by Bill Myers
So, reluctantly, I took off the ol’ specs. But I kept them carefully hidden in my hand. I knew if I waited and hung back at the end of the line, there was always a chance no one would notice me slipping them on to take a peek. Of course, that would mean breaking another rule, but so far this rule-breaking business had been paying off pretty well.
We headed down the long steel ramp as everyone whispered in excitement. I pulled up the rear, doing my best Helen Keller imitation, while assuring the girl in front of me, the one whose back I kept groping, that I was not trying to be fresh.
Next, we arrived in a small white room. Just a few feet away stood the shuttle entrance. Each person approached and looked through the hatch before turning and heading back. At last it was my turn. The plan worked perfectly. Everybody else had turned and was heading back, so I quickly slipped on my glasses to take a look.
Well, at least that’s what I tried to do. But, as you may remember, I’m not the world’s most coordinated person. Some people find it hard to walk and chew gum at the same time. Not me. I’ve never been able to get the gum out of the wrapper.
As I reached up to put on my glasses, they slipped from my hands. No problem, till I tried to catch them. Even that wasn’t a problem, except for the part where I accidentally knocked them through the hatch’s opening and into the shuttle.
Oops.
It was decision time. Should I break another rule and step inside to get them? As I said, this rule-breaking business was going pretty well, so I figured, sure, why not?
I quickly stepped through the opening and into the shuttle. The place looked fantastic. It looked even more fantastic when I found my glasses, slipped them on, and could actually see it. Everything was all white with lots of little compartment doors and switches and stuff. And directly in front of me was the ladder which our guide had explained led to the flight deck.
I turned to the group. Everyone was heading back down the ramp toward the elevator. (The fact that Mr. Know-It-All was now giving a lecture on the composition of the shuttle’s hull probably helped hurry them on.) In any case, no one looked back.
I turned to the ladder. It would only take a second to climb. Just a second to check out the f light deck with all those cool controls and stuff.
And since I was already on board . . .
It was definitely risky and definitely against the rules. So, of course, I definitely did it. I scampered up the ladder and took a quick peek.
Wow! It was like the cockpit of one of those big jetliners. There were two seats up front, the commander’s and the pilot’s. They were surrounded by billions of buttons and controls. There were also plenty of computer screens.
I don’t know how long I stood there staring. But I knew I couldn’t push my luck any further, so I turned and started back down the ladder. At least that’s what I wanted to do. Unfortunately, Ol’ Betsy had other ideas. Somehow, with all my crawling around, I got her shoulder strap hung up on a little black handle beside the commander’s seat.
I tried to unhook it, but I only made matters worse. Soon I had created a giant knot. And since my knot-untying abilities rate right up there with the rest of my coordination skills, a slight problem was developing. In no time flat, I had tied the shoulder strap into a beautiful pretzel-like design. Nice, if you wanted to hang a plant by it or give it to Aunt Martha for Christmas—lousy if you wanted to get out of a space shuttle with it.
And then it happened. . . .
There I was, trying to untie the strap (which was looking more and more like a nicely crocheted sweater), when, suddenly, I heard the hatch down on the mid-deck slam.
I finally managed to slip the tangled strap off the handle. Then I crawled down the ladder as fast as I could, but I was too late. The door was sealed shut.
Uh-oh . . .
I thought about banging on the hatch and screaming for my life. I also thought about spending the next hundred years of that life in some federal prison and finally getting out only to have Dad ground me for another hundred years. Call me crazy, but I figured there had to be another way.
But what?
An hour later, after checking out the inside of the shuttle a few million times, I boldly climbed back into the commander’s chair. I, the great Wally McDoogle, had a plan. . . .
All I had to do was sit tight and wait for the sound of a technician reopening the hatch down on the mid-deck. When I heard that, I’d jump up, wait until the guy turned his back, then climb down the ladder and run for all I was worth. (Which, if I were caught, would be about thirty-two cents.)
In the meantime, all I had to do was wait. To help keep my mind off the problem and to try to relax a little, I thought I’d write another one of my superhero stories. Forget the shrinks, the tranquilizers, the group therapy sessions. Whenever I’m feeling a little tense, nothing beats a good escape into the imaginary world I create on my laptop computer.
I pulled Ol’ Betsy out of her case, snapped her on, and started typing. . . .
It is just another average evening in Boringville, where...
——average kids are tucked into average beds and being read average bedtime stories.
——average moms are loading average dishwashers with plates crusted in average food.
——average teenagers are complaining about emptying their average cats’ average cat boxes.
Sadly, our hero, the above-average (and always stylishly dressed) Neutron Dude enters the deserted nuclear reactor he now calls home. It is a lonely life for our superhero. Being more radioactive than a hydrogen bomb has its drawbacks——especially in an average town like Boringville.
Oh sure, he was everybody’s friend this afternoon, back when they needed him to fire a sneeze of his neutron breath at the fleet of flying cows invading from the planet Moojuice. (They didn’t mind the cows; it was the cow pies that made them a little nervous.)
And, of course, they loved him when the school’s microwave went on the fritz and he zapped their 234 hamburger casseroles so everyone could have a hot lunch.
And let’s not forget all those glow-in-the-dark wall sticker stars that keep getting recharged every time he passes by Boringville homes.
But try letting our hero live an average life with these average people of Boringville, and you could just forget it....
First, he tried buying a house in the little community. The neighbors complained that his glow kept them awake at night.
Next, he moved to a farm. The country folks complained that their remote TVs changed channels every time he hiccupped.
Finally, there was that unfortunate incident with the neighbor’s dog. It wasn’t Neutron Guy’s fault that ol’ Muttley bit into his leg and got the “shock of his life.” Talk about a “hot dog.” You could see the smoke for miles.
Let’s face it, our poor superhero just wasn’t average enough to fit in.
Neutron Dude heads to the kitchen to drown his sorrows in some heaping helpings of horrendously unhealthy (and oh, so tasty) junk food. Yes sir, nothing numbs the pain like pure, unadulterated, empty carbs. He walks to the first cupboard and opens it. There, in all of their wonderful, tooth-decaying goodness, is his stash of Chewy-Gooey bars.
But just as he reaches for a bar, there is a blinding flash of light followed by some pretty cool sci-fi sound effects.
Our good guy looks around. Everything seems normal. But what about that flash and those cool sound effects? With a superhero shrug, he returns to his snack, only to discover ( Da-da-DAAAA ——that, of course, is cool sci-fi music) he is no longer reaching for a Chewy-Gooey. He is grabbing a very large cucumber.
He steps back in confusion. He opens the next cupboard where he keeps his year’s supply of Super Goobers. To his amazement they’ve also been changed. Now they’re organically grown, so-healthy-you-could-throw- up carrot sticks.
Neutron Dude swallows back a wave of revulsion. Such healthy goodness is more than he can stomach. He looks over at the candy dish on the table. To his horror, the cin
namon sticks have turned to celery sticks, and the M&Ms have become raisins!
Before things get any weirder (or the food any healthier), Neutron Dude’s phone rings. He picks it up and answers, “Hello!”
“Greetings, Glow Boy.”
Neutron Dude lights up in surprise as we hear another blast of music. (This time it’s the bad-guy theme). “Veggie-Man,” our hero shouts, “is this you?”
“Who else?”
“All of these fruits and vegetables, are they your doing?”
“Ditto, Fission Face.”
“But you’re supposed to be in prison.”
“I got out on parole because of my good eating habits.”
“Don’t tell me they fell for that old scam.”
“That’s right, Nuclear Nerd. They let me out early for cleaning my plate and——”
Neutron Dude knows what is coming, and he finishes the phrase——“...for always eating your vegetables.”
“Precisely,” the voice says with a chuckle.
Neutron Dude shudders a shivering shudder, then shivers a shuddering shiver. He had dealt with Veggie-Man years earlier when the madman tried to force the local potato chip factory into manufacturing broccoli chips. No one knows what made the crazy Veggie- Man such a health-food health nut. Some say it was his mom making him eat one too many Brussels sprouts for dinner. Others say it was those dancing vegetable puppets on kids’ TV shows. Then there’s the theory of one too many diet infomercials on TV. Whatever the reason, Veggie-Man’s sole mission in life was to make sure no one ate anything but organically grown fruits and vegetables.
“I have returned to my laboratory,” the mad scientist says with a cackle. “And I have released a special spray into the atmosphere. Soon it will change all the world’s food into health food.”
“You don’t mean——”
“That’s right. Hamburgers will soon become broccoliburgers.”
“That’s terrible.”
“Milk shakes will become cream of spinach shakes.”
“You’re making me sick!”
“And for Thanksgiving, plan on carving up a nice, hickory-smoked . . . cabbage, with lovely lima bean dressing.
Before Neutron Dude has a chance to lose his cookies (or have them changed into rutabagas), Veggie-Man hangs up. Not wanting to see this year’s trick-or- treat bag filled with candied asparagus, our hero suddenly uses all his good-guy strength to transform himself into pure, don’t-try-this-at- home-kids protons. He lifts the receiver and prepares to leap into the phone, to zap through the lines and begin a citywide search for the hideous health nut’s laboratory.
Who knows what evil awaits? Who knows what low-cholesterol, fat-free weapons will be unleashed? Who knows how Wally will get out of this space shuttle?
I stopped and looked at the last line. I’d never had reality invade my superhero stories before. Not like this. I shook my head and pressed the DELETE key. I guess I was more worried about being stuck here than I thought. Or maybe I was just tired. Or maybe both. I gave a hearty yawn, punched F10 to save, and put Ol’ Betsy away.
It was time for some serious thinking. Unfortunately, all I could do was some serious yawning. I guess all those nights of staying up late with Opera and Wall Street were finally catching up with me. But I couldn’t take the chance of dozing off here in the commander’s chair. What if somebody came in and saw me?
I had to find someplace safe, someplace where I wouldn’t be seen if I should nod off. But someplace where I could still make a run for it when they opened the hatch.
I started to search both decks of the shuttle. My eyes grew heavier by the second. Then, for some reason, I remembered what Mr. Know-It-All had said, something about there not being two decks on the shuttle, but three. Wasn’t the third level supposed to be under some sort of floor panel on the mid-deck?
In exactly 1.33 minutes I found the loose floor panel and pulled it up. There were lots of tanks and hoses and stuff, but I managed to squeeze in along with Ol’ Betsy. I gave another yawn, then pulled the panel back into place just a few inches above my face. Perfect. Not exactly the Holiday Inn, but at least I’d be safe. No one would stumble upon me.
I let out another yawn. I wasn’t planning to go to sleep. I just wanted to give my eyes a quick rest. Come to think of it, though, forty winks wouldn’t be such a bad idea. Actually, eighty might even be better. Then again, since I was so nice and cozy . . .
ZZZZZzzzzzzz . . .
Chapter 3
Up, Up, and Away . . .
It was another one of my strange dreams. Wally McDoogle’s wacky imagination at its weirdest.
I dreamed I was either a giant fly pinned under a giant fly swatter . . . or a giant waffle being cooked in a giant waffle iron. (It’s hard to get every detail straight with these kinds of dreams.) In any case, it wasn’t a bad dream, except for the part where I couldn’t move or breathe, and I felt totally trapped.
Suddenly, the waffle iron (or fly swatter) began to vibrate. Then it tilted forward. Next, I was kicked in the back. But we’re not talking about some little kid-sister kick. We’re not even talking some mule or Mr.-Ed-the-Talking-Horse kick. We’re talking a major, the-earth-leaned-back-and-hit-me-with-everything-it-had kind of kick. In fact, it was so violent that it knocked me clean out of that dream and into another even weirder one.
Now I dreamed I was taking off in the space shuttle. (I told you I had a weird imagination.) The rumble turned into a deafening roar followed by lots and lots of shaking. Soon, I was doing my famous Wally-the-Human-Pinball imitation as I rolled and bounced in every possible direction. Fortunately, the floor panel from the mid-deck that I’d put back over me stopped some of the bouncing.
Floor panel!
Mid-deck!
This wasn’t one of my weird dreams. . . . IT WAS ONE OF MY WEIRDER REALITIES!
The noise grew worse. So did the shaking. And the louder and harder things shook, the more I was shoved backward. We were moving! Taking off! The acceleration pushed down on my body, pulled back on my cheeks, and made my eyes water. It was worse than riding with my brother Brock when he’s late for school. Suddenly, I weighed a couple hundred pounds more than normal. I wanted to shout, but I knew nobody could hear me. I wasn’t even sure I could hear me.
I don’t know how long this lasted. All I know is that I said a couple of prayers, actually, a lot of prayers. Actually, I asked God to forgive me for everything I ever did from the moment I was born (“Sorry about wetting on that doctor when he spanked me”) up until I sneaked on board the shuttle, especially the sneaking on board the shuttle part. Let’s face it, if you die, the last thing you want is to go to heaven with something like that on your permanent record.
Suddenly, all the noise and vibration stopped. Just like that. I wasn’t sure what to do . . . though checking to see if someone was f lying this thing sounded like a pretty good place to start. So did talking the pilot into turning around and getting me back home before Mom and Dad found out I was missing.
I reached up to the floor panel above my face and gave it a shove. It seemed to weigh a lot less than I remembered. The reason was simple. It did weigh a lot less. In fact, it weighed absolutely nothing! I let it go and watched as it just floated . . . right along with my hand, my arm, and my whole body!
Talk about cool. It was like swimming, but without all the bother of having to put on sunscreen, or getting your hair wet, or drowning.
With no effort at all, I pulled myself through the opening and up onto the mid-deck. Wow. This weightlessness stuff was incredible. The slightest push and you’d go on forever. That explains why I suddenly shot across the mid-deck at a hundred miles an hour, banged my head against the front wall,
“Oaff!”
and started to see stars that had nothing to do with being in outer space.
When my head cleared, I noticed I was floating upside down. Of course, I panicked, grabbed the nearest wall, and flipped myself around. But I didn’t know the strength o
f my own flip. Suddenly, I spun head over heels, around and around, and then around some more . . . until I crashed into the same wall again.
“Oaff!”
After a couple more constellations drifted past my vision, I carefully steadied myself. Then slowly, cautiously, I let go and just let myself drift. It was fantastic! The only problem was that all the acrobatics and weightlessness had made my stomach a little restless. It wasn’t that I was sick or anything, it’s just that the food inside my stomach kept wanting to get outside to see what was going on. I did a pretty good job of holding it down. And I figured if that was my only problem, things wouldn’t be so bad.
Then I turned and saw the two astronauts strapped into the chairs at the back wall and realized things were worse than bad.
They sat there staring at me with their mouths hanging open. The old days of spacesuits and stuff were long gone. Now they just wore what looked like crash helmets and blue overalls with a bunch of zippers and pockets.
I gave kind of a weak smile. Then a weaker wave. Then squeaked out an even weaker, “Hi.”
They just kept staring.
I cleared my throat and tried to sound calm and casual. I might have pulled it off if my voice weren’t high and quivering. I sounded like a Vienna Choir Boy sitting on a blender. “I, uh, I think I kind of got separated from my tour group.”
They looked at each other and then back at me.
“Um . . .” My stomach was getting more and more queasy. Any minute now I was afraid we’d be playing a very gross version of show and tell. “Listen, uh, you don’t happen to know where I could find, um, a bathroom, do you?”
The one to the left, a woman, pointed toward a little compartment drawer nearby. It was labeled “Space Sickness Bags.” I nodded gratefully and pushed toward it as fast as I could . . . which meant another collision with another wall.
“Oaff!” (This was getting to be a habit.)
