Daniel Fairbanks thought that the war in apartment 812 had gone through its fiercest battle, but then, last Tuesday Shelly told him, “I’m taking the White Album vinyls.”

That single sentence ignited a night full of accusations, idle threats, and broken promises.  Daniel thought that, as the bigger Beatles’ fan (“Remember when I was at the midnight launch for Beatles: Rock Band?”) he should get it.  Shelly appealed to the fact that Daniel didn’t even have a turntable: an argument so rooted in semantics, that Daniel didn’t think it worth addressing.

Eventually, Daniel decided to let go of his claim, instead taking Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Heart Club Band, because it was “less self-indulgent.”  Shelly didn’t take kindly to the implication.

Two hours into it, they were going over the details of the break up, like they’d done several times before, each trying to find some meaning in the whole bloody mess and coming up even more confused on the issue.

Today was mostly spent in silence, which both of them  needed and then hated that they needed it. Daniel’s packed belongings made the already-small apartment even smaller. He was having a hard time of packing, mostly because he was so disorganized. He just shoveled stuff into boxes. One box was marked “books”, “dvds”, “papers”, and “mugs.” He counted 8 boxes labeled “books” when he was certain, in retrospect, he could’ve fit everything into just two.

He was sure he had scrubbed the last traces of himself from any common living area. The living room had had shelves full of boardgames, Rock Band instruments, and the tangled web of wires that comes with having more than two consoles. Now all that was left was the couch, the TV, and piles of boxes.  It looked so pathetic.

All that was left was to venture into the part of the newly divided apartment 812 that she had annexed. He reached for the door knob, stopped himself, and, instead, lightly tapped on the door. “Yeah?” she asked.  She was at her desk against the far wall, her back to him.  Unlike the living room, their former shared bedroom was full of life.  Shelly rearranged the room, though, and while the base elements were there – her desk the bed, shelf full of books — they were in some Bizarro configuration. Like they’d been a victim of a furniture swapping burgler. The room was also a lot cleaner.

He dropped down to the floor and looked under the bed.

“What are you doing?” she asked.  She turned around, a fine veneer of contempt plastered on her face. Daniel paused, making sure he wasn’t unintentionally doing something.

“I’m…umm…just grabbing the N64,” he said.

“Why?”

“To pack it.”

“It’s mine.  I bought it.”

“Well, yeah, you bought it as a gift.”

“No I didn’t.”

“It totally was!” he squealed.  He meant to sound confident, but instead had a Luke Skywalker whine to his voice. He kept rummaging under the bed and found it easily.  It was an ugly translucent turquoise piece of plastic, and Daniel thought that the coating of dust actually made it look better, like an artifact.  He grabbed it, along with that menacing claw of the controller.  He picked them up, went back to neutral ground, and put the 64 into a box labeled “plates.”

Shelly was at the door. “You don’t like Ocarina of Time. That’s, like, the only game worth having on this thing!” She leaned on the frame, and surveyed the perilous towers of boxes. “Who doesn’t like Ocarina of Time?”

Daniel sat on the couch. “It’s overrated.”

Shelly rolled her eyes.

“No, seriously. The story isn’t really that great, and the gameplay doesn’t really benefit that much from the switch to 3D. I prefer ‘Link’s Awakening.’”

“Of course you would.”

“What’s the supposed to mean?”

Shelly opened her mouth to say something, then stopped herself. “Nevermind. Just give me the N64 back.”

Daniel got up and grabbed the box with the console. “No, tell me.”

Shelly stepped out of the door frame, floor creaking loudly, and looked at Daniel, sizing him up. Daniel knew she wasn’t going to pull any punches. “Link’s Awakening,” she said. “It’s totally a write off. Link goes around, causes trouble and than wakes up, consequence free. Ocarina of Time is about aging, and responsibility and consequences. Things you clearly have no interest in.”

“Wow. Analyze Zelda games and insult me: Is there anything you can’t do with that bachelors in English? I mean, aside from getting a job.”

Shelly shook her head. “Typical,” she groaned. But she didn’t retreat and didn’t move. Daniel wasn’t going to be able to use petty name calling to get out of this one. It was time for another tact.

“Look,” he said, leaning forward on the couch, “there’s a lot of sentimental value. I never told you this, but my brother and I would get up early on Saturday mornings and just play together all day. You know how things are between us now, well, it just reminds me of a better,” he paused to sniff, “it just reminds me when we were closer, y’know.” He covered his face with his hand, and turned it away from Shelly.

“You are unbelievable. You didn’t have any consoles growing up.”

“Shit.” Daniel sighed, more disappointed in the quality of the lie, than lying itself.

“You just lied to me. Again. Awesome.” She turned around and headed back into enemy territory. “It’s mine, Dan.”

“Wait, wait, wait, wait!” Daniel bolted up. He quickly weaved around the jungle of boxes. Shelly stopped.

“Look, what if we played for it?”

Shelly turned around.

“What?”

“We play for it. One round of a game and we decide who keeps it.”

Shelly shook her head, but said, “Fine. What should we play?” Daniel got on his knees and pulled out a small basket with games. He put the basket on his lap and started to rummage through them.

“Mario 64?”

“How would we do that?”

“See who can beat the game the fastest?”

“Pass.”

“Pokemon Snap?”

“Pass.”

“Pokemon Puzzle League?”

“Nah.”

“Pokemon Stadium?”

“What are you, twelve?”

“Smash Brothers?”

“Nope.”

The click of cartridge on cartridge stopped. Daniel took out a game and showed it to Shelly.  Tetris. The great equalizer. It took them a few minutes to clear the boxes off the couch and hook up the N64. They played a marathon match. At first, the two former lovers calculated their moves and attacked the game with singular focus and purity of mind that would make the Dalai Lama jealous, but slowly, as the hour slipped by, the feeling of petty rivalry dwindled.  Shelly let out a manical laugh at a three line combo, while Daniel managed to compliment her skill a few times too. In the twenty minute game, no blood was spilled and no malice leaked out. They had fun, and for the first time in three weeks, they forgot that they hated each other.

Shelly threw the controller down hard. “Suck it bitch! I won!” She shouted.

“Alright. Fair and square.” Daniel pointed to the 64. “It’s yours.”

Shelly didn’t move.  She just rubbed her sweaty palms on her jeans.  “You know what. You can keep it.  I’ve got the Gamecube, anyway.” She smiled sweetly, like she used to, and Daniel was lost in her eyes for a moment.  Then, he remembered: the Gamecube.  What was to be done with the Gamecube?

By Hardcasual’s Canadian correspondent, Filipe Salgado.