I’m in my garage, digging through a box of stuff, trying to find my Awful Green Things From Outer Space game.
I’m on the cold concrete floor, looking through the open box. I move aside some books and find my game. As I lift it out of the box, it reveals this Cadet Wesley Crusher action figure, just sitting there in the bottom of the box.
I look at him, wondering whether I should just look away and pretend that I didn’t see him, or take him out and say hello.
After an awkward silence, I pick him up and say, “Hey, how you doin’?”
He just stares back at me, silent and stoic from within his plastic cell.
I consider him for a moment and tell him, “you know, you look sort of cool in this uniform. You should have stuck around a bit longer, so you could have worn it more.”
He gives no response, and I pause a moment to admire his perfect hair. I run my hand through my own unwashed hair, and my fingers get thick with yesterday’s water wax. I wonder if his perfect hair still smells like Sebastian Shaper hairspray.
His eyes burn into mine, his blank stare mocking me, and I can’t take it any longer.
I put him back into the box, and as I’m about to put an unopened box of 1990 Topps NHL trading cards on him he says, “Wait!”
I lift up the box of cards, and he’s looking up at me, his smug confidence replaced with sadness.
“Hey, I don’t want to stay in this box any more. You gotta let me out.” His green eyes implore me to release him.
“Sorry, Wesley, but if I take you off of that card, you’re worthless.”
“Well, at least let me come sit on a shelf in your house! This box is cold and dark, and since you took out the Ren and Stimpy plush toys in December, there isn’t even anyone to talk to!”
I think of the years he and I spent together. I think back to our falling out, and I can’t believe that someone I was so close to has become such a stranger, and I know what I must do.
“You’re right, Wesley. You can’t stay in this box any longer. It’s just not right. I’m going to find you a new home. Someplace where you will have lots of other action figures to talk to, and maybe even a collectible plate or two.”
“You mean…you’re going to put me on eBay?”
“Yep.”
“No! You suck, Wheaton!”
“Shut up, Wesley.”