Console Wars (2015)
PART FOUR
CIVIL WAR
51.
THE LAST AND BEST OF
THE PETER PANS
It was a bright, breezy day in June, one of those warm bronze afternoons where the sun makes you squint just enough to take notice from time to time. It was that kind of day, but even if it hadn’t been, that’s how Al Nilsen would have remembered it, because that’s just the kind of weather that goes perfectly with bittersweet memories.
“I can’t believe you’re really leaving us!” Fornasier exclaimed, shaking her head.
Neither could Nilsen. It was all happening so fast, but it felt like events were moving in slow motion. How was that even possible? When would it stop feeling this way? And why hadn’t someone descended from the heavens to put a stop to all this? “Me neither,” Nilsen said. “But I guess it’s time to move on.”
They were standing on the patio of the Sofitel, joined by dozens of Sega veterans waiting for their chance to say goodbye. About twenty feet in front of them was the black-blue lagoon of Redwood Shores, which added a sense of tranquillity to the moment that turned most of the day’s sadness into a soft, reflective optimism. Look at what we did together. Look at how we took ideas, or even pieces of ideas, and just went ahead and banged them into all sorts of crazy things. That was us, we did that, and there will be even greater things ahead. Best of luck, I mean it, and you better stay in touch.
“You did a damn fine job,” Paul Rioux said, sternly shaking Nilsen’s hand.
“It just will not be the same,” Shinobu Toyoda said, patting his back.
“Viacom’s lucky to have you,” Ed Volkwein said with a grin.
Nilsen had accepted a job as Viacom’s vice president of strategic marketing. In this role he would still have one foot in the videogame industry (supervising the marketing plans for games based on properties from Nickelodeon, MTV, Paramount, and Showtime), and he’d have the other foot in the entertainment industry (expanding Nickelodeon’s licensing business). Most important, however, he’d have both feet on the ground and not ten thousand feet up in the air.
“Leaving is one thing,” Ellen Beth Van Buskirk said, looking as vibrant as ever, “but did you really have to go all the way to New York? You know that’s not really walking distance from here, don’t you?”
“But,” Nilsen began and then stopped. It took him a second to summon the right tone. “But,” he said, jovially now, “it looks so close on the map.”
In truth, that was the worst part about the new job—well, that and having to sport a fake smile or get into a mini-argument with anyone who said he was so lucky to be moving to New York. He didn’t like New York. So many people, so much impatience in the streets!
Van Buskirk shook her head. “Is this maybe just another one of your elaborate and unexpected master plans? I’m standing here knowing that I’m supposed to say goodbye, but I keep looking up, half expecting to see a plane skywriting something like ‘Just joking!’ ”
“Well, EB,” Nilsen replied, “I think that’s a very valid concern. So if I were you, I just would never bother with a goodbye.”
“I can live with that.”
“How’s Bob?”
“Great,” Van Buskirk said with a faint blush, primarily referring to her budding relationship with the handsome and argumentative business consultant she’d met at the airport four months earlier. It was always nice to see people who deserved to be happy actually feeling that way, Nilsen thought. And, strangely enough, this was a rare sight.
After Van Buskirk there were several others. Richard Burns. Michael Latham. Deb Hart. And all the others who had helped the company grow from a question to the answer, from Sega? to Sega! Seeing the parade of faces would occasionally take him to the brink of sadness, but every time he started to feel that way, there would be some small reminder that things were no longer the same: shrugs of complacency, salary complaints, grumbles that certain people didn’t know the difference between marketing and simply spending money. A few people even hugged him goodbye and then whispered in his ear that they’d be leaving soon too, that they were just waiting to get their bonus before moving on.
“Al, Al, Al,” Kalinske said, walking over with that dapper smile. “I finally figured it out.”
“Figured what out?”
Kalinske looked over his shoulder as if about to reveal a precious secret. “Figured out why you’re really leaving,” he said in a half whisper.
“Oh, yeah?” Nilsen asked. “Can you tell me? Because I’m not so sure anymore.”
“I have to admit,” Kalinske said, “that it was tough to piece together. You’re not the type of person who would bolt for more money. And you’re not the type of person who is impressed by climbing the corporate ladder.”
“True,” Nilsen admitted. “But I do sometimes love visualizing an actual corporate ladder and imagining men going up and down it in fancy suits and ties.”
“That’s exactly the type of comment that helped me arrive at the answer.”
“Which is?”
“I don’t know how many years ago it happened—though it couldn’t have been all that long ago—you were just a little boy. A regular child, about yea high,” Kalinske said, holding a hand right above his waist. “And for whatever reason—a girl, a job, a hedgehog—you made a wish, just like Tom Hanks in that movie Big. The next morning, voilà—you woke up and you were an adult. So all these years people have been calling you things like a ‘big kid’ or ‘boy trapped in a man’s body,’ and you must have just been laughing so hard, knowing it was the truth.” Kalinske nodded, evidently proud of his theory. “But eventually, just like in the movie, there comes a time when you need to return to just being a kid. And I guess that time is now. So I just want to let you know that your secret is safe with me, okay?”
Nilsen wagged his head up and down. He would miss Tom most of all. Well, after Sonic, of course. But it would be close.
“Just remember,” Kalinske said, “it’s never too late to change your mind and come back.”
Nilsen nodded, even though it wasn’t really true. The place had changed, and that’s why he had to go. After his recent conversation with Kalinske about the difficulties of his new job, there had been a few changes, but they just hadn’t been enough. And at first this had made him upset (at himself, at Kalinske, and at anyone standing in front of him at that moment), but then eventually he realized that it was nobody’s fault. There was no change that could be made to his job that would put the puzzle back together.
Things were just different. And as he stood by the lagoon and listened to Kalinske proudly talk about his wife, his kids, and everything that Sega had planned, Nilsen was overcome by a thrust of sadness. The feeling was sharp and it was deep, but he couldn’t figure out if he was feeling this way because the magic that had made this place so damn special was now all but gone, or if it was because hardly anybody else had realized it yet.