A long time ago, a comic strip ended: Bloom County. A lot of us were unhappy, but I also thought that there could have been a better ending… so I wrote one.
Star Date 93350.09 Captain’s Log of the Starchair Enterpoop, Helmsman and now commanding officer Binkley recording.
It seems that our long mission has come to an end. Apparently, we have been successful.
Early this morning, I was awakened by a thundering in the meadow. At first, I thought it was a passing jumbo jet, but the sound grew, and grew, and then stopped. Fearfully, I crept up to the window and peered out. Standing there in the meadow was a spaceship, like nothing I’d seen outside a movie. It was a sort of squared-off cigar, standing on its tail. A figure
in a spacesuit came out of it, and headed towards my house. Following standard emergency procedures, I creied out, “red alert!”, leapt back into bed, pulled the covers over my head, and the pillow over that.
A few minutes later, nothing had happened, so I stuck an ear out from under the covers. I heard some voices, so I slunk out of bed, and crawled to the door. With my ear to it, I heard a woman’s voice, saying, “…told you I’d be back for you.” John’s voice came in reply,
“I knew you would. Care for a last ride on the bridge of the Enterpoop?” “Sure.”, the woman replied. A few seconds later, I heard the sound of the starchair going down the ramp.
I went back to the window, and looked out. Coming out of the house was John, and on his lap was the cute, dark-haired chick who used to steal him away from our maneuvers on the Starchair, and take him off to the
meadow for kissing. She was wearing the spacesuit, and had the helmet in her lap.
They got to the spaceship, and she got off John’s lap, and began helping him into the ship. I ran out of my room, down the stairs, and out to the meadow. The two of them, nearly in the ship, looked down at me.
John said, So long, Binkley. I hereby give you command of the Enterpoop. Take good care of it for me.”
The woman added, “John won’t be needing it anymore. In space, no one needs to be wheeled. Bye, Binkley. Better move it away, we’ll be taking off in a few minutes.”
They went up into the ship, and the hatch began to close. I took hold of the chair, and took it back to the porch, then stood there watching the ship.
A minute or two later, I realized that Opus, and Milo, and the others were around me, all staring out at the meadow, and the ship in it.
A roar burst from the ship, and an almost invisible flame came out of the engines. It rose from teh meadow, not looking real. I almost looked for
the wires that should have been holding it. Then, as though it had gathered its strength, it leapt off into the sky, leaving behind only a charred path in the meadow, and the echoing thunder of its departure.
We all looked at each other. For some reason, the weather seemed to have gotten a bit misty. Only Opus said anything: “I always cry at happy endings”, then he walked back into the house. The rest of us stood there.
Steve went in, and came out with a bottle he began drinking from.
“Goddamit, if we’d re-elected George, that coulda been me”, he muttered.
Just then, a much more mundane sound broke the silence: a loud motercycle coming up the road. The rider pulled to a stop in front of the house.
“See I missed them.”, she said, pulling of her blinking helmet. I recognized her. It was Tess, the punk rock star. With the elctronics she was wearing,it looked like she’d gone cyberpunk. She walked up the steps
to the porch. Steve stepped forward, and cried, “Tess, baby, I *knew* you cared…*WHOOOOF*!”. She had shut him up with a fast punch to the stomach,
and he had doubled over, spraying booze all over his feet.
Tess called out, “You ready?” Out came Opus, in full cyberpunk, with his small bag packed, and his tuba electrified and blinking.
“You bet I am!”
“Well then, come on you hot hunk of penguin! With you and that punk tuba, we’ll be back on top of the charts in a week. And the press’ll *love* hearing about our living in sin”, she laughed. They went down the steps, and Opus mounted the motorcycle behind her. She pulled out a fat case from her pocket, opened it, and offered him a pickled herring, and popped one
in her own mouth.
“See ya later, dudes!”, Opus cried, and they rode off with a thunder of the engine.
I parked the Starchair Enterpoop inside, near the stairs, went back up to my room, and sat for a while. Then I got up, and walked to my closet. Opening it, I called in, “Hey, guys, you can all come out now.”
One by one, my old anxieties came out and said goodbye. A few balked, asking me where they expected them to go. “We don’t want to be homeless”, they told me. Then one, an economist, stuck his head back in my room, and said, “Hey, I found this great closet down the hall!”. Those that hadn’t wanted to leave trooped out my door, and down the hall, following the economist.
A little later, I heard Steve, still muttering, smoking a cigarette, and taking an occasional drink (loudly), come up the stairs, and a few minutes later, scream, “Hey, who are you? What are you doing in the closet I keep
my dirty clothes in?” After a pause, there was a scream. “No! Not…a bar commission panel! No! NO! ARGHGHGHGHGHHH!!!!”
I figured those anxieties had found a good home.
Then I decided it was time to record the day’s events in the log, which I am doing now, for posterity. I expect to be very busy, this next year, trying to finish high school early, and go off to college. I used to meet some nice folks from another comic strip, and I may go where they went. With luck, John and his friends will want me, too.
Maybe, sometimes, there are answers to dreams, and happy endings.
Commander Binkley, out.
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written 15 Dec 1993, mark, Silverdragon, shamelessly violating trademarked characters.
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