Bridges. Part One.

Ages ago, Kelly Sue DeConnick asked me to write something for a 'zine she was doing. Each publication had a theme and the one she asked me to contribute to was "Bridges". Naturally, this could be anything related to bridges - a crossing, a change, a transition, building them, burning them, whatev'. I like to think I took the road less traveled and wrote mine about a certain child star - one Todd Bridges. I discovered my story while cleaning yesterday and thought it might be fun to share it. It's way too long for one post so I'll break it up over the week. And now, without further ado...


"Look upon my works, ye mighty, and tremble."
- Ozymandias by Percy Bysshe Shelley

"Whatchootalkin'bout, Willis?"
- Arnold Drummond, "Diff'rent Strokes"

It's been nearly two years since I limbered up my hamstrings with the aid of a nearby oak tree and noticed a bit of a crowd had amassed near the pledge table. The fact that this was the yearly run-a-thon for the A Nose Ahead organization, of which there are 126 members nationwide, led me to believe this anomaly had nothing to do with folks donating funds to aid those with rhinoplasty aspirations, but rather with the man about which the throng had gathered. I tugged up my tube socks and crossed the bike path to investigate thoroughly.

The cigarette scarred card table had been completely surrounded thus blocking the "Everyone Deserves A Chance To Change" sign I had stayed up until the end of "Deep Space Nine" to finish. I regrettably became a bit miffed and started aggressively shifting autograph-seeking standersby out of the way of the construction paper masterpiece when my left palm came into direct contact with the right cheekbone of one of America's fallen sweethearts. "Hey there!", he shouted and backed into the card table spilling pledge sheets and golf pencils that had been liberated from the iron fist of the fascists at Tower Tee Mini Gold Course/Batting Cage Emporium. I turned with annoyance from the sight of the miniature bits of #2 lead scattered all over the grass to see just who dared to destroy the biggest rhinoplasty fundraiser of the year and there he was in all his reformed crack addict glory, glistening with a light layer of perspiration and swaddled in nylon jogging suit. Our eyes met and in that defining moment, all the anger and tension was replaced with the potent mix of love and sympathy that had turned me into the proud winner of the Underdog Award for Most Prolific Fundraiser of 1989. He immediately placed his hand in the path of my on-coming right hook and we stood there, locked in an embrace of peace, for what seemed like 12.3 seconds when he broke the silence. "You're raising money for nose jobs?", he asked. It was then that I realized that he and I had a deeper connection than an other. We were both lost in a world that could make no place for us. A world that only thought the wealthy and media-savvy deserved its attention. A world where a washed-up child star and an overzealous philanthropist for obscure causes could find love. The onlookers, uninterested in things less than sensationalistic continued to wend their way along the bike bath leaving us virtually alone with the run-a-thon gone awry.