Author's notes: This chapter turned out much, much differently than I had originally planned. Originally, my idea for this chapter was that arriving in Scranton, the Monkees run into a very familiar face, the girl from Vegas that was in love with Micky's money. She was going to recognize Micky as Magic Fingers, and was going to tell them that she had become a Good Guy, codenamed Agent Psychedelic Llama, and she wanted their help in breaking up a Black Rose Gang gambling operation. The chapter was going to be titled "Back Home in Scranton," because Micky told her in that episode that he was from Scranton. But when I got settled down to write out the chapter, I did some research on Scranton, like I research every town I write about. I loved the history of Scranton so much, that this story just sort of happened on its own, and I like the way it turned out. So, enjoy!
Mike had been right; Peter felt much better in the morning, although he still was a bit tired and would cough hoarsely every now and again.
After a quick breakfast, they took another train from Emerson, ending up in Scranton at around lunch time.
"Gee, this is exciting," Peter said, looking around Scranton. "We're so close to Connecticut, this'll probably be our last stop before we get there!"
"I hope so," Mike said. "This trip has been one disaster after another. I can't wait to get to a real house where we can settle in for awhile."
"Hey, what's up with this city?" Micky asked as the group walked down the street. "Most of these buildings are boarded up."
"There was a huge mine disaster around eight or nine years ago," Peter said. "Put thousands of people out of work. Everything sort of went downhill from there. It was a real shame, Scranton was a pretty impressive city."
"Sounds like you know the place well," Mike noted.
Peter nodded. "We used to live here, before we moved to Connecticut when I was eight," He said. "Still came down to visit Gran sometimes for holidays."
"Hey, that's neat," Micky said. "Does she still live here? We could stop by for a visit!"
"Nah," Peter said. "She moved out after the disaster. Now she lives up in Rochester, she runs a small dress shop. The clothing business is doing good in Rochester, down here in Scranton, however... Not so much."
"Yeah, I see," Davy said, looking at all the abandoned shops and buildings.
"But you should've seen this place before," Peter said. "It was called the electric city, you know. There was a huge sign, you could see it from Gran's back porch. It would light up at night, like a beacon or something. When I was little, it always reminded me of fireworks."
"That sounds really groovy," Mike said, smiling at Peter's excitement. It felt like they were getting a glimpse into their friend's past, a picture of his life before the Monkees.
"Hey, Pete, you should take us to see your old house!" Micky suggested excitedly.
Peter smiled sadly. "It's not there anymore," he said.
"What'd'you mean, not there?" Davy asked, puzzled.
"Well," Peter explained. "After the mine disaster, the tunnels under the city were left to rot. Sometimes, there would be a cave in. Whole neighborhoods would collapse into the ground. My old neighborhood was one of them. Mom read it in the papers and wrote me about it."
"Man, Peter, I'm sorry," Mike said.
Peter smiled. "It's okay," he said. "It was just an old empty house. It's not like we still lived there or anything. Imagine what would have happened if we never moved to Connecticut!"
"Yeah, no kidding!" Micky said, looking around at the large but empty city. "Wow..."
"What?" Peter asked.
Micky chuckled. "Nothing," he said. "I was just thinking... if your family hadn't moved to Connecticut, you might not have decided to go on that crazy road trip in the first place. Than you would've never ended up in California, and we wouldn't have met you at all."
"Man, that's a really strange thought," Mike said with a slight frown. "Never meeting Peter. I can't even imagine that."
"Yeah, and then I wouldn't have ever met the two of you, either," Micky said, turning to Mike and Davy. "Peter's the one who got me into playing the drums. If we hadn't formed that act together, we never would have met you at that crazy gig!"
"That is weird," Davy said. "Never meeting you two? Never being the Monkees? That just seems almost wrong!"
"Hey, I'm hungry," Peter changed the subject, feeling a strange mixture of sadness and a little bit of fear at the idea of never having met the Monkees. "Come on, there's this diner that used to be open a few blocks from here. I want to see if it's still there!"
With that, the group walked down the street, following as Peter led the way, talking about this or that place as they walked.
Upon reaching the diner, Peter smiled, seeing that it was, in fact, still open.
"Mom used to know the owner," he said. "His name was Joe, he was a groovy guy. He would give me free cookies whenever we ate here."
He pushed the door open and went inside, the others following close behind him. The diner was a clean, nice little place, although the decor was around ten years old. The tiles were black and white squares, there were red booths on the sides and there was a red counter along one side, there was an old milkshake machine behind the counter, and a jukebox against one wall. The diner was empty except for a young man sitting on one of the stools at the counter, reading a newspaper and listening to an Elvis Presley record play from the jukebox.
"Excuse me," Peter said, walking up to the man, who was wearing a red apron and a nametag that read Bobby. "I haven't been here in awhile, do you know if Joe Bosco still owns this place?"
Bobby looked at the group and smiled. "Yeah, he does," he said. "He's in the back. I'll go get him, if you'd like."
"That'd be great, thanks," Peter said.
"Can I get you guys a soda or something, while I'm back there?" Bobby asked, standing up.
Peter looked at Mike, who nodded. "Yeah, we've got some extra money," he said. "I think that'd be fine."
"Thanks," Peter said before turning back to Bobby. "Do you still make chocolate sodas?" he asked.
Bobby smiled, but shook his head. "Sorry," he said. "We had to stop making those a few years back. But I can get you a cherry-cola."
The Monkees all looked at each other and nodded. "That'd be great," Mike said. "Four cherry-colas, please."
With that, Bobby went into the kitchen in the back of the diner.
After a few moments, he returned, carrying a tray of sodas and followed by a man who looked to be around forty-five years of age. He was bald on top, but he had a salt-and-pepper mustache and a bit of hair growing on the back of his head, and he had kind eyes.
"Hello, Joe," Peter said with a smile. "Do you remember me?"
Joe started and rubbed his eyes. After a moment, he pointed at Peter. "Dylan Bolinski?" He asked.
Peter smiled even bigger. "No, but you're close," he said.
Joe clapped his hands together. "Little Peter Tork!" He said, grinning. "I can't believe it! That is you, under all that hair, isn't it?"
Peter nodded. "It's nice to see you too, Joe," he said. "How's life treatin' ya?"
"Oh, you know, business as usual," Joe said, but Mike noticed he seemed a little tired as he said it. "But enough about me. Aren't you gonna introduce me to your friends?"
"Oh yeah," Peter said, turning to the others. "Joe, I'd like you to meet Michael Nesmith, Micky Dolenz, and Davy Jones."
"Davy Jones!?" Joe said jovially. "You mean like the guy with the locker?"
"Yeah, but he doesn't inherit the locker until he's 25," Micky quipped, reusing an old joke.
Joe laughed. "I like your friends, Peter," he said. "Say, we've been having a slow day today, and we haven't been selling these anyway," he said, pulling a tray of cookies from a counter behind him. "How would you boys like a cookie, on the house?"
"Thanks, Mr. Bosco," Mike said, reaching for a cookie.
"Ah-ah-ah!" Joe said, pulling it out of reach. "No Mr. Bosco around here. My name is Joe. Got it?"
Mike smiled. "Got it," He said.
"There we go," Joe said, holding the plate out in front of him again.
"Thanks Joe," they all said as they each grabbed a cookie.
"You know," Joe said to Mike, Davy and Micky. "Your pal Peter over here used to come in here all the time with his mother," he said. "And I always gave him a free cookie, just like I did just now."
"Yeah, he told us," Davy said with a smile.
"Well, did he ever tell you what happened one day when one of his friends saw Peter get a free cookie and he didn't?"
"No, he didn't say anything about that," Mike said, taking a sidelong glance at Peter, who was smiling sheepishly and staring at his cherry-cola.
"Well," Joe said. "His friend tried to take it from him, they always were scrappy little rugrats. So Peter shoves the whole thing in his mouth before the other boy can get at it."
"Really?" Micky asked. "Well, that was a cute little story. Anticlimactic, maybe, but-"
"Oh, it wasn't finished yet," Joe said. "Dylan began to yell that it wasn't fair, and he told Peter here that he wanted a free cookie, too, and unless Peter got him a free cookie, he wouldn't be friends with him anymore."
"A little harsh, don't you think?" Davy asked.
"What can I say, they were seven year old boys," Joe said, shrugging. "But that's what he said. Well, Peter got him his free cookie, all right. Learned a lesson, too. If you swallow a cookie whole, you're gonna have to choke it back up."
"You mean..." Mike asked, looking at Peter in surprise.
"Yep," Joe said. "Spit the whole thing all over Dylan's jacket. The kid didn't mind much, after the first bit of shock wore off. That jacket had a stain on the front for as long as he had it."
"That's... kind of gross, actually," Davy said.
Joe laughed. "Yeah," he said. "You bet it was. But, money was tight back then. You were grateful for what you had, and Dylan got his wish. He always got a free cookie himself when he came in after that, often bringing Peter in tow. Those two boys were inseparable."
"I remember," Peter said, smiling. "We used to run around this town as if it was our own backyard. He used to get me into all kinds of trouble."
"Yeah, you bet he did," Joe said. "Peter, did you ever tell your friends about the time you burned down the schoolhouse?"
"You did what!?" The other Monkees exclaimed, staring at Peter, who blushed furiously and chuckled.
"It wasn't like that," he said. "It was an accident. And Dylan did most of it anyway. I was just an innocent bystander."
"Tell us the story, man," Mike said, already feeling the corners of his mouth turn up.
"Well," Peter said. "I guess..."
"Come on, Peter, it's a good story," Joe said. "And it's one that should be told, although it can be hard to hear for the first time."
Now the others were even more curious, and they looked at Peter expectantly.
"Okay, I'll tell it," Peter said, still red in the face. "One day after school, Dylan told me he wanted to show me something in the basement. We weren't allowed to go into the basement, and I told him that, but he said he was going to go whether I followed or not, and I didn't want him to get in trouble, so I followed him down to try and keep him out of as much of it as I could."
"Didn't work too well, though," Joe interrupted. "Tell 'em what Dylan wanted to show you."
"When we got down there, he showed me to a box in the corner, and when he opened it, I saw that it was full of fireworks."
"Oh no..." Mike said, easily imagine what two seven year old boys could do with a box of fireworks.
"Dylan wanted to set them off," Peter said with a smile. "But I told him not to. He never listened to me, however, so he picked up the box with every intention of carting them off to an old field in our neighborhood. He never made it that far, however."
"Why, what happened?" Micky asked, sitting on the edge of his seat.
"Dylan spotted something else interesting," Peter said, his smile fading away. "We didn't know what they were at the time. But the repair man had just been in to see the furnace, and he left a few things behind."
"That repair man never got another job in Scranton again," Joe interrupted with a growl. "Once everything was found out, he lost all his business and had to leave town."
"What did he leave?" Mike asked, half guessing at the answer.
"He left a half-empty bottle and a half-used cigar," Peter said. "My mom always told me never to trust anything you put in your mouth unless it came from someone you knew. Dylan's mom told him the same thing, but for him, telling him not to try something was practically the same thing as waving a treat in front of his face. Of course he tried both. He tried the cigar first, he'd seen other people smoke before, so he knew how to light it. Started coughing up a storm, threw the thing down on the floor like it was a snake or something."
"As it could very well have been, to a seven year old boy!" Joe said.
"He assumed that the bottle was filled with water," Peter said. "So he gulped a good portion of it down before he realized it wasn't water. Spit it out all over the floor, and threw the bottle down too. Well, it broke, and the alcohol went everywhere. Unfortunately, it managed to pool around both the lit cigar and the box of fireworks."
"You're kidding," Micky said, his eyes wide and his mouth open.
"Nope," Peter said. "I wish I was. I noticed pretty quickly when the stuff from the bottle caught on fire. Me and Dylan made a break for it. I wasn't expecting the fireworks, however."
"Nobody was expecting the fireworks," Joe put in. "The teacher was still there, and a few of the other kids were hanging around the schoolyard. All they knew was there was a bunch of loud bangs, like gunshots, and then the building was on fire."
"Somebody had the good sense to phone the police," Peter said. "And then the fire department. By the time they showed up, the building was blazing. They tried their best to save it, but it was no use."
"Were you hurt?" Mike asked, feeling his big brother instincts kick in, despite the incident having happened years ago.
"We both got out relatively unscathed," Peter said. "A few minor burns here and there, and Dylan got a good sized bruise on his arm where he was hit with a loose rock that fell, but we were pretty lucky considering the damage to the building."
"The townspeople got together and built a new school," Joe said. "And the first lesson they taught in it was fire safety, and some of the dangers of alcohol and smoking. I remember Dylan's mom hoped that this adventure might teach Dylan to be more cautious after that, but it was barely a week and he was getting into trouble again."
"And I always went right along with him," Peter said. "Sometimes I could keep him out of bad situations, and sometimes I just got dragged along for the ride."
"Sounds like this kid was a bad influence on you," Davy said. "Your mom let you play with him without raising any fuss?"
"Honestly, she was friends with Dylan's mom," Peter said. "I think they rather hoped I would influence him, not the other way around. It sort of worked, sometimes."
"Tell them about the fight," Joe prompted.
Peter laughed. "Dylan was angry at this group of boys for some reason, I can't remember what they did," he said. "So he decided they should be punished. I tried to talk him out of it, but he was set. They needed to learn their lesson. Finally, I convinced him to at least come up with a strategy instead of attacking them head on."
"They snuck into my store when I was busy," Joe said. "Stole a bucket of ice."
"I told you, Dylan told me he paid for it," Peter said sheepishly. "Anyway, we knew they were going to be at the basketball courts, so we went up onto the roof of an old building across the street from there. When they showed up, Dylan started pelting them with ice, he was an expert with a slingshot."
Micky laughed. "You shot them with ice!?" He asked incredulously.
"No," Peter said. "Dylan did. My job was to watch the door, make sure no one came up to stop us."
"Did you?" Mike asked.
Peter nodded. "Yeah, I watched it," he said. "But then Dylan yelled that we'd been spotted and we needed to make a break for it, so we ran down through the building and tried to get away before they caught us."
"Did it work?" Davy asked.
"Not even sort of," Peter said. "We barely made it half a block. Then they caught us."
"How'd you get out of it?" Micky said breathlessly.
"We didn't," Peter said. "That was one of the times that he rubbed off on me a little. At first, I tried to just stay out of the way, Dylan had a knack for talking us out of anything. But then one of them hit him, and I got mad. So I hit him back."
The others stared at him, stunned. Peter, hit somebody? It was unheard of!
"Nobody'd ever taught Peter to punch, though," Joe said with a chuckle. "He broke his thumb doing it."
Mike smiled, now that sounded more like Peter.
"After that, it was a full on fight," Peter said. "Dylan was a little spitfire, as soon as he realized I was hurt, even though it was my own fault, he was furious. Those boys never knew what hit 'em. We were both bruised all over the place and scratched up pretty bad after that, but the other boys were even more scratched up than we were. Dylan was always a fan of biting."
"He bit them?" Davy exclaimed, partially in amazement, partially in disgust.
"Yeah, several times each," Peter said.
"The police showed up soon enough," Joe said. "Rounded up all five of the rugrats and hauled 'em off to the jailhouse, didn't lock 'em up, but kept 'em in sight and called everybody's parents."
"Mom wasn't too happy when she got the call," Peter said. "But she was more worried than mad. Took me to see a doctor about my thumb, then grounded me and wouldn't let me play with Dylan for a week. Dylan's mom gave him the same punishment."
"But Dylan didn't take that sitting down," Joe said. "He waited until Peter's mom was at work, then he went and distracted the babysitter by letting a mouse in the kitchen and ran around back to sneak into Peter's bedroom window."
"He scared me half to death before I realized who it was," Peter said. "Then I tried to tell him to go home before we both got in trouble. But he insisted that we wouldn't get caught, and told me all about his plans for revenge on the three boys we were fighting."
"He didn't give up, did he?" Micky said.
"Nope," Peter said with a laugh. "Now he had a new idea for revenge. See, I guess he managed to spill some lemon juice on one of his cuts at home, probably messing around in the refrigerator when he wasn't supposed to."
"Oh no..." Mike said. He knew where this was going.
"The rascal stole all my lemon juice later that morning," Joe said.
"That's where he got it?" Peter asked, turning to Joe in surprise. "He wouldn't tell me whose it was."
"Probably decided you'd put your foot down if you knew he'd stolen twice from the same place in one adventure," Joe said.
"Well, at any rate, he had a big bucket full of lemon juice outside my window, along with several sponges," Peter said. "He tried to convince me to come with him and throw them at the boys, but I said I wouldn't go."
"Good for you, Pete," Micky said.
"Then he left to go do it by himself, and I got worried," Peter said. "I climbed out of my window and followed him. I caught up with him before he did it, and tried to talk him out of it."
"But he didn't stop?" Mike asked.
"Actually, he considered it," Peter said. "Unfortunately, the other three boys had seen us coming, and it was too late to back down. They ran at us, and Dylan managed to slow one of them down by throwing the sponges. One of them made a grab for the bucket, and Dylan fought to get it back. That's when they tripped over one of the sponges and the whole thing went flying. All five of us got covered in lemon juice."
"Ouch," Davy said as all three boys (and Bobby) winced in sympathy.
"Yeah, it wasn't very fun," Peter said. "Finally learned his lesson then. He didn't get into any trouble for a whole month."
"You two boys were the town terrors," Joe said with a snicker. "We had our share of problems, every city does. Gangs, parties, trouble-making teenagers... but nothing compared to the two of you."
"Who would've thought that two seven year old boys could get into so much trouble?" Peter said, smiling. "Hey, whatever happened to Dylan?"
Joe sighed. "His family moved out of town a few years after yours did," He said. "Never saw him again. But let me tell you, he was just as troublesome at ten as he was at seven. Maybe even more so, since you weren't around to hold him back."
"I hope he's doing well for himself," Peter said. "I haven't thought about him in a long time."
"I'm sure he's doing fine," Mike said. "From the sounds of things, he wasn't the type to give up on what he wanted, even if he was outnumbered."
"Boy, you got that right," Joe said. "Peter, do you remember the time..."
And so they continued, Joe and Peter reminiscing and telling stories of Peter's time in Scranton, while they ate some lunch at the diner.
The group laughed hysterically as Bobby recounted one of his own childhood tales. In the hour since they had arrived, the four musicians had hit it off quite well with the young man, and so the six people in the diner were having a great time just talking.
That was when the water in their glasses started to ripple, and they heard a very slight rumbling, getting louder by the second.
Everyone froze, story time over.
"What was that?" Mike asked quietly.
Joe was pale. "It... it sounded like a cave in!" He said.
"A cave in!?" Bobby exclaimed. "But... we haven't had a cave in for almost two years!"
"Well..." Joe said. "Then I suppose it's about time we had another one!"
"What should we do!?" Mike asked, trying to keep calm as the other three looked to him for the answers.
"It doesn't sound too close to here," Joe said, moving out from behind the counter. "You boys are from California, right?" The Monkees nodded. "Okay then, here's what we're going to do: We're gonna treat it like any old earthquake. We go out to the nearest open area, which, in this case, is the middle of the street, and we hope that cave in is far enough away and our roof is still on top of the building once it's all over."
With that, he ushered the five of them out of the diner and out into the middle of the street, where they were joined by several other people who were vacating their own buildings.
The ground continued to shake for awhile, but eventually, it calmed down and all the people nearby looked at each other, each of them asking silent questions. Where had it happened this time? Had there been much damage? Had anybody been hurt? Had anybody they knew been hurt? Was it safe to go looking for them now?
Little by little, the small crowd dispersed, some of them returning to their buildings, some of them taking off to go ask around for news, some of them in search of a telephone to call their families. Joe and Bobby began walking back to the diner.
"That- that was scary," Micky said, worry over his face. "I mean, I've dealt with earthquakes, but cave ins? That's something else entirely!"
"No kidding," Peter said, looking around at the buildings. "But, I guess if they've got it handled, it's all the same to them. We get earthquakes, they get cave ins. They're all natural disasters in a way."
Mike nodded grimly, as they made their way after Joe and Bobby.
"Hey man," he said to Joe, who was picking up overturned salt and pepper shakers and wiping up spilled water. "If there's anything we can do to help, our train doesn't leave for another half-hour..."
"Thank you boys," Joe said, looking tired. "But you've already helped more than you know. Everybody keeps going away, you see. Some left before the disaster, thousands left afterwards, and now, every few weeks it seems, another shop gets boarded up, another house gets left behind. This used to be a beautiful city, big and bustling, with people everywhere you looked. Good people. Now... we're turning into a ghost town."
He sighed, and then he let out a small chuckle. "The only people left are the people like Bobby and I," he said. "The people who aren't willing to let anything stop us from restoring this place to its former glory. The odds are against us, yeah. We keep hitting more obstacles. But no matter how many times we get knocked down, we're gonna keep standing back up. We're gonna keep fighting for Scranton, until we win, and the electric city will light up once again."
The Monkees all felt moved by this. "That was beautiful," Micky squeaked.
Joe laughed. "Well," he said. "I'm glad you boys came by today, even if you aren't planning on staying. It's always nice to see a familiar face. You keep fighting, Peter. You boys just keep on fighting 'til you get what you're looking for."
"Thank you, Joe," Mike said solemnly. "And you do the same."
They all settled into silence as they moved to clean up the diner, every once in awhile someone would come in with news, it had been a small cave in, no one had been severely hurt, there was minimal damage, all those sorts of things.
As the Monkees waved goodbye to Joe and Bobby and boarded the train, they watched the town go about its business, and although they were definitely excited about their next and final stop, they couldn't help but feel sad and at the same time, encouraged by Scranton, the city that wouldn't give up.