In 1988, Zelda II was the thing.

In 1988, Zelda II was the thing.

Fantasy was frowned on in my house — too magical, too “occult.” So I knew I wouldn’t get it for Christmas. I knew before the wrapping paper even came out.

Still, a part of me hoped.

After break, I went back to school and waited to hear who got Zelda II. Sure enough, some did. I listened to them talk about dungeons and secrets and bosses I hadn’t seen with that particular ache of childhood — wanting to be part of a world you’re kept just outside of.

I borrowed the cartridge eventually, used Steve R’s game guide to stumble through it. It was hard. Brutal, even. I loved it.

Looking back, that yearning sits at the intersection of a few things: • fundamentalist restrictions • limited money • the social economy of “who has what” • and my own deep hunger for imaginary worlds

It wasn’t really about Zelda II. It was about access. To magic. To story. To a mythology that wasn’t approved by adults.