Mario Paint – A Short Story
You never know what you can do without discovering the tools to do it.
—-
Rain slapped against Ben’s family room windows like a car wash. A low rumble of approaching thunder filled the house with the tremor of impending doom.
On the TV, a weatherman shrugged with a half-smile and said, “Hate to be the bearer of bad news, folks, but keep those umbrellas handy. We’ll be soggy for the next couple of days as a lingering cold front continues…”
Ben snapped off the TV with a snarl and listened for Nicholas. For three days during the network named “Storm of the Century”, he tried to keep him entertained. Daycare closed due to flooding, work cancelled due to road closures, every entertainment option dashed in service to the ever-present deluge.
Two thunderclaps later, Ben’s phone buzzed on the coffee table. Ben saw the caller’s name, sighed, and answered.
“Hey, Dora. Calling to gloat about the weather?”
The voice on the other end chuckled and said, “You know it. Southern California may be expensive, but I have to say, the weather’s worth it. Still underwater in Seattle?”
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say it’s getting Biblical”, quipped Ben. “But I have a funny feeling you’re not calling to check in on me.”
Two seconds passed before Dora sighed and said, “Nope. I’m not. How’s Nicholas? Just saw the email we got from school. His issues with fine motor control? That note about him being detached and distracted in class? His teacher said this would be hard on him, but I didn’t want to believe it”.
Ben sighed and closed his eyes. “He’s doing OK. Not great. Just OK. I’m trying to jump start him out of his funk, but it’s been an uphill battle.”
“Well, keep me in the loop”, asked Dora. “I may not be there, but I still care.”
Ben smiled and said, “Watch it, Dora. You unintentionally rhymed again.” Dora chuckled.
Another pair of seconds passed before Ben said, “Listen, Dora, I gotta run. It’s been two minutes and I haven’t heard Nick. Usually means trouble. Talk to you soon.”
Before Dora could respond, Ben hung up the phone and shouted, “Nicholas! Where are you?”
Seconds froze for a minute until a small, high pitched voice replied, “In the office!”
Ben grimaced. Three monitors, an aged PC, two lamps, and a shelf full of knick knacks lived in that room, all very damageable. All very breakable. Ben dashed across the family room, down the adjoining hall, and into the office. Nicholas was sitting at the base of an open closet door.
Ben felt his heart swell at the sight of his son. Regardless of mood, temperament, or his constant demands for chicken nuggets, Nicholas was charming. Clothed in a Paw Patrols t-shirt and worn down shorts, both one size too small, he looked older than four. He had Ben’s short, pronounced nose and mom’s mouth. Only God knew where his steel grey eyes came from. His blond hair fell in random strands and flops due to half a week of lackadaisical grooming. In his hands was a grey plastic object the size of a large toaster pulled from a brown, cardboard box.
“What’s this, Daddy?”
Ben’s heart jumped and relaxed. He knelt down next to Nicholas and said, “That’s my old Super Nintendo. Where did you find it?”
“Su-per. Nin-ten-do”, said Nicholas, each syllable enunciated with care and precision. “What does it do?”
Ben gazed at the console, half of it yellowed by age and poor construction. His mind snapped back to simpler times of rainy weekends dominated by Super Mario World, slaying monsters in Castlevania, exploring the mythical world of Chrono Trigger. Moments when all that mattered were star systems, boss encounters, bright primary colors, digital blasts, and endless, reckless, fun.
Ben smiled and said, “It’s my old video game system. Daddy got this when…”
Nicholas cut him off and shouted, “GAME?? I LOVE GAMES! Can we play it? Pllleeeeaaassee?”
Ben jumped back. Ever since Dora split for California, Nick was walking in a haze. Now, he looked plugged in and charged. For the first time in months, he had a spark.
Ben also knew he was doomed. As a family, they had a strict TV rule. No weekdays, limited weekends, and nothing outside PBS Kids. They made the mistake of letting him watch Kung Fu Panda as a two-year-old and got a stern talking to from his daycare. Evidently, jump kicking classmates was frowned upon at Head Start Learning Academy.
But the rule book had an escape clause. In times of long flights or extreme boredom, the shows could be used as a pacifying agent. Nicholas already binged his Wild Kratz collection and Dinosaur Train was no longer cool. Ben realized this might be his only option.
“OK, Nick”, said Ben trying to exert a minimal amount of parental control. “We’ll play it but only for an hour. After that, I’ll make you lunch and then a nap.” Nicholas beamed and began riffling through the closet.
Ben sifted through the box looking for a game. All the classics were there. Stomping, slashing, whipping, punching, shooting. All the violent verbs that could trigger a kung fu relapse. Nothing appropriate for a temperamental 4-year-old. As Ben combed through his collection, he heard a rattle and clank from another box in the closet. Ben turned and saw Nick remove a mouse with purple buttons and a plastic pad.
“I like this! Let’s play this.”
Ben glanced at Nick and shifted to his box of games. Mario Paint sat at the bottom. Label peeling but legible, memories of hours spent doodling on his 19 inch Zenith poured in, quickly followed by the stern notes written by Nick’s teacher.
Ben turned with a haltering voice and said, “But son, that’s a drawing game. You don’t like drawing. And it might not work. It’s pretty old. Are you sure you want to try?”
Nicholas jumped and down with the pent-up energy of a kangaroo and ran to the family room. Ben pulled an ancient CRT TV from the closet, followed Nicholas and within a few moments, the Super Nintendo was hooked up and ready to go.
Nicholas laid on the floor and stared at the TV. Ben flicked the switch on the SNES and a bright white screen illuminated Nick’s face. Ben moved to place Nick’s hand on the mouse, but he instinctively grabbed it, fingers coursing over the buttons.
“Alright, dude”, said Ben. “Move the mouse around and see what happens”
Nick’s eyes shone as he waggled the cursor madly, clicking even madder. Each letter in the game’s title, when randomly clicked, did something goofy. “Daddy! Where’s that R going? AHH! The O blew up!”
Ben sat with Nick and marveled how random the opening was. Ben leaned over to Nick and said, “Click on the red guy.”
Nick complied and was whisked into an open white canvas. Colors arranged across the top, an array of brushes, pens, and spray bottles below. Ben moved to give Nick some instructions, but he instinctively began drawing and scribbling in wild, unintelligible patterns. Within minutes, he had color selection down. The screen was the digital equivalent of tossing paint on a wall. Wild, free, and wonderful.
Five minutes passed until Nick found the stamps. With each one, he proudly shouted what it was. Ship, person, house, Mario, lips. The TV shone with sensory overload. Nick turned to Ben and said, “Look Daddy! I made a picture. That’s my picture!”
“Nick, this is best picture I’ve ever seen”, said Ben. “Do you want to make another one?”
Nick nodded his head as Ben guided him to the erasers and asked him to pick one. Nick clicked on the washer and grinned as his creation slowly melted away. He immediately grabbed the mouse and started again.
Minutes turned to hours as the storm raged on. They filled in coloring books and made abstract graffiti with the spray-paint tool. Two hours in, Ben and Nick composed a decent cover of the Sesame Street theme in the music maker. Nick danced across the family room to the sound of boat drums and fire flower brass. Ben did his best to keep up.
After the dance-off, Ben looked at Nick and saw he could barely keep his eyes open. It was nearly 3:00.
“Nick, it’s time for your nap. Want to save our work?”
Nick nodded and walked back towards the TV. Ben grabbed the mouse, clicked the robot in the lower toolbar, and started the save. Ben chuckled to himself how long the SNES save took compared to modern machines. They both watched with anticipation as the robot’s counter ticked from 100 to zero.
Just then, a furious thunderclap shook the house and everything went dark. Both Ben and Nick froze for a half-second as rainy day grey enveloped them. With everything off, the room held an eerie quiet. Just the rain’s white noise and their heavy breathing.
Coming to his senses, Ben turned to a barely visible Nick. His eyes remained glassy but his demeanor was calm.
“Are you OK, buddy?”, asked Ben.
“Where did the lights go? It’s dark.”
“Just a power outage, Nick. It should be…”
Ben’s breath caught in his throat. The painting, the song, the stamps. They were gone. Obliterated into a blanket of all zeros, no ones. The robot took its sweet time, and now it was all destroyed. Nick craned his neck to glace at the TV.
“Where’s our picture?”
The middle word in Nick’s sentence punched Ben like a body blow. Our picture. Not his, not Daddy’s. Ours.
A minute later, the house roared to life go as the power returned. Still switched on, the SNES displayed the opening screen again. Nick squealed with delight, grabbed the mouse, and clicked on Mario. The screen showed pure white. Nick’s eyes dared around, confused.
“Where did it go, Daddy?”
Before Ben could respond, Nicholas found the robot button, clicked, and began to frantically select everything on the screen. The mouse scraped loudly against the pad as Nicholas yelled, “Where is it?? Where did it GO!?”
Unable to process what happened, Nick threw the mouse and turned to sob at Ben. Hot tears streamed down his face, neck bulging, skin red. Ben moved to embrace Nick but he pushed him away. “No daddy! You lost our picture! I want Mommy! Where’s my Mommy?!”
Nick’s sobs and requests were shattering. Ben knew the tantrum of a four-year-old was nothing to take personally, but the words stung all the same. Ben led a still sobbing Nicholas into his room. “Nick, I’m so sorry your picture got erased. We’ll make a new one after your nap.”
Nick, still in a panic, threw himself on the bed and let new cries emerge. Ben knew the best thing to do was to let the fire burn out. Nothing he could do to stop it.
Ben closed Nick’s door and returned the family room. From the TV, the evil, slowpoke robot stared at him. Ben sat down next to the console, placed his hand over the mouse and thought, “Well then. It’s worth a shot.”
Over the next hour, Ben slowly and carefully drew wild line over wild line on the blank Mario Paint canvas. With every shot of spray paint or fill command, Ben tried to keep the rapidly fading image of their masterpiece at the front of his mind. As he swept the mouse across the screen and conjured insane color combinations, Ben’s mouth curled into a smile. Lost in the imagination and joy of putting virtual pen to virtual paper, Ben scrambled to recreate their work. The stamp placement wasn’t perfect, but it was close. Re-doing the Sesame Street theme was easier. He even allowed himself a few minutes of the included fly swatting game.
In the back of his brain, a small voice cooed, “Nicely done, dad. This is how she would have fixed it”.
From behind him, a pair of small feet puffed on the medium plush carpet. Ben turned and saw Nick holding a blanket in one hand, a stuffed rhinoceros in the other. His eyes held the sleepy fog of just waking up. As if he’d woken from a dream to arrive in a new one.
“Hi Daddy. What are you doing?”
Ben smiled and said, “I think I got your – I mean – our picture back. It’s not perfect, but I think it’s back.”
Still in a post-nap daze, eyes soft and slanted, Nicholas walked to the screen and looked at Ben’s recreation. His eyes brightened for a moment. Nicholas looked at Ben, extended his hand, and softly stroked his cheek.
“It’s OK, Daddy. When I’m sad, Mommy tells me to think kind thoughts. And then, I’m not sad anymore.”
Nicholas leaned over, kissed Ben on the cheek, and returned to the TV. Ben’s valiant attempt at a Mario Paint recreation was still on screen. Nick grabbed the mouse, moved to the eraser bar, and clicked the instant blink button. In a milli-second, the entire canvas returned to clean white.
“Don’t worry”, said Nicholas with a smile that doubled his age. “Let’s make a new one together.”
Writer, gamer, and beer geek, The Thunder Mage conjures words from the ether for a number of sites and publications. He currently serves as Lead Blogger and Music Writer for https://www.theaustinot.com (Austin culture) and has written for Texas Highways magazine, the Entertainment Weekly blogging community, and various film review sites. When he’s not mixing literary alchemy, he enjoys chasing his three-year-old around and advocating for video game accessibility on Twitter to the git gud sect.
Wahoo! You are a Super Reader! But the adventure doesn’t stop here… There’s more of this project in another castle! This article is just one level in an entire Super Mario Multiverse, a galactic collaboration between writers around the world sharing a bit of our hearts and memories about our favorite Mario games. Visit the Center of the Multiverse to see more:
