THE HOMECOMING

• “Never trust memory: It has a mendacious nature.” 
• OF MADMEN & MENTORS

• The Too Through Café
• 16 Green Street
• Boston, MA

My name is Sara Matthews and the most remarkable thing about me is simply how unremarkable I truly am. My entire life I've walked invisibly down the middle of road not taking any chances; seeking no adventure; just going through the motions of living a life that’s just one big, boring, tedious schedule after another. And being an only child, you'd think I would've been showered with attention from my parents, right? Nah. They were too absorbed into their own lives to even notice me. Hell! After seventeen hours of labor, my mother was probably wondering who was doing all that crying. Later on as a child, she still didn’t take notice of me, straight “A” student and all. She was far too involved with all her committee meetings and writing for a little, local rag that nobody read. I just became more and more transparent. And my poor, deluded father with all his dreams of building a printing empire only to end up with just one little shop on an obscure little side-street in Cambridge. 

Needless to say, I’ve led a very lonely life. Even now, I’ve been coming to this cafe alone for a drink at the same time every Friday ever since I started my uneventful job some seven years ago as a junior associate accountant with the CPA firm of Rollins, Jefferies and MacMurgle. I’ve seen people hired after me and promoted to senior accountants. Nobody notices me. Nobody will. I’ll collect my gold watch after thirty years and I'd still be a junior associate.

 Anyway, I invariable sit at the same table facing the same window so I can watch the world go by (because I don’t have a life) as I go through the motions of enjoying my drink, which is always a rum and coke, because I don’t know what else to order. Pathetic, right?

But it was four Fridays ago when my humdrum life took a weird turn: I began to notice something funny going on in front of the bookstore directly across the street. I’m not talking Ha-Ha funny but really strange funny: I was sitting down at my usual table waiting for some waiter/actor/play writer/director to notice me, when I spied on this gangly, cadaverous-looking guy dressed like an English butler standing in front of the bookstore. And come to think of it, he put me in mind of the Addam’s Family’s butler. But Ted Cassidy, not one of the new guys. And standing right next him was a woman that I could’ve sworn was Roseanne Barr, but not the Roseanne of today, the Roseanne Conner character of 1989. And then, at precisely 9:00 PM, twenty-four other people joined them. Some I recognized. Some I didn’t. And they weren’t chewing the rag or ogling the books in the window like you’d expect, no, they were just standing there staring into space like collection of cigar store Indians. And then all of a sudden, Roseanne and the twenty-four hurried into the bookstore, leaving Lurch on the sidewalk staring into his own private space.

At first, despite the weirdness of what I saw, I didn’t give it any thought until it happened again the following Friday. But Lurch had someone different standing beside him: A little boy, no more than twelve-years-old, and he was dressed in a red and white striped T-shirt, baggy blue denims, and high-top Keds. And the kid was a dead-ringer for Beaver Cleaver. Weird, huh? 

By the third Friday my eyes were glued on Lurch and another guy who was a full head shorter, but was at least 40 lbs heavier. And I swear it was Lee Majors. But not the Six Million Dollar Man Lee Majors, uh-uh, but the Fall Guy Lee Majors. Now this was getting weirder and weirder.

Tonight, Lurch is standing with George Reeves in his Superman costume.

This was really getting weird. 

But this time I wasn’t just going to sit back and watch. No Sir! I’m going to follow Superman and the others into that bookstore to see just what the hell was going on. Don’t get me wrong. I’m no hero. On the contrary, I was scared shitless, but I wasn’t going to let that stop me. My fear of every-day-life caused me to lead such a miserably boring existence to begin with, so I wasn’t going to allow something as strange as this to slip through my fingers. I was going to have a bone fide adventure despite myself.

So I peeled my bland butt of my seat, just as the waiter/actor/playwright/director finally deigned to take my order. I brushed by the guy and hurried out of the door, and came to a screeching halt. I didn’t do anything but stand there and casually glanced at Lurch and Superman and my watch. 8:58. Two minutes to show time. I was almost giddy with anticipation. Which is unusual for me since I’ve never been giddy about anything in my entire life.

While I was waiting I happened to notice that nobody hurrying or strolling along the sidewalk took notice of Lurch and Superman. I mean, these weren’t your average Joes, right? How often do you see two TV characters standing in the street in front of a bookstore, especially a couple of dead ones and one in black and white, right? 

And then, right on schedule, only twenty-three people came around the corner. 

Why only twenty-three? 

Anyway, my heart was racing as I hurried across the street and got in step with the crowd and entered the bookstore. As I closed the door behind me I was kind of shocked at how normal the inside of the store appear. It was just what you’d expect from an old bookstore: Dark and dank with shelves and shelves of old books and dust everywhere. There was an old man standing behind an old mechanical cash register who resembled Master Po, from Kung Fu, complete with walking staff and robes. I returned my attention to the twenty-four who were waiting in line at the backdoor leading to what I guessed to be the stock room. Superman opened the door wide. It was dark inside and suddenly the store was filled with the scent of ink and typewriter ribbons. It would’ve have been pleasant, if it wasn’t so overpowering. I had to cover my nose and mouth to keep from gagging.

They slowly, but no less deliberately, entered the darkness with me right behind them. And just as I entered the door closed on its own behind me. I was standing in absolute darkness. Adventure or no, I was starting to get a little nervous. Being in the dark never much bothered me. Matter of fact, I’ve spent my entire life in the dark in one way or another, but this was pitch. The blackest black I ever saw. My heart began to race again, but not from anticipation but from raw fear. Tiny beads of perspiration started cropping up on my forehead and neck. A few drops tickled their way down my spine.

“You have nothing to fear, Miss Matthews,” a soothing woman’s voice assured me from the darkness. I could’ve sworn it was Lucille Ball. “We’re so glad you could make it.”

“M-Make what!?” I nervously stammered. “Who are you people!? What’s going on here!?”

“Don’t worry,” the voice assured me. “Come sit down and we’ll explain it all to you.” 

“Could you turn some lights? I kind of have a problem find my way in the dark.”

And then suddenly the room was filled with a soft amber glow. There were twenty-five chairs forming a large circle. All of the chairs were occupied except for the twenty-fifth. And everyone was dressed in their TV series outfits and costumes. Starting from the left sat Lucy and Ricky Ricardo; Batman and Robin; The Green Hornet and Kato; John and Maureen Robinson; Lucas McCain; Napoleon Solo; Peter Gunn; Matt Dillon; Rowdy Yates; Mr. & Mrs. North; Richard Diamond; Honey West; T.H.E Cat; Quai Chang Caine; Tony Barretta and Fred; Starsky and Hutch; Christie Love, Johnny Staccato, and finally Superman.

I walked over to the empty chair and sat down. I couldn’t help but gawk. I mean, after all, there were twenty-four TV characters sitting front of me who had some how managed to come to life. 

“Okay,” I sighed. “I hope all of you understand how really weird this is to me.”

“Understandable,” John Robinson acknowledged.

“You’re wondering how aren’t you?” Mr. North Asked.

“The thought did streak through my mind,” I confessed, and I then turned to Lucy. “But you’re Lucille Ball, are you? How can you be here and be so young?”

“I’m not Lucille Ball. Lucille Ball is dead. I’m Lucy Ricardo.”

“I don’t understand any of this,” I nearly whined my frustration.

“Well.” Batman began. “The loyal fans are responsible for us being, old chum.”

My face was this prune of confusion.

“The devoted fans,” Superman offered. “Without them, we wouldn’t have been.” 

“But we we’re beginning to fade,” Kato said. “People are beginning to forget about us.” 

“So we decided to create a world of our own where we could live,” Honey West said, as she absent-mindedly stroked her ocelot. “And we started having meetings every Friday to gain strength and cohesion from each other.”

“Do you always meet here?” I asked.

“We meet where we’re needed,” Mrs. North replied.

“Needed? I don’t understand.”

“Some of us forget who we are,” Rowdy Yates suddenly spoke. “Some of us get so tangled up in the real world that we begin to lose focus. Sometimes we create lives that are the opposite of who we are. We create memories for ourselves and get lost in them.”

“That’s why we have Lurch standing out front,” Richard Diamond explained.

“He’s sort of a marker. A beacon, so the lost ones can find the rest of us,” Quai Change Caine softly said. 

 “But sometimes it’s not enough, ya dig?” Johnny Staccato said, winced, and then faded out of existence.

 “Whoa!! Where’d he go?!”  I blurted out.

“Once in awhile, as the fans’ memories fade, so do we,” Robin explained.

“But once the memory is gone, we do all we can to help each other to hold it together, but-----” Christie Love trailed off as she grimaced and then she vanished.

I looked at the remaining faces and frowned a half-revelation. “Being here wasn’t exactly my idea, was it?”

Lucy Ricardo gestured to the far wall. “Go to that mirror and you’ll fully understand everything.”

I looked over to where she was pointing then back at her. I suddenly found it difficult to breath.

“Please go to the mirror,” Superman affectionately requested.

I unfolded my lanky frame from the chair and strolled over to the mirror and took a peek at my reflection, and I got to tell you, I didn’t expect to see the brilliant blue eyes of Lynda Carter staring back at me from beneath a star-spangled tiara. 

“Do you understand now, Diana?” Superman softly asked.

I turned and smiled as a gentle flood of memories filled my head. “Yes Clark. I understand.”

THE END

THE HOMECOMING

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