “Star,” and it means I did better than an A.” I groan. “You look kinda tired, sweets.”
 
“Am not!”
 
“So you think you can go for another round?”
 
We play a different song this time, and I drop back to a “C,” rising back to a “B” on the replay. Following that, we choose another song.
 
“Hey, listen to this!”
 
“Haha! It’s our song!”
 
“We should play it!”
 
I redouble my focus on the moving arrows. Up, left, left, right, right, down, up…
 
“Hey, Emi.”
 
“Yeah?”
 
“I love you.”
 
“Aw, shut up, Dad!”
 
“I’m sorry. I just… I had to say it one last time.”
 
My concentration breaks. “Boo! Boo!” the machine reminds me.
 
“Don’t say that, Dad…”
 
“Let’s go back to playing, all right?”
 
“No… no, I can’t…” Colorful arrows freely fly past the stationary ones. My prosthetics stay still on the platform.
 
Dad laughs, looking down at me, still stomping on the panels. “You haven’t grown any taller, you know.”
 
“Shut up!” Tears leak from me eyes.
 
“In fact, you look just like you always have.”
 
“Stop it, Dad!”
 
“Oh, come on. I’m just trying to have fun with you, sweets!”
 
“You’re dead! We can’t have do this any more!”
 
“Sure we can. We can play together all night.”
 
“But, dad…”
 
“Maybe even forever.”
 
“No! Don’t say things like that!”
 
Dad walks up to me and strokes my hair.“Really? But, sweets, don’t you want to play?”
 
“I do! I just…”
 
“C’mon, Emi. It’s not hard. Just do what you’ve been doing this whole time.”
 
“Wh-What have I been…”
 
He kneels down to my eye level. “Never grow up, sweets.”
 
More tears force themselves out of my eyes as I let out another sob. “Dad!”
 
Dad shakes my shoulder. “Hey, you okay?”
 
“Huh? What?” I sit up to meet the face of- “Hisao?” I shake my head and wipe my eyes.
 
“You had a nightmare. I think.”
 
I shudder in the chilly air of my room and look up at Hisao. “Y-Yeah, I guess so.”
 
“You wanna talk about it?”
 
“Hmm?” Dad’s words return to mind, but I shrug them off. “Nah, I don’t really remember much of it.”