Author's note: Rugrats and All Grown Up are properties of Nickelodeon and Klasky-Csupo, but most of the storyline is mine. Also, data about certain topics such as retirement may not be accurate.
Rugrats Midlife: Reunion
Chapter One: Back from Service
Solitude. All I ever wanted.
Even if it was smack in the middle of Main Street, mid-noon.
Driving my blue Cresta across downtown, with Jobim's "Wave" playing, I looked around. Some things do change, some stay the same. Yes, Thomas, some things do have different contexts over time.
I later headed for a row of business establishments, noting the parking meters in the sidewalks. I then got some coins, parked sideways on the marked space, and dropped the coins in the slots. So far, so good. Better watch out for that uniformed SOB who calls himself a law enforcer charging at you, I told myself, no matter how many nickels or quarters you drop in, it seems that your car still wouldn't last long in the street.
I saw where I needed to go. "Java Lava", the coffeeshop the gang used to hang out as kids, was marked prominently at the edge of the building, but it had minimalist decor, like the branches I've gone to in Okinawa, Basra and Honolulu. Funny, never expected a decor change, but then, nobody expected it would expand beyond town, much more to the places where I had been. Just like myself.
Oddly enough, I had foregone my desire to become a filmmaker to enlist in the Marines-not bad for a hydrophobiac. Since then, I've been sent on posts in Hawaii, Iraq, aboard the world's biggest carriers, and the occasional peacekeeping mission. Gone are those hectic days, leatherneck, you're a part-timer now, I told myself as I entered.
I slowly lost my early enthusiasm, as I felt the loss of completeness in my fifteen years of service-fifteen, I tell you! A highly decorated Marine Corps captain who earned two presidential citations, who'll throw all that away for loss of morale? That, with my clumsy justifications, got my resignation letter rejected. Fortunately, my commanding officer put me in reserve duty instead.
Yep, that fountain thing's still there, I remarked, as well as the picture of all of us at opening ceremonies-the entire gang, as babies, with our parents. Wonder how we communicated all those young years, what with a third of our lifespans gone now. More memories, but I won't name them now.
I then heard a crash, looked to my left, and saw papers, a laptop, and an attache case fly up to the air. I immediately rushed to the scene, picked up the laptop before it crashed, and picked up some of the papers. The rest were taken by a freckled, bespectacled, smartly-dressed, businessman whose carrot-orange hair was neatly combed backwards. I immediately approached him.
"Here you go, sir," I said as I handed over the business stuff he scattered. "Say, I do believe I've met you before."
It took a moment for him to respond. "Yeah, thanks. And same here." The next thing I knew, I hugged him like a long-lost son.
"Charles Crandel Finster III!" I yelled. He replied with a "Thomas Louis Pickles! Good to have you back, pal! Come, have a seat. You must be hungry!" I got myself a seat as he ordered two lattes, cinnamon breadsticks and a sandwich for me.
Charles C. Finster III. Chuckie for short. Childhood playmate, confidante, alter ego, best friend. Schoolmates, townmates, that's what we were.
Chuckie added, "And all on me, waiter!" making me red. I tried to downplay all of this, but he insisted. "Come on, Tom, all for a long-lost friend." We then sat down and waited.
"How's life? Got you worn down?" he asked.
Watch how Tommy Pickles answers that question in Chapter Two: Life After All These Years! Got some surprises in store!