I play games. Online. With a headset. Like these kids. My grandchildren, they would kill me if they knew. Abuela playing… *Fortnite*, *Apex Legends*, whatever the hell it is this week. They think I sit and watch my shows. *La Rosa de Guadalupe*, the novellas. I do. Sometimes. But mostly I’m in the basement. My husband built me a little office down there. He thinks it’s for my embroidery. It is. A bit. But it’s mostly for this. For my keyboard, my mouse. My headset. My kids, they call every other day. "Mami, are you lonely?" "Mami, do you need anything?" What I need is for them to leave me alone so I can finish this match. I’m good. Really good. My K/D is better than some of these twenty-year-olds. They call me “Grandma” sometimes. Or “OG.” They don’t know. They don’t know I’m *actually* a grandma. I mean I don't even — whatever. My hands hurt. My wrists ache. My eyes are burning from the screen. But when I get that win… that *victory royale*… it’s like nothing else. Nothing. My sister, she tells me I should go to the senior center. Play bingo. Talk about old times. What old times? These are my old times. Now. This is what makes me feel alive. Not some stupid bingo card. My family, they want me to be a certain way. The quiet abuela. The one who makes the best tamales. I do. I make the best tamales. But I also make headshots. And sometimes I yell into my mic in Spanish, and they don’t understand, and it feels… good. Like a secret. My secret. I’m tired. But I have one more match. Always one more.