Al McGee took a deep breath as he walked to John Stewart's door. He scratched his silver mane and thought about the man behind the door. He regarded Stewart much like a surrogate son. He smiled beneath his wiry mustache as memories of the gawky, troubled teen flooded his mind.

How many times did he go down to the principal's office to advocate on his student's behalf? It seemed that the young man and Principal Jones were on a first name basis since Stewart spent a large portion of his day with her. Although Jones suffered no disruption to her well ordered campus, she would patiently listen to McGee extol the renegade youth's more positive side. She knew the terrible tragedy that had befallen the man-child, but also the heroic qualities just waiting to be honed. Sighing, she would turn Stewart into McGee's custody with a stern warning that continued misbehavior would result in severe disciplinary action.

His reverie finished, the older man's weathered black hand rapped on the door. No answer. McGee knew the other side of John Stewart's life. He paused to consider whether he should try again. Perhaps it was a foolish notion to ask a superhero to condescend to such mundane matters. However, McGee comforted himself in the fact that he knew John Stewart the man and not just John Stewart the Green Lantern. He knocked again. No answer. He knocked with more force. His persistence proved fruitful.

A weary bass voice called out, "Who is it?"

"John, it's me. McGee. Al McGee."

"Mr. McGee? Hold on for a sec."

The second turned into a full minute before the door creaked open. A tired but friendly smile greeted the old man.

"Mr. McGee. I'm surprised. Come on in and forgive the mess."

"No problem. Thanks for letting me in."

The former teacher gasped a little as he viewed the mess in John Stewart's apartment. McGee remembered that Stewart always prided himself on his personal hygiene and attention to neatness and detail. What could have happened to cause this drastic change?

"What brings you to this side of the street, Mr. McGee?"

"I saw you on the news, John. Looks like you and your friends had a tough time with those aliens. I just wanted to check and see if everything's okay."

"It was nothing," Stewart shrugged. "We fought and we won. Everybody's happy."

"Yeah, I read where the United Nations will be awarding the Justice League a special honor."

"Oh... great." Stewart managed a wan smile.

"John, are you sure you're okay? I don't mean to intrude, but I think I know you pretty well. Something's eating at you."

"It's just a little fatigue from all the fighting."

"You sure? Remember, John, I'm more than just your old high school history teacher. I'm also your friend."

"I know. I know, Mr. McGee." He sighed. "Just tired that's all."

"John, can I sit down for a second?"

Stewart slapped his head. "Uh, I'm sorry Mr. McGee! Let me clear this junk off the couch."

He tossed the old pizza boxes and empty microwave pop corn bags to kitchen. He then cleared the discarded Bob and Terry's cartons from the table. The buttermilk cartons received better treatment as they were put back in the refrigerator.

McGee's wiry mustache stretched into a thin smile across his lips. "Still drinking buttermilk after all these years?"

"Huh? Uh, yeah, ha ha. Some habits are more difficult to break than others."

"Uh huh. I can still recall how I would have to take you to the store for some after your heart to heart chats with Mrs. Jones."

"Whew! Now that was some tough lady. She got me ready for the Marines. After 3 years with her, boot camp was like a day at the park. How is the old battle ax?

McGee rolled with laughter. "Still as cantankerous as ever even at 80!! She still remembers you quite well."

Stewart imitated Mrs Jones' high, stern voice, "'McGee, you tell that Stewart boy to stay out of trouble. His momma would just have a fit if she saw the trouble John gets into. He's so smart but so undisciplined!'"

"Well, I had the JOYOUS task of making sure you weren't going to be suspended. I think I needed the buttermilk even more than you."

"Momma was right though. The buttermilk helped."

"Does it still help, John?"

Stewart's eyes narrowed. He walked over to the lampstand and picked up the book. He fingered the cover as he caressed its well worn smoothness. Unconsciously, he opened the book and felt for the special object within. He breathed in deeply as he felt the cool surface of his most beloved possession. At the same time, he also felt the that same sensation of the other object within. He frowned and closed the book.

"You miss her don't you?"

"I miss her more everyday."

"I'm not sure we're talking about the same person, John."

"What do you mean?"

"On the news, I noticed that one of your teammates was missing. I also saw that same look of loss you had when your mother..."

"Don't believe everything you see on television."

"John, I regard you like my own son. I can tell when you're hurting. You can't hide it from me. It's in your demeanor. Your apartment is a reflection of the mess you got going on inside you."

"I told you. I'm just tired."

"John, I won't argue with you. But I do have one request: I would like you to meet me tomorrow night over on Lennox Avenue."

"Lennox Avenue? Why? What's happening?"

"Well, during the invasion, our building was destroyed..."

"No! Not the ch..."

"I'm afraid so, son."

The Green Lantern's eyes glared out the window. Lennox Avenue held such special memories. His mind's eye saw the small red brick building with the bright white doors and the high steeple. The bright colored hats and dark suits complemented the smiles and hugs that flowed naturally from the people wearing them.

"That place was as much home for me as Uncle James' house."

"I know how busy you are, but I thought you would like to know."

"Anybody hurt?"

"Thank the Lord no. We're going to meet at 7:00. Everyone will be glad to see you."

Stewart turned to look at the wizened face of his former teacher. It had been a couple of years since he visited that place. He glanced back at the book. Momma made sure he brought it with him when they went to their "second home." Perhaps it was time for him to finally deal with all that had transpired, and perhaps the site on Lennox Avenue would be the place to do it.

"Okay, Mr. McGee. I'll see you there."