Page 152 of Glitched Play

Tyler: Mom cried.

Mom: Tyler!

Tyler: You did.

Three little typing bubbles appear.

Disappear.

Then...

Mom: I wasn't crying because he kissed you.

Pause.

Mom: I was crying because everyone was cheering for something you created.

My smile fades into something softer.

Growing up, our house revolved around sports.

Tyler's baseball tournaments.

Lauren's soccer matches.

Dad never missed a game.

Mom knew every schedule before we did.

They understood scoreboards.

Championships.

Packed bleachers.

The roar of a crowd after a walk-off home run.

But gaming?

That had always been... different.

They tried. They really did.

Dad would peek into my room and ask if I was "winning."

Mom would ask if I'd "leveled up."

They cared because I cared. They just couldn't see it.

How do you explain thousands of anonymous people celebrating behind screens?

How do you describe the feeling of building a community that exists almost entirely online?

You can't point to a trophy.

You can't hear the crowd.

Not unless you're inside the game.