Ode to Trevor Philips
Why would anyone
want to play
any character other than
Trevor Philips in GTA?
It’s a question I asked myself
just the other day
as I tore through that
copycat landscape of LA
in a stolen hearse
headed for the hills,
my sullied white tee
splotched with enemies’ blood.
In the comfort of my boyfriend’s bedroom,
his PlayStation 5 glowing cobalt,
I asked the question aloud,
Why would anyone play any character other than Trevor?
I don’t know,
I think my boyfriend might’ve answered,
but I knew he knew.
I ditched the hijacked hearse
in the crevice of a canyon
and trekked through the wilderness
to the coast,
all as Trevor,
the very best of the best.
I breathed Trevor’s heavy breaths.
Together, we lost stamina
as we hurtled toward
that crystalline CGI Pacific Ocean.
you’ll never be physically capable
of reading this,
but your fans will,
and I need them to know,
as I’m sure they already do:
You’re not just one of the playable protagonists in GTA−
you are GTA.
A Twenty-One-Year-Old Me Thanks the Cast of The Sopranos for Their Service
Would you believe me
if I told you
every last cast member
of The Sopranos
held my hand
through a breakup?
As my young adult world
crashed and burned around me,
my parents inserted themselves
into the lives of Tony and Carmela Soprano.
I don’t think I ever watched an episode in its entirety,
but it was the bits and pieces,
the wandering into the living room
with no agenda except the agenda
to be very sad,
that saved me.
They averaged two episodes a day,
and on the days they did not watch,
I cried out
for Janice’s very unfortunate tongue tattoo.
In a fever dream,
Janice pressed a cool rag
to my sweat-beaded forehead
and promised me life
wouldn’t always be this shitty.
In life, my appetite was nonexistent.
I was neglecting my schoolwork.
I was convinced I had it bad,
that no one was worse off than me.
Then I watched Tony Soprano drop to the floor
and struggle to rise to his feet,
his bloody paw clutching that standard desk telephone,
Uncle Junior’s infernal Cazzata Malanga! still ringing in both our ears,
and in that moment,
I might’ve had it bad,
but I didn’t have it Tony Soprano bad.
Christine Naprava is a writer from South Jersey. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Studio One, Soundings East, Punk Noir Magazine, Literary Yard, TheDaily Drunk, Anti-Heroin Chic, Sledgehammer Lit, and the Lunch Break Zine. She tweets @CNaprava and Instagrams @cnaprava