I, Hacker: Chapter 1, Part 5: “Hello, World”

 
It was a Tuesday night. I remember that clearly — because Tuesday was trash night, and I had to drag the can to the curb before my mother got home.

The air was sharp, biting, that mid-autumn cold that smells like wet leaves and car exhaust. I hauled the dented trash can out front, stared up at the orange glow of the streetlight buzzing overhead, then hurried back inside. I locked the door behind me, out of habit more than fear.
Back in my room, the glow from the TV cast everything in soft blue shadows. The Commodore hummed faintly. The cassette drive clicked as I loaded my new program from tape — a tiny game I’d built the night before.

Simple premise: You’re an “X” on one side of the screen. An “O” bounces from the opposite end, slowly, and you have to catch it before it crosses a boundary. One button to move. One button to catch.

It was dumb. But it worked.

I stared at the blinking cursor and thought: This is mine. No one told me what to build. No class assignment. No tutorial. Just me and the machine, speaking in code.
I saved the game to a clean tape, labeled it with a marker:

 Catch_O v1.0 – Dent42
 
Then I connected the modem. The tones chirped and screamed through the phone line like possessed dolphins. Static flared. Then:

> CONNECT 300

The familiar welcome scrolled past:

> WELCOME TO THE WIZARD’S LAIR
> A BULLETIN BOARD SYSTEM
> (C)1981 PHREAKERJACK
I logged in. The handle appeared:
> Welcome back, Dent42.

There were new uploads in the Games section. A Zork clone. Some kind of Star Wars trivia thing. A utility that said it “confused phone traces” (it didn’t).

I clicked “Upload New File.” It asked for a title.

> CATCH_O

I attached a short note:

> Basic game. I built it myself. Arrow keys + spacebar.
> Feedback welcome.
> -D42
I hit ENTER.

For a few seconds, nothing happened. Just the loading screen, the blinking light on the datasette, the whirr of the drive.

Then: Upload Complete.

And then the strangest thing: I felt exposed. Like I’d just left my journal open in the school hallway. Someone could see it now. Judge it. Laugh at it. Copy it. Break it.
I almost logged off right then. But I didn’t. Instead, I clicked into the “Messages” section and left a short note on the public wall:

> Anyone try Catch_O? It’s dumb, I know. But it’s mine. -D42

I waited. Maybe ten minutes. Nothing. Fifteen. Then a reply:

> It’s not dumb. Add levels. Make it faster. Good bones.
> — Jack

PhreakerJack, The sysop. I stared at it, heart skipping. Not dumb. Good bones.

In the real world, I was a nobody. Skinny. Quiet. Good at math, bad at girls. I wore too-big jeans and hand-me-down sneakers with duct tape over the toes. I smelled like solder flux half the time and talked too much about starships and neural nets. But here? I was Dent42.

Someone saw what I built and said: Good bones.

I didn’t sleep that night. I sat up tweaking the game, adding a timer, adding lives, making the O’s speed up with each round. At one point, around 3:00 AM, I remember laughing to myself — actual laughter, the kind you can't fake.

I re-uploaded the new version. I called it Catch_O v1.1 and left another note.

That night, as the sky began to lighten and my eyes started to burn, I finally lay back on my bed. I stared up at the ceiling, the faint electric whine of the monitor still tickling my ears. The world hadn’t changed. But I had.