I’ve heard you can’t go home and, to some extent, it’s true. The home that I knew? It’s no longer there, and for good reason. I wouldn’t want it to be there. It’s far more grand and fantastical in my head as memories than actually being there. It’ll never be the same that I remember.
While it was never the best of times, it’s what led me to where I am today and, by all accounts, I’m doin’ just fine. Why should I condemn that which helped me discover who I’ve become? After finishing MONSTER (though, far from actually done) I made my trip back home, to relive my life the way. A pilgrimage of sorts, to remember where I’d come from, which mostly devolved into eating at every restaurant I’d grown up on.
You see, I come from a small town. The rich world of Southern California has its benefits, but growing up small can teach you a few things. Most of my childhood traditions have been paved over to make room for car lots and banks. Not much of my life still stands as it was and that’s okay. I’ve changed, too. Someone who can’t learn from their past is someone I don’t want to be. I’ll never become the things I once wished for; I’ll never be an astronaut, I’ll never make games for a living. And that’s okay, but being home can lead to reminisce.
I once wrote a scathing review in regards to the [early] death of my father. I once made comics detailing my distaste for my treatment during my dating days. I once did a lot of things. And now I’m doing more.
I visited with my best friend–my best man, even–and we celebrated the old times. I dug through the dust covered boxes holding the collection of my youth, tearing through every thing that once made me whole, and I came out of it unscathed. What I found was the past is not a sentence, only a warning. I don’t plan on going back, though one’s mind can always change. But I’ve done my time.
In my search through my childhood I’d gathered about my old stories. Though, I couldn’t find my favorite–detailing helicopters and espionage–I did find one in which I’m still proud. It’s the most awful thing I’ve read in awhile, but it’s wonderful… in a fifth-grade kind of way:
Messengers From the Distant Unknown (or Where No Celebrity Has Gone Before)
“Quick, Coder, turn on the message transmitter. We have a call coming in from Macaroni . . . I mean Macro,” I, the great savior of the universe said.
“∉∅¥Õ¶∑ ׉≠∑ ߧ∏∩∀¹ ∑•¢ †Θ◊,” came from the transmitter.
“Coder! This thing sounds like a McDonald’s drive-thru intercom. Where did you get it!?” I yelled.
“I am sorry, almighty master, but you must first turn on the translator machine to hear what it says,” Coder replied as he turned it on.
“Do not question my ability to think!” I screamed in rage.
“You think?” Coder said under his breath.
“Corkey . . . Coder . . . are you there? This is Macro. Please come to planet Zephlapod. I need your help!” the voice said as it faded away.
“Corkey, I think this Macro guy needs our help.”
“We have more important things to worry about, we are out of Super Crunchy Munchy Bunchies of Frosted Flake Sugar Puff Oats, that are brought to you by the Super Galactic Cereal Company!” I said with a gleam.
“I’ll give you a rare 7-UP bottle cap if you will go,” Coder said as he bribed me with the bottle cap.
“OK,” I said, since I have collected bottle caps since I was six years old, I knew that a 7-UP bottle cap is very collectible. “Now give it here! Warp speed five, Data! We have urgent business to attend to in the Romulan Sector.”
“Stop fantasizing about being on Star Trek, Corkey! And as I’ve said before, my name is not Data!” Coder yelped.
“OK, OK, let’s go.”
And so we speeded of into the distant unknown and for a second I was . . .
Kaboom!
“Hey, look, it’s the Starship Enterprise!” I said.
All of a sudden the transport pod started up and a shadowy figure stood inside.
“Wow, it’s Jean-luc Picard off of Star Trek!” Coder and I said simultaneously.
“You rotten punks! When you rammed us you knocked Worf over and he fell on the self-destruct mechanism! Now the whole ship is going to blow in five minutes!” Picard screeched. “We better get out of here and fast!”
“What about all the people on the ship? They will all die if they stay on the ship,” Coder worried.
“Don’t worry. They have already transported to the Starfleet Academy on Gamma 5,” Picard replied.
As our ship speeded off Coder and Picard got in a fight about which movie is better, Star Trek: First Contact or Star Wars. Picard won because he pulled a phaser on Coder, so Coder gave up.
When their argument was over we arrived at Trentapod, a planet not that far away from Zephlapod . . .
“Stop, you idiot! We passed Zephlapod two hours ago!” Picard yelled.
OK, maybe not.
Another two hours passed and we had finally made it to Macro’s House on Zephlapod. It was big and roomy. As we entered it, an ear piercing noise fell upon us. Picard fell to the ground in pain. We went on. We saw a man in his late fifties sitting in a throne-like chair . . . it was Macro.
“What’s wrong, Macro?!” Coder said as he remembered the frantic message Macro had sent us.
“Nothing, really. I just need you to do me a favor,” Macro shrugged.
“Then why did you make us think you were dying by screaming out help?” I asked.
“I thought you would get here faster if I screamed like that.”
“Well, don’t do it again, please,” Coder said, “and what did you do to Picard?”
“Killed him. Had to,” Macro replied. “Now, let’s get down to business. Yesterday, a civilian named Nobnie was kidnapped by our arch enemy, Doctor Evil Chanel. Nobnie has valuable information we need. We need you to get that information and bring it back before Doctor Evil Chanel turns Nobnie into a monkey!”
“Why? It might improve her looks,” I joked.
“I know, I know, but we need the information. And since Picard is dead I thought you would be in need of a . . . helper, I guess. So here he is . . . Mister Kevin Costner!” Macro screamed with the passion of an announcer at a ballgame.
“We have to sell the farm, and on top of all that, I’m going crazy! I hear these weird voices all the time,” Costner said. “Oh, there really is someone here.”
“Kevin, I’d like you to meet my friends Corkey and his faithful sidekick, Coder,” Macro said.” Wait. I know there was something else . . . oh, yea. Corkey, I have a guest here for you, he is part of our colony now. It’s your father.”
An eerie silence filled the air.
“Hey, sonny boy,” my father said, “come give your dad a kiss!”
“Do I have to?”
“Yes, now come here, boy!”
I walked up and gave him a kiss.
“Not on the lips, you freak!” my father said as he spit on the ground.
“Dad, why don’t you stop drinking?” I asked.
“Because, son, I’m not a quitter,” my father responded. “Now where’s my bourbon?!”
As we sped off I noticed that our locator was broken, so we were spiraling off into the distant unknown, again.
“Hey, listen up, everybody. I . . . I think we’re lost,” I announced.
“Dry land is not a myth, I’ve seen it!” Costner said with an English accent.
“What the heck!” Coder said.
Well, right then and there Costner ran up to the control panel and started pushing buttons. Next thing we knew we were on Doctor Evil Chanel’s evil planet.
“Hey, how’d you do that?” I asked him.
“Magic.”
Click!
“What the . . .”
“Corkey. Coder. Come on down! ‘Cause this is the end of your life!” a creepy voice came over the comms.
All of a sudden something clamped onto our ship and all our circuit boards went haywire. It was Doctor Evil Chanel’s guardian, Snurf, three hundred foot tall and smelling like Coder (which isn’t bad for a three hundred foot bozo, but sucks if you’re Coder). Snurf threw our ship on the ground, exploding on contact.
“Hey, Scully, come look at this,” a man’s voice said.
“It looks like a crash site, Mulder,” a woman’s voice replied, “but what of?”
“The truth is out there,” the main responded. “Trust no one.”
“Danger, Will Robinson, danger!” a shaky voice added as a robot appeared from the mist.
“Oh, was that your auntie? Sorry, it’s just rainin’ black men, ain’t it!” some cool dude who just showed up said. “Gettin’ jiggy wit’ it!”
“Oh, yea, you’re cool,” a man in the same outfit as the other said, “but I make this look good.”
Who were these people? Who knows, because the next thing we knew a bright red light knocked us out. We awoke several hours later in Doctor Evil Chanel’s dungeon (I guess). Costner wasn’t there and we were strapped to chairs which were covered in burn marks.
“Why, hello. How are you two doing today? Oh, tied up are we?”
“Chanel . . .” I said angrily.
“Yes, that’s correct. I see we have a smart one here. Well, I guess I’ll just eat these candy bars all by myself.”
I, knowing Coder could not resist a candy bar if he saw one, told him that Doctor Evil Chanel wouldn’t save any for him. And at that instant Coder used all his strength to free himself and rushed for the candy bars. Doctor Evil Chanel saw this and ran for her life, because she, too, knew that Coder would kill to get a candy bar. But she didn’t make it, as soon as she got to her feet Coder noticed she had one stuck to her back and tackled her, knocking her unconscious as they hit the floor.
As soon as Coder was finished gobbling down his candy bars I had him free me from my own shackles. I went over and grabbed Chanel and put her in my chair of doom, knowing she could not escape. We took her keys and set off to find Nobnie. We found her dancing around at the sight of seeing us. We freed her and took to flight.
We left Doctor Evil Chanel’s fortress and ran through the desert. Smack! Coder fell face first into the ground having tripped over something. And that something was Kevin Costner. He had been laying here all along, with his hair all burnt off.
We got some cool water and splashed it over his face. He awakened with a look on his face as if someone had shot him. When he came to his senses he knew what was going on when he saw Nobnie. And with Costner we ran over to our ship, finding it unrepairable.
“If you build it he will come,” Costner said.
“Build what?” Coder asked.
“A giant cheese puff, of course,” Costner announced.
“What good will that do us?” I questioned.
“Just do it,” Costner replied.
“Nike?” Nobnie joked.
As put the finishing touches on our giant cheese puff we saw Snurf running towards us.
“Oh, no!” I screeched.
“Mmm, cheese puff!” Snurf called out, sounding like Homer Simpson.
“I’ll give it to you for a spaceship,” Costner propositioned the giant.
“OK!” Snurf yelled as he ran off to get a spaceship and then came back for the cheese puff.
“Hop in,” Costner smiled.
“Wow!” Coder, Nobnie and I said together, astonished.
Three days later we arrived back at Macro’s house. As we pulled in we saw him running towards us like a bullet.
“Did you get her?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Nobnie, I have two questions for you,” Macro started. “One. If a butcher’s assistant is five feet tall what does he weigh? And, two, what is a three letter word for astonished?”
“Well, the butcher’s assistant weights the meat. And a three letter word for astonished is wow,” Nobnie said.
“Thanks,” Macro laughed.
“That’s all? We did all that for two stupid questions?” I asked.
“Yea.”
“OK.”
And so ended the intergalactic journey of Corkey the space captain. Twelve year old me could have made it great, but I can only see it as yet another science fiction masterpiece canceled before it’s time.