Willy didn't know—and Charlie was not going to tell him—that ever since Charlie had learned what science knew about their orbits, Charlie, whenever he went to find him, thought of Willy Wonka—as positively charged a person as he was—as an electron. Electrons, science tells us, have patterns to their orbits, and while one can never know precisely where in that orbit an electron might be at any given moment, one can know approximately where it might be, so Charlie, when he couldn't find Willy in any of Willy's usual haunts—after checking the customary orbit more than once—became concerned, and began a search.
The search ended in the Television Chocolate Room, with Charlie finding a despondent Willy melting into the chair before the television set, his chin on his chest, his wrists limp, his forearms placed as if they were the only things keeping him afloat. Before him, Willy was staring at bug-races, which is to say, the television showed only static. His hat was no where to be seen, his walking-stick lay on the floor, but most alarming of all, his hair was the merest hint disheveled: Charlie knew things were serious.
"What's wrong, Mr. Wonka?" Charlie ventured, sliding on cat-feet into the room.
"Wrong? Everything's wrong! Can't you see that?"
Willy hadn't moved his head at all, but his right hand waved weakly towards the screen, the only sign, other than his answer, that he was alive.
"Is it the static?" Charlie hated asking questions like this, but Willy seemed unlikely to enlighten him without prodding.
"No, it's not the static," snapped Willy, finding the energy to hunch forwards in the chair. "You know there's never anything good on television, and the one day there will be anything good on television is the day I have a hundred experiments, that won't wait, and need seeing to immediately, and that would be today of all days!"
"What will be on?" Charlie had places to go and things to do, but this was important.
"You've forgotten? Will you forget me so quickly? Today is the second anniversary of Gene Wilder's passing, and today is the Gene Wilder movie marathon. They are going to show all of his most famous films. You know I love "Young Frankenstein".
"Steen," said Charlie, with a laugh.
"Steen, Igor, Egor, I'll miss it! It's awful!"
Speaking of death, Willy was coming to life. He was sitting up in the chair, his animated self. Charlie smiled again. The solution was easy.
"I'll see that they're recorded, Willy. See to your experiments, and later, you can watch Mr. Wilder to your heart's content, as far into the night as you'd like."
Willy having given him the okay, Charlie delegated the recording task to the Oompa-Loompas. There'd been a strange exchange of glances Charlie haven't fathomed at the time, but they'd nodded their heads, and Charlie had gone on his merry way.
The experiments had gone well, and at the end of the day a chuffed Willy Wonka had invited the Bucket family to join him in the Television Chocolate Room for the screening. As rare as the invitation was, they all attended, joining the invited Oompa-Loompas. Everyone settled, the lights dimmed, and the music swelled: 'As Time Goes By', the Warner Bros. Trademark; the logo faded, and shiny, brown melting chocolate took its place. Eshle dived for the remote control. Willy, raising his arm high, snatched it away.
"What's this? This is not the silhouette of a lonely castle on a craggy hill!"
'This' was something the Oompa-Loompas had stumbled across years ago, but had never let Willy see. It had been easy. Willy never watched television. A title filled the screen: "Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory".
Willy jumped to his feet, so compactly he was standing on the chair. "What IS this?"
Letters appeared over the chocolate: Starring Gene Wilder. The remote fell from Willy's hand. Eshle grabbed it, hitting the pause button. It was no use turning it off. The cat was out of the bag; the beans were spilled; the jig was up … the clichés were running out like the cacoa beans from the coarsely woven sack now frozen on the screen.
"It's the movie Gene Wilder made about you."
"About me?" The high squeak of Willy's voice couldn't have been more incredulous. "He … wanted … to be … me?"
No one spoke. This was new to the Buckets as well. The Oompa-Loompa responsible for the recording sidled out of the room. Willy's mind wandered to the parts it wandered to when it wandered, and not being able to follow, the others waited. In not too long, Willy returned. Taking his bearings, he jumped from the cushion to the floor, and after brushing off the cushion, retook his seat.
"How'd he do?"
"See for yourself."
"Give me the remote."
Eshle handed it over, and Willy hit play. The credits rolled, and candy was made. "So far, so good," murmured Willy. The Buckets' eyes were glued to the screen.
"Someone in this is a Dodo," said Grandpa George. "It says so right there."
"Shush," admonished Mr. Bucket. "It's about to start."
Greetings! This is not complete, but I wanted to get something posted on the day. Stay tuned for more tomorrow, or soon thereafter. I do not own either of anything of the Chocolate Factories ... wait; strike that, reverse it ... and there is no copyright infringement intended.