The Television Crew

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<center>Living Room</center> <<set $Turn to $Turn +1>> <img src= "https://ericmurnane.files.wordpress.com/2022/06/livingroom.jpg?ssl=1&w=450"> <<if $Turn == $Clock>>You hear the sound of tire-tracks. [[Crew Arrives]] <<else>><<if $lr ==0>> <<set $lr to 1>> You head into the living room with your brother's not far behind you. Toys are strewn across the far side of the room: turtles with weapons and rangers with powers, a few stuffed animals, and Lego people in the mix. This area of the living room was unofficially a [[battle arena]], factions forming and grand contest being decided by imagination. Your brothers both move on the toys, each with ideas about the day’s activities. This is likely going to end poorly. You: [[Ignore them and head outside|Outside]] [[Ignore them and go to the kitchen|Kitchen]] [[Intervene before this gets too bad|Intervene]] <<else>><<if $early ==0>> Walking back into the living room, you see your older brother sitting with the toys lined up in rows. He moves them about, playing out a massive battle. Your younger brother sits on the couch, his legs pulled up to his chest. His eyes are puffy and red. You: [[Head outside|Outside]] [[Go to the Kitchen|Kitchen]] <<else>> You come back to the living room, and your brothers are huddled around the toys, laying out a scene. They go back and forth, adding details to each other. The turtles and stuffed animals are tired of the rangers and legos hogging all the carpet. They wish to banish them to the toy box. You can’t help but smile. Best not to get between the two of them. [[Head outside|Outside]] [[Go to the Kitchen|Kitchen]] <<endif>><<endif>><<endif>>

<<set $Turn to $Turn +1>> <center>The Yard</center> <img src= "https://i1.wp.com/ericmurnane.files.wordpress.com/2018/07/outside.jpg?ssl=1&w=450"> <<if $Turn == $Clock>>You hear the sound of tire-tracks. [[Crew Arrives]] <<else>> You step outside, the chill catching as soon as the air hits you. A cold front blew through last night. The sleaves of your coat are a little short, the last growth spurt has already begun to render the garment irrelevant. The grass is a sickly yellow, but it feels good on your bare feet. The cold begins to creep up your toes, a breeze putting pins and needles in your cheeks. Across the street, the lights are all on in the Connor place. The neighbor boy's dirt bike sits propped against the house, a bow on it. Three months ago, he hit you in the face with a small rock. He'll probably want to play later. [[Head back into the house|Living Room]] [[Wait around for a bit|Wait]] <<endif>>

<<set $wait to 1>><<set $Turn to $Turn +1>> <center>The Yard</center> <img src= "https://i1.wp.com/ericmurnane.files.wordpress.com/2018/07/outside.jpg?ssl=1&w=450"> <<if $Turn == $Clock>>You hear the sound of tire-tracks. [[Crew Arrives]] <<else>> You decide to wait it out. A breeze cuts across your cheek, a little sting. You had into the back yard, a little patch of dirt with patchwork grass and a single persimmon tree. The fruit never seems to grow in edible, or maybe you and your siblings just don’t care for it. Still, the fruit does provide some value. There’s a game. You always loved [[games]], making them up as you go. In this particular instance, the game was called Land Mines. You take the fruit and set it up in the street, one point if a car threads it between the tires, two points when a car hits it, but your turn is over. Game over if a car stops. All of you would crouch in the grass, not really out of view of anyone, and wait for the tire to make contact, pulp exploding in every direction. Overripe was ideal. When the unmarked police car hit one, the officer failed to see the humor. She got out, leaving her car in the middle of the road, banged on your door. She saw all of you run. She swore that each of you would end up at the station by days end. Instead, she eventually left with assurances that she’d be keeping her eye on you. It was a while before you played Land Mines again. The sting in your toes turns a bit worrisome. Perhaps you should: [[Head Inside|Living Room]] <<endif>>

<<set $Turn to 1>><<set $Clock to 7>><<set $Food to 0>><<set $lr to 0>> <<set $early to 0>><<set $tattle to 0>><<set $diplomacy to 0>><center>Bedroom</center> <img src= "https://i0.wp.com/ericmurnane.files.wordpress.com/2018/07/bedroom.jpg?ssl=1&w=450"> The midmorning chill hangs over your bedroom as you sit up in your bed. Your siblings are still slumbering around you, up late getting into god knows what. You can't think about that though. Not today. Not when the T.V. crew is coming. Your older brother sees you stirring and pushes the covers off. He meets your eyes with a knowing glance. He knows they're coming too. The two of you rummage through the pile of clothes on the floor, clean enough. Tossing the night shirt away, you throw on a hand-me-down pair of jeans and a tee shirt with a Care Bear, maybe Love Bear. You have to suck in to get the jeans done up. Mom said they need to last through tax season. Your brother leans in close, not wanting to wake the younger one who's still in dreamland. "Do you think we're gonna be famous?" You get a wide grin, not yet ashamed of the way one tooth in the front overlaps the other. "Yeah, out of all the kids in town, they want to put us on the news." He nods, "They'll be so jealous." He looks over at the hole punched through the particle board wall. "And if they want to know about that?" He points to it, jagged, not quite a circle. The truth wasn't glamorous, not something that would capture the imagination of the at-home audience. It was boring. Sometimes, you'd just get so mad. It boils up inside and there's nowhere to put it, so you found a place. "We stopped a burgler," you announce. Agreed that a little embellishment is okay to keep the attention of the viewer, you turn to the door. [[Wake up mom.|Mom Room]] [[Go to the kitchen|Kitchen]] [[Make your way into the living room|Living Room]]

<center>Mom's Room</center><<set $Turn to $Turn +1>> <img src= "https://i1.wp.com/ericmurnane.files.wordpress.com/2018/07/door.jpg?ssl=1&w=450"> <<if $Turn == $Clock>>You hear the sound of tire-tracks. [[Crew Arrives]] <<else>>>You always had a hard time explaining what exactly it was that Mom did for work. Not because she had a difficult to describe job or because you were ashamed. It was just always something different. Sales associate at the mall. Grounds keeper at the park. Checkout clerk at the corner store, security guard for the late night shift at the docks. The last two were the most current ventures she was undertaking. Normally, she'd go to the store in the morning, after you went to school. Then, after you went to bed, she'd head down to the water. She was guarding video poker machines. In your head, you imagined a sly theif carrying them off, all ski mask and tip-toeing. In reality, each one weighed hundreds of pounds and required a fork lift to move. You didn't know at the time that she spent her nights pounding back coffee so that she could protect the investment of a company that barely beat the minimum wage despite requiring the guards to be armed. You just knew that you were asleep while she was doing this, and she did it five nights a week. That's where she was until about three hours ago. You approach the door. [[Wake up Mom and ask for breakfast|Wake Mom]] [[Let her sleep. Make your own breakfast|Kitchen]] [[Skip breakfast. Head to the living room.|Living Room]] <<endif>>

<center>Kitchen</center> <img src= "https://i2.wp.com/ericmurnane.files.wordpress.com/2018/07/kitchen.jpg?ssl=1&w=450"> <<set $Turn to $Turn +1>> <<if $Turn == $Clock>>You hear the sound of tire-tracks. [[Crew Arrives]] <<else>> <<if $Food == 1>> Dirty Dishes sit in the sink, where they will stay for a while, a science experiment that can last through days of bickering and argument. Eventaully, the smell will become too much, and then the real trial begins. Whose turn is it? A contest of feints, parries, insults, half-truths, and tall tales that can go on for hours. In reality, the slightest opening can sink your chances in such a contest. Merely looking at the dishes for too long can leave an opening for your brothers. Best to avoid it like the ark of the covenant. Head to the [[Living Room]]. Take a look [[Outside]]. <<else>> <<set $Food to 1>> <<if $Wake == 1>> She trudges into the kitchen ahead of you, turns on the hot water and then pats a chair on the kitchen table. You plop down and watch her for a while. She fills a mug with the steaming water from the tap and scoops a heaping tablespoon of instant coffee into it, stirring for a minute. After a few sips, Mom wipes some sleep out of her eyes, more herself. She will be for a while too, [[until she gets sick]]. She grabs a bowl and mixes flour and other things, too many for you to track. Through some kind of kitchen magic that you don't yet know, she ends the trick with pancake batter in a hot pan. As she makes them, she muses, "Gonna be a good Christmas this year." You instantly perk up. "A lot of kids in school say that Santa does Christmas." She nods and chuckles. "But you know better." Living where you did, seeing Mom's jewlery disappear in December and only reappearing in February, how could you not know? "We don't have a chimney." She flips a flapjack. "They heard about it down at the TV studio," Mom turns back and faces you. "And you know what they did?" "What?" "They told the whole town how Santa couldn't get in here, and they asked them to help out." You crack a smile. "They told Santa about doors?" She shakes her head. "No honey, if you see Santa coming in the front door, call the cops." "911," you retort confidently, drilled on this countless times, not specifically on Christian holiday character break-ins, more general home security. "Exactly." She turns back to the stove, swapping the finished disc for new batter. "Everyone in town, they got together, and they bought presents for y'all. That's why they're coming over today." "The TV people!" Your face is beaming. "And you're going to be on your best behavior when they get here." She finishes the cakes and plates them all up. "Kids! Breakfast!" Mom didn't go get you, she exclaimed like the town crier until you came to her. Slowly, your brothers come out of the bedroom, half-dressed. They sit around the table and all parties involved wolf down their food. Half eaten food is an invitation for one of your siblings to swipe it, and you know better. With a full belly, you: Head to the [[Living Room]]. Take a look [[Outside]]. <<else>> You head into the kitchen, the low grumble of your stomach taunting you. You can do this. You can make your own breakfast. You approach the fridge, opening it to find four eggs, still in the carton, one fourth of a gallon of milk, and condiments. At the bottom of the fridge is a heavy pot filled with something. It went in there a long time ago and no one is brave enough to open the lid. You tap your foot as you stare at the ingridients in front of you. For sure, you can make sandwhiches, but there's no bread. Mom let you make noodles one time, but they're on the top shelf of the pantry. You decide that there are a few choices here. You can: Make a [[noodle dish]]. Make some [[pancakes]]. Make some [[eggs]]. <<endif>><<endif>><<endif>>

<center>Mom's Room</center> <img src= "https://i1.wp.com/ericmurnane.files.wordpress.com/2018/07/door.jpg?ssl=1&w=450"> <<set $Wake to 1>><<set $Turn to $Turn +1>> <<if $Turn == $Clock>>You hear the sound of tire-tracks. [[Crew Arrives]] <<else>> You raise a hand, a little shaky and rap it against the wood. It's soft at first, like you're trying to wake a sleeping bear because your friends dared you. The seconds tick by in silence. Nothing. He used to knock loudly, [[banging, crashing, thrashing]]. You take a breath, then another, raising your hand again. The door opens, and Mom is standing there, eyes red with heavy bags beneath them. She doesn't smile when she sees you, just looks at you, waiting as though to say 'you woke me up kid, what the hell do you want?' You look down and meekly explain, [["We're hungry."|Kitchen]] <<endif>>

<center>The Driveway</center> <img src= "https://ericmurnane.files.wordpress.com/2022/06/lens.png?ssl=1&w=450"> The crunch of gravel beneath tires signals the approach. The TV people are finally here. Weeks of anticipation all culminate in this one moment. The van pulls in as you amble to the front of the house. The large white vehicle is so clean an imposing, a giant logo on the side of the van. “We bring you the most local stories,” the van insists. An older man with a million-dollar smile emerges along with a shorter one with a large camera gripped low by the handle. The local award-winning journalist sees you and flashes those pearly whites. “You must be ready to talk about Christmas,” he guesses, tussling your hair without really asking if this is alright. You nod simply and the pair walk up to your home. With a firm knock, the pair stand there, talking amongst themselves. <<if $Wake == 1>> Your mother answers the door with a smile. “Please, come on in.” <<else>> There is a bit of a commotion going on inside the house, you can hear the banging on Mom’s door. She must have missed her alarm. After what feels like an eternity, she answers the door, a bit bleary eyed. She clears her throat when seeing the pair of them. “It’s um, hi.” She pauses a moment before inviting them in.<<endif>> The pair enter the house and you: [[Follow them inside|Interview1]]

<img src= "https://ericmurnane.files.wordpress.com/2022/06/watch.png?ssl=1&w=450"> <<set $bang to 1>>It was a couple of years ago, before your father left for good. He had been drinking, more than usual. Mom was getting ready for a girl's night, just a couple of friends from work that she was going to a movie with. She never went out. She had on a nice dress, kind of a tealy green with tiny sparrows in flight all over the fabric. You came in as she looked into her own eyes, applying mascara. She smiled in the way that a starving stray perks up when you pat it on the head, not exactly what it needs, but better than nothing. "Hang on sweetie, I'm running behind." You leave the bathroom and sit on her bed. Dad enters, sees you and tossles your hair a bit but keeps walking, staggering, to the bathroom. He sees Mom, all gussied up. "Have you fucked him yet?" He wasn't using his inside voice. Mom slides between him and the door frame to you. "Go to your room." You don't move. "Why?" "Just go work on your homework for a little bit." Dad has that look. You slide off their bed and head out. Behind you, you can hear them. "Don't do this. I told you days ago that I had this planned." "Planned to run around on me." "It's a movie with friends." "Movie nothing. I know. I see all of them looking at you. Dressed like a whore. Do you think I'm stupid?" You close the door, and their voices get muffled by the walls. They go back and forth for a while, nothing you can make out. You don't even have any homework today. You hear a clap, then a pop. They're in the living room. Glass breaks against the wall. You hear him. "Liar." It carries through the whole house. Then a clapping sound, real slow clapping, a little blunt. Then it gets quiet. When the hush sets in, you can hear soft sobs, just barely. She doesn't want you to hear those, but in a couple of decades, they'll wake you at night still. She doesn't go to girl's night. [[Back|Wake Mom]]

<<set $Food to 0>> <img src= "https://ericmurnane.files.wordpress.com/2022/06/watch.png?ssl=1&w=450"> Your mom had remarried, and things were looking up, really looking up. The new stepdad listens, and they seem really happy. She has a job at the parks department as a ground's keeper, and she tells everyone who will listen that she's in the best shape of her life because sometimes foreshadowing is heavy-handed in reality in ways that would make you call bullshit on a fiction writer. Then she gets sick. No one knows why. First, second and fourteenth oppinions have it narrowed down to Lupus or all in her head. No one is out and out saying that she's faking it for attention, but she does stay in bed all day, and isn't it something that she became bedridden right after she got a man to take care of her kids. It would be years before they found out that a blood infection from a mosquito bite was causing her immune system to go hog wild on her nerve endings and that they needed a special class of antibiotics to treat it. You didn't know any of this when you would make her morning coffee though. You just knew that she couldn't get up too easily, and when she'd ask each morning 'How much do you love me,' you knew that the answer was a lot. Hot water, instant coffee, two table spoons of powdered cream, two sugars. Love me? Transactional. Of course, now you're a people pleaser who knows that love is conditional. This will follow you. [[Back.|Kitchen]]

<center>Kitchen</center> <img src= "https://i2.wp.com/ericmurnane.files.wordpress.com/2018/07/kitchen.jpg?ssl=1&w=450"> <<set $Turn to $Turn +1>> <<if $Turn == $Clock>>You hear the sound of tire-tracks. <<set $Food to 0>> [[Crew Arrives]] <<else>> You pull a chair from under the table. It feels heavy as you drag it across the floor of the kitchen. Its feet groan as you slide it against the pantry. Ambling onto it, it's just a short climb before you are standing on tippy toes to reach the noodles on the top shelf. You feel your feet slip but quickly catch yourself. Years from now, when you've moved out and tell yourself that you've moved on, you'll make a noodle dish for your mom with muscles and sun-dried tomatoes. It's simple but sufficiently fancy that she gushes about all the trouble you went to on her behalf. Al dente pasta. She told you a long time ago to sling a noodle into the wall. If it sticks, you're there. However, at this particular moment, your toolbox for the culinary arts is somewhat smaller. You fill the pot way too full of water, sloshing it onto the floor as you walk, and set it to boil. Kids aren't supposed to use the stove alone. When it's ready, you pour it into the strainer, boiling droplets splashing everywhere, stinging your hands. And now you have it. An entire box of pasta and no plans beyond that. Grabbing some forks from the dish drainer, you portion it out onto plates and set them up on the table. A healthy squirt of ketchup on top, and there's a perfect spaghetti. You drag your siblings out of their rooms and you all eat in silence. No one grimaces, but you can taste it. You know. After you finish up, plates stacked in the sink, you: Head to the [[Living Room]]. Take a look [[Outside]]. <<endif>>

<center>Kitchen</center> <img src= "https://i2.wp.com/ericmurnane.files.wordpress.com/2018/07/kitchen.jpg?ssl=1&w=450"> <<set $Turn to $Turn +1>> <<if $Turn == $Clock>>You hear the sound of tire-tracks. <<set $Food to 0>> [[Crew Arrives]] <<else>> Pancakes. Such an easy thing to make. Of course you are going to be able to make these. You grab a bowl from the cabinet and pour some milk and flour in there along with a generous helping of sugar. You mix and mix until your arms give out. Plopping the dollops of batter into the pan, you turn the heat on high. You panic when you realize you don't have anything to flip then with. Frantically, you search the kitchen, something, anything. By the time you settle for a fork, the little discs are stuck to the bottom of the pan. You manage to get them flipped, but the smell of burnt flour is filling the room. Things smooth out after this, and you're proud of these little circles. Breakfast complete. Much later, you willlearn that baking powder is an essential part of this process. Still, their just dense. Nothing that can't be solved with all of the syrup you have. It's a fight to the finish with your siblings to squeeze out the last drops on them. You each clean your plates and realize, one at a time, that milk would have gone great with this, if it weren't already used to make it. Without fail, you each return the carton to the fridge when you discover it empty. Head to the [[Living Room]]. Take a look [[Outside]]. <<endif>>

<center>Kitchen</center> <img src= "https://i2.wp.com/ericmurnane.files.wordpress.com/2018/07/kitchen.jpg?ssl=1&w=450"> <<set $Turn to $Turn +1>> <<if $Turn == $Clock>>You hear the sound of tire-tracks. <<set $Food to 0>> [[Crew Arrives]] <<else>> No one would accuse your eggs of being good, but you know how to make them. Sure there are a little bit of shell fragments that made it into the final product. It would have been nice if you knew what any of the spices on the shelf did. You're scared to use them though, so you make eggs. Scrambled eggs. That's it. Plenty of protien. When your siblings arrive, they all eat the food with such fervor that it is unlikely that they tasted them anyway. Consequently, no one has yet given you the advice that it is best to soak egg pans right after you finish cooking. That's someone else's problem though. You prepared a dish adequately and that's all anyone can really ask of a grade school child anyway. There were plenty of occasions that you went to school [[hungry]], so this is generally a win. Head to the [[Living Room]]. Take a look [[Outside]]. <<endif>>

<<set $work to 1>> <img src= "https://ericmurnane.files.wordpress.com/2022/06/watch.png?ssl=1&w=450"> There were plenty of occasions when you went to school hungry. Sometimes, you overslept. Sometimes, there just wasn’t a breakfast to be had. Lunch was free at school anyway, so it wasn’t that big of a deal. School was always about compromise. You couldn’t see the board, so they moved you to the front row. That’s a much better compromise than getting glasses anyway. However, come to school enough times with excuses like “one of the kids at the women’s shelter stole my backpack, and someone will eventually notice. That’s when they bring in a man in a suit to talk to you. He brings you into a private room. You’re not in trouble. You know better. No one ever got called to the office who wasn’t in trouble. He tells you that he just wants to talk about things at home. He asks if your mom is taking care of you. You don’t have the language at the time to tell him that he’s a rat bastard for trying to tear up your family. You don’t know enough to point out that his idea of fixing things is separating siblings and putting them with foster families who have a pill problem that a government check can fix. But you do know one thing. He wants to take you away. You lie your ass off. “Of course, she has the neighbor watch us when she’s at work.” “I come to school hungry sometimes because it’s pizza day, and I want to make room.” “My clothes are dirty because I fell down on the way to school.” “She’s getting me glasses soon.” By this point, they’ve already picked off your sister. It’ll be months before she’s back. He’s trying to sell you on his way of thinking. You’re in the gifted program but get straight C’s. Someone with your potential needs a stable environment. He’s right about one thing. You are smart, smart enough to know that nothing good comes of this. You learn later that your brothers are in other rooms, waiting for their turn. In high school, you read about the prisoner’s dilemma. Would have been useful to have that now. [[Back|eggs]]

<<set $games to 1>> <img src= "https://ericmurnane.files.wordpress.com/2022/06/watch.png?ssl=1&w=450"> The carnival was filled with games, every single one of them rigged, the odds stacked against the patrons. When the man offered to take you to the fair, you obviously said yes. He was friends with your father. He even looked a bit like him. You walk through the stalls, thinking about which rides you are tall enough for, looking at the prizes, knowing that the bottles are wide and sprayed with Pam. Still, that doesn’t mean that you don’t have anything to learn that night. The man takes you with him to the bathroom. You see it as he relieves himself. He notices you, and doesn’t shout or scold you. Instead he asks if you know how it got so long. Without waiting for an explanation, he tells you that a woman pulled on it until it got this way. You try to imagine this in your head and it seems unpleasant. When he finishes urinating, you head back out into the fair. He buys you a funnel cake and you ride the Gravitron until you worry that the funnel cake might appear again. He tells you at the end of the night that grownups don’t have his sense of humor. Best not to repeat the joke he told you. When you get back home, Mom asks about the whole experience, and you talk about the rides. You talk about how the man was funny. It’ll be years before the next time you think about this, and he was right. As a grownup, you can’t quite find the humor. [[Back|Wait]]

<<set $battle to 1>> <img src= "https://ericmurnane.files.wordpress.com/2022/06/watch.png?ssl=1&w=450"> There’s a park near your home, maybe a quarter mile walk. You’d often go there to play. There were these racquetball courts with an observation deck on the second level. Big concrete structure. The echoes carried forever, and you would imagine that you were in your castle, lording over the lands below you. There is a fence that they never mended in the back, with a little ravine running alongside it. You didn’t know that people would use the privacy offered by this space for drugs and sex. You only knew that back there you were completely alone with your thoughts. The park was something of a hotspot for the kids in your neighborhood, as there wasn’t much in terms of recreation. When you were riding through the park wearing inline skates, it wasn’t a shock to run into some kids a couple of grades above you. They didn’t like you much. You picked up this keen insight when they started pushing you by the chest between the two of them, laughing extra hard when you would fall because of the skates. When one of their fists connected with your cheek, you could hear the hit on the inside of your head. Now and again, you’ll absentmindedly think about it as you click your jaw. You spent hours thinking about what you could have done. Maybe you start carrying a knife. Maybe you hit them with a pipe. An older version of you would point out that those two still live within a mile of that park, one of them got real into meth. What does that do for a sobbing kid with scuffed up knees and a hairline fracture?<<set $lr to 0>> [[Back|Living Room]]

<center>Living Room</center> <img src= "https://ericmurnane.files.wordpress.com/2022/06/livingroom.jpg?ssl=1&w=450"> <<set $Turn to $Turn +1>> <<if $Turn == $Clock>>You hear the sound of tire-tracks. [[Crew Arrives]] <<else>><<set $diplomacy to 1>> “What are you doing?” you ask as you gesture to the toys. Your little brother speaks first. “Playing,” he replies simply. “I’m playing, and he’s getting in the way.” Your elder brother rolls his eyes. You can see the smaller of the pair getting upset. You interrupt. “Weren’t you saying that you had an idea for a battle, but you needed two people?” Big brother considers it for a moment, looking at the youngest, the baby. He wasn’t really a baby, but he did cry an awful lot. “We can probably play together.” The little one’s eyes beam at this. Such an invitation was all but unheard of. He nods as the two pick up various toys. “Have fun,” you say, walking away. [[Head outside|Outside]] [[Go to the Kitchen|Kitchen]] <<endif>>

<center>Living Room</center> <img src= "https://ericmurnane.files.wordpress.com/2022/06/livingroom.jpg?ssl=1&w=450"> <<set $Turn to $Turn +1>> <<if $Turn == $Clock>>You hear the sound of tire-tracks. [[Crew Arrives]] <<else>><<set $tattle to 1>> “I’m gonna tell Mom if you two get in a fight.” Your younger brother turns to you. “No, we were just playing,” he insists. He picks up one of the toys. “See, I was going to use this one.” You’re older brother shakes his head. “You’re such a…” He looks around and in a whisper “damn tattletale. I was about to let him play with me.” He turns to the youngest one. “Can you believe this jerk? Trying to ruin our game.” Your little brother smiles, a little nervously. “God, why can’t we have any fun with you around.” The gambit had worked. They had a common enemy and focused on that. “Have fun,” you say, walking away. [[Head outside|Outside]] [[Go to the Kitchen|Kitchen]] <<endif>>

<h1>The Television Crew</h1> <img src= "https://ericmurnane.files.wordpress.com/2022/06/tree.png?ssl=1&w=450"> by Eric Murnane and Laura Okkema [[Play Game|Good Morning]] [[Instructions]] [[Critical Discussion]] Warning, this piece has the potential to be upsetting. It deals with themes of violence and trauma. Be mindful, and if you decide The Television Crew isn't right for you, no hard feelings.

<center>Instructions</center> The Television crew is a work of interactive fiction. You are a child living in the South in the nineties. Over the course of the game, you’ll explore the trailer as well as themes of poverty, violence and trauma. Make decisions based on the options you are offered in order to move from room to room. However, be aware that you are on a ticking clock. Each time you make a choice, you are one step closer to the arrival of the television crew. There is no winning in this game. Rather, you are asked to explore this home as it is and examine memories of what was. Once the crew arrives, you take part in the interview. The point of this game is exploring, and you cannot see everything in one playthrough. * * *Please not that this is a work in progress, and you have been given access to the alpha version. If you see a placeholder image, know that there is going to be art there. If, however, you come across a broken link, please let us know. If you run into a typo, please let us know. If you have thoughts on the work in general, please let us know.* * * [[Title Screen]]

<center>Critical Discussion</center> [[Title Screen]] Working on this project has been trying in ways that are often not associated with the making of games. The story at the core of “The Television Crew” is true, based on the childhood experiences of Eric. In one form or another, he has been trying to tell this particular story for years, but the biggest obstacle has always been the exhausting emotional work to put these experience (even in the form of creative nonfiction) on the page. Ultimately, the call for this journal was the deciding factor. Eric and Laura both knew that this represented a critical opportunity to engage in creative/scholarly work that had the potential to have a meaningful impact on others. The pair had often discussed the power of narrative as a tool for empathy. Their thinking was that if they could tell a story with that asked the player to be uncomfortable, they could change the way that people think about poverty. The core of the story is the arrival of a TV crew who are filming as part of the local station’s Christmas charity drive. This kind of moment is a useful one, as it encapsulates the paradox which is our primary relationship with the poor. That paradox often plays out in the following way. We recognize that poverty is not good (a gross oversimplification, but bear with us on this). Therefore, when opportunities arise to help the poor, we ought take them. We ought help. This line of thinking is engrained in every major religion and therefore heavily permeates society as a whole. However, this ideology often finds itself at odds (especially in the West) with another core belief which is that people should earn the things that they have. Now, in a just society, hard work leads to positive outcomes. For those who are successful (a fuzzy term, but here let us say that this means a degree of economic comfort), this is apparent. These people put in the hours, got the big account, became a physician, made a thriving small business out of nothing. This system worked for said people. The issue arises when those well off folks look at someone living paycheck to paycheck, a bankruptcy hearing on the books and more credit card companies calling daily then they know what to do with. If it is the case that we live in a just society, then this person who is trying his/her best should be doing well. However, they are not. Thus, there is a great amount of societal pressure to arrive at the conclusion that this person has some kind of failing. They must be irresponsible or lazy. It should be clear that these two beliefs (that we ought help the poor and that poverty is a moral failing) are incompatible. Thus, the only solution to such an issue is to distribute the beliefs into different aspects of life. This is how we arrive at social media posts about “welfare queens” (a truly loathsome term) from individuals who volunteer at soup kitchens on the holidays. Truly, the holiday represents a moment in which we momentarily abandon our worst thoughts about other people. The choice of a memory of Christmas charity is no accident. By putting players in this home at this moment, we have created a space where they can see the shadow of society’s judgement over them even as they are preparing for what by all rights should be a moment of celebration. The point then is to ask players to interrogate their own biases through empathy. The structure of the narrative asks the player to be this person, walk a mile in their shoes. The game is designed to ask the player to move through the house, interacting with others or simply exploring. There are more credible options available to the player then turns before the arrival of the crew. Each playthrough, therefore, is its own narrative, with consequences for choices made, and consequences for choices not made. There are numerous variables tracking decisions made by the player over the course of the game, and this serves as a way to create a unique experience for multiple traversals of the game. When the crew does arrive and the player participates in the interview, the choices given to the player are shaped by what they have done in the game. Instead of a traditional branching narrative where the player can go far afield based on the options given, the outcomes are often quite similar. The crew will always arrive after seven turns. The interview will always paint a cheery veneer on the life circumstances of this home. Exploration, then, is not about finding all of the possible endings. It is instead a way to get a complete(ish) snapshot of this family, their home life, and what it means to live their life. Of course, the memories do complicate matters significantly in terms of the overall chronology of the story. Temporality is a bit messy in “The Television Crew.” Much of this has to do with the framing of a game. The core events of the game are a memory. To an extent, this is an adult imagining what they could have said/done in this particular moment. Presumably, among the options presented to the player, there is one which “really” happened. This is demonstrated by the difference between the voice of the main character in dialog and the descriptive narration presented. We often consider what we might have done in a moment, and this kind of hindsight is often nonlinear. Despite advice from writing professors to the contrary, the clickable memories within the game are something of a flashback in a flashback. They represent details which provide context to the present moment. As this is an adult reflecting on childhood experiences, these are meant to help paint a clearer picture and also demonstrate the stream of the player character’s consciousness. Some of these events did occur after this one day in the trailer, but this is hardly incongruent as we often apply a kind of retroactive continuity to our experiences when remembering. If the complicated relationship with time that “The Television Crew” has leaves the player feeling a bit ambivalent, this is a good thing. An ideal takeaway from this game is a feeling of discomfort. It should take a while to unpack. If the game resists easy answers, that is not to say that it resists the player. Considerable effort was made to ensure the game allows the player to put themselves in the position of the character. The second person narration serves the purpose of obscuring gendered assumptions. The fact that the home is two bedroom ensures that even sharing a bedroom with two brothers does not tell the player to be a particular gender. Similarly, the art was created with an eye for identification. The player sees the home. They do not see the people who live there. This is intentional. “The Television Crew” is very specifically asking the player to think about poverty. Pretending that there are no racial elements to poverty would of course be unbelievably naïve, but creating an environment in which the player can assume that this family looks like them feels like a way to engender identification without intentionally excluding people. All of this is to say that this piece is primarily examining social class, and it is making a sincere (imperfect) attempt to invite people to the conversation. There is an increasing push in our collective consciousness for polarization. The outcome of this is that there is an us and there is a them. This kind of othering has the unfortunate consequence of categorizing people in terms of whether or not they hold a particular set of beliefs which are either complimentary or opposed to one’s own. However, we lose something in the shuffle when we do this. We tend to forget about the people. It is very easy to say that people (in the abstract) should get out there and work hard. It is easy to say that poverty (in the abstract) is the result of people doing something wrong. When it is this family, with specific problems, real relationships, and visible suffering, it suddenly becomes much more difficult to arrive at a value judgement about their character. If this work accomplishes only one thing, we sincerely hope it is a move away from the abstract notion of people in favor of treating individuals as such. The individual is complicated and nuanced, and we know this. We know it when we drop everything for a loved one whose life is falling apart. However, when we forget this simple truth, we close the door to empathy. Hopefully, this work, in some small way, helps us to take a breath when making assumptions. [[Title Screen]]

[[Go home|home][set:$home to 1]] [[Get mad|home][set:$home to 2]] [[eat a taco|home][set:$home to 3]]

<<if $home == 1>> go home <<else>><<if $home == 2>> get mad <<else>><<if $home == 3>> taco <<endif>><<endif>><<endif>>

<center>The Living Room</center> <<set $q1 to 0>> <img src= "https://ericmurnane.files.wordpress.com/2022/06/lens.png?ssl=1&w=450"> As you head into the trailer, <<if $early == 0>>each of your brothers look up in turn. The younger is trying to wipe away some tears, and the elder just smiles and stands as the visitors come in.<<else>><<if $tattle == 1>> your brother’s both glower at you, still a little upset that you threatened to tattle on them. You flash them a smile, begging for peace due to extraordinary circumstances, but they are not having it, united in their disavowal of you.<<else>><<if $diplomacy == 1>>both of your brothers look up from their play, smiling contentedly as they put aside their toys and approach the visitors.<<endif>><<endif>><<endif>> The TV people talk amongst themselves, the smiling man telling the other to set this up here, put a light there. They don’t really address anyone in the room for a few minutes. Everyone is gathered around them expectantly, but no one really knows what to do. How often do you get to be famous? When the pair have finished their work, the smiley one turns to Mom. “Okay, so we are doing a two-minute spot.” Your attention drifts a bit, so hard to hold onto the thread of the conversation. Something about getting B roll and something else about how we’re supposed to answer the questions so they can use it. When it’s all said and done, they get a bit of footage. Your older brother plays a bit of Nintendo while they film. The camera man comments that the game is ten years old after they finish. Your little brother gives them a lot of one-word responses: Them: Are you looking forward to the holiday? Him: Yes! Them: What are you looking forward to? Him: Presents. It went on like this for two long. He wouldn’t look at the camera either. That’s okay though. You’re the secret weapon. You were in the school play, not a tree. You had a speaking role and everything. You knew that everyone was going to see it. They sat you down, bright light in your face. You could barely see the man, but the front of the camera is easy to see. You look right into it. They start you off easy. “What’s it like getting ready for Christmas?” <<if $Wake == 1>>[[Mom said that the whole town came together to get us ready for Christmas |Interview2][set:$q1 to 1]]<<endif>> [[We have a great tree|Interview2][set:$q1 to 2]] [[Christmas got cancelled last year|Interview2][set:$q1 to 3]]

<center>The Living Room</center> <<set $q2 to 0>> <img src= "https://ericmurnane.files.wordpress.com/2022/06/lens.png?ssl=1&w=450"> <<if $q1 == 1>>You answer, “Mom told us that the whole town heard we weren’t going to have a great Christmas, so they all came together and got us something. That way, we’ll have something to open on Christmas.” You smile at your answer, ensuring that everyone at home knows you’re gracious but also excited. <<else>><<if $q1 == 2>>You explain, “We have a really great tree. It’s a fake one, we had it for years from before Dad left.” You think about the ornaments, one for each of your birth years. You stand up and show it to them. “Look, we have all sorts of cartoons and Santas. It’s a good tree.” You nod, certain that this will get their attention.<<else>><<if $q1 == 3>>You tell them, “Christmas got cancelled last year. We were all set to have a good one, tree set up and everything, but then we had to leave.” Off camera, you can see the smiling man waving you on to continue. “Mom had to cancel the layaway. We left home in the night,” You remember pulling out of the driveway, no headlights for the first mile. When you returned, the locks were changed, and you had to go in through the back window to get the rest of your stuff. “We didn’t have the right address anymore, so we couldn’t get our presents.” <<endif>><<endif>><<endif>> “The community Christmas program has helped over a dozen families this year. What do you have to say to the families that pitched in?” [[Thank you|Interview3][set:$q2 to 1]] <<if $Food == 0>>[[We love popcorn tins|Interview3][set:$q2 to 2]]<<endif>> [[Your charity masks the real problem|Interview3][set:$q2 to 3]]

<center>The Living Room</center> <<set $q3 to 0>> <img src= "https://ericmurnane.files.wordpress.com/2022/06/lens.png?ssl=1&w=450"> <<if $q2 == 3>>You didn’t have the language to talk to them about systemic violence or systems of oppression. You’d heard people pat themselves on the back for their big open heart in the same breath that they bashed welfare queens who were using their tax dollars to buy porterhouses. You didn’t know that it was a class issue that was designed to keep a lot of people down so that a few people could live really large. You did know that it was wrong. You knew that you were supposed to look at your shoes when your betters gave you something nice that Mom could never afford on her own. But you couldn’t vocalize it. Years from now, you could have told this newscaster that this puff piece was part of the problem, that he was part of the problem. You could have said that if these people really wanted to help, they could vote for the interests of the many instead of voting because they are scared. Still, you didn’t know any better, so instead you said, <<set $q2 to 1>><<endif>><<if $q2 == 1>>”Thank you so much. Mom gets really sad this time of year, and this really helps. She smiled a lot when she found out that you’d be coming here.” You nod, certain that this is the answer they are looking for. <<else>><<if $q3 ==2>>Your stomach grumbles loudly, reminding you that you hadn’t eaten today. It’s funny how easily you can forget something like that if only you don’t eat on a regular schedule. You blush deeply. “We love those popcorn tins. If you have any of those, we’d love to have it.” The smiling man laughs audibly. You can hope that he is laughing at your answer because he thinks it’s cute.<<endif>><<endif>> He asks, “Does your mom work a lot?” [[Uh-huh|Interview4][set:$q3 to 1]] <<if $work == 1>>[[Lie|Interview4][set:$q3 to 2]]<<endif>>

<center>The Living Room</center> <<set $q4 to 0>> <img src= "https://ericmurnane.files.wordpress.com/2022/06/lens.png?ssl=1&w=450"> <<if $q3 == 1>>You nod your head slowly. “Uh-huh, she spends a lot of time at work.” You pause for a moment, unsure, but then you continue. “We help out though. I get ready for school on my own, and then we walk up there. There’s even a store close to here that we sometimes walk to.” He pushes a bit. “Do you get worried when you’re here alone?” You nod a little. “Sometimes I do get scared when we’re here alone, but it’s never too long, and we’ve got games and stuff.”<<else>><<if $q3 == 2>>Grownups only mean one thing when they ask that question. Single mother. Leaving her kids. Alone. This ain’t your first rodeo. “My mom works hard to take care of us, and when she does have to stay late at work, she lets our neighbors know. We make good grades, and don’t really get into trouble, so she knows that we’re okay when she isn’t there.” You think it over for a moment. “She takes great care of us.”<<endif>><<endif>> He nods along after hearing your answer. “What do you think the spirit of Christmas is?” <<if $games == 1>>[[Christmas is about keeping a secret|Interview5][set:$q4 to 1]]<<endif>> <<if $battle == 1>>[[It’s about being together|Interview5][set:$q4 to 2]]<<endif>> <<if $bang == 1>>[[Christmas is about family|Interview5][set:$q4 to 3]]<<endif>> <<if $wait ==1>>[[The spirit is about surprises|Interview5][set:$q4 to 4]]<<endif>> [[Umm…|Interview5][set:$q4 to 5]]

<center>The Living Room</center> <img src= "https://ericmurnane.files.wordpress.com/2022/06/lens.png?ssl=1&w=450"> <<if $q4 == 1>>You look into the camera, thinking about all the things that you’re not supposed to talk about. “You want everybody to be happy, so you keep a secret. Everybody looks so surprised when they open up those presents, and if you told them, it would ruin it.” You nod along, unaware of all the secrets that everyone else is keeping, not knowing that the heavy weight you are carrying would only become lighter years later when you share it with your siblings, and they do the same.<<else>><<if $q4 == 3>>So many broken things got replaced on Christmas, especially before Dad left. The memories that really stuck with you though were the moments when you were just like any other family. Cookies and eggnog. “Christmas is for families. We tell each other I love you, and it’s great.”<<else>><<if $q4 == 2>>”We’re all together on Christmas,” you say, imagining all the times that a brother or, before she was taken, your sister came out of nowhere to help you. “It can be lonely, but you’re not alone.”<<else>><<if $q4 == 4>>You smile, “It’s about the surprises. You think it’s going one way, and then.” You slap your hands together, “boom.” The man looks at you, a little incredulous. You continue. “Like, I didn’t know if Christmas was going to be good this year, and then you came here.”<<else>><<if $q4 == 5>>Your cheeks feel hot as you look around. The panic starts to set it. You don’t know the answer. Maybe Christmas is about the feeling you get when you’re so proud of your new shoes and the kids at school laugh because you got them at Walmart. Maybe it’s about being really happy for one day so that each day that comes after that is filled with insecurity and fear. It’s possible that Christmas is there to make you feel guilty when someone gets you something nice and you couldn’t afford to get them anything. You know it’s about telling lies to kids who still believe in magical red burglars. All of this does nothing for you now though, all you can muster is “Umm, I don’t know,” completely embarrassed that you blew this question. You turn your head away, fighting the urge to cry.<<endif>><<endif>><<endif>><<endif>><<endif>> They interview Mom next, and she goes on about how much the program means to her, how worried she was that the kids wouldn’t have anything under the tree this year. Both men are smiling contentedly as they leave, story in hand. They never said it explicitly, but there was a reason your family was picked. Sure you were poor, but you were the right kind of poor. The kids spoke well, the mom was pretty and pitiable. The trailer was old, a little junky, but just presentable enough that it tugged on the heart strings instead of yanking on them. People would feel good about this story. You told everyone to tune into the news when the story was on. [[Watch that story!|Story]]

<center>The News</center> <img src= "https://ericmurnane.files.wordpress.com/2022/06/television.png?ssl=1&w=450"> You tune into the nightly news with what is perhaps the most interest you’ve ever displayed in local events. Weather goes by, and you just don’t care that it’s going to be partly cloudy. They talk about road construction, a burglary, a bunch of other things. A graphic of a Christmas tree appears to the side of one of the anchors. You lean in close…finally. “Tis the season for celebration, but for many families in our community, it’s something else. In these trying times, the most hard hit families during the holiday season are the ones who just don’t seem to have enough. Every year, this station sponsor’s a community Christmas. Run entirely on volunteer labor and donations from you, we were able to get enough presents to help over a dozen families. We talked to one of those families, and this is what they had to say.” The station cuts to the tape of the story. You hear the smiling man who came to your home. “Times are always difficult in our poorest neighborhood. Food, shelter, even these basic necessities are always in question.” There is a panning shot of the outside of your trailer. “But this family soldiers on.” You see Mom. “Things have been pretty rough since their father left, but we do our best.” The camera cuts to the tree, a slow pan downward to highlight the lack of presents beneath it. “But these families are just like the rest of community in a lot of respects.” They cut to your elder brother playing video games. The TV clips a bit in the shot as the frames don’t line up. “Games, and family meals, and around Christmas, there’s one thing that the kids are all thinking about.” The shot cuts to your younger brother. “Presents.” He declares as though responding to the journalist. “And thanks to your donations, this family will have a Christmas.” The shot cuts to you. <<if $q1 == 1>> “Mom told us that the whole town heard we weren’t going to have a great Christmas, so they all came together and got us something. <<else>><<if $q1 == 2>>”We have a really great tree.” The shot cuts back to it. The news man interjects. “And with ten of those donations going to this family, that tree will have plenty of gifts beneath it. <<else>><<if $q1 == 3>>“Mom had to cancel the layaway.” <<endif>><<endif>><<endif>> “The kids are already gearing up for the holiday season, trimming the trees, laying out their stockings, and it’s all thanks to your donations.” <<if $q4 == 1>> Back to you. Everybody looks so surprised when they open up those presents, and if you told them, it would ruin it.” <<else>><<if $q4 == 2>>”We’re all together on Christmas,” <<else>> <<if $q4 == 3>> Back to you. “Christmas is for families. We tell each other I love you.”<<else>><<if $q4 == 4>> Back to you. ”I didn’t know if Christmas was going to be good this year, and then you came here.”<<else>><<if $q4 == 5>>The shot cuts to your mother. “We never could have done this without all of the help from the community.” <<endif>><<endif>><<endif>><<endif>><<endif>> “These kids are no strangers to making due.” The reporter continues. The shot returns to you. <<if $q3 == 1>>“I get ready for school on my own, and then we walk up there.” <<else>><<if $q3 == 2>>”We make good grades, and don’t really get into trouble, so she knows that we’re okay when she isn’t there.” <<endif>><<endif>> The disembodied voice returns as the camera pans over empty stockings. “We asked if they have anything they’d like to say to everyone who participated in this year’s community Christmas.” The frame returns to you. <<if $q2 == 1>> ”Thank you so much. Mom gets really sad this time of year, and this really helps. She smiled a lot when she found out that you’d be coming here.”<<else>><<if $q2 == 2>> “We love those popcorn tins. If you have any of those, we’d love to have it.” Your heart sinks a little as the sound of your grumbling stomach made it into the tape.<<endif>><<endif>> “There you have it. Community Christmas helping families just like this all across our community.” The smiling man signs off, and that is that. Some of the kids at school did see it, and they don’t seem nearly as impressed as you had hoped. Time marches forth, and this moment gets buried under a million more. End