Akting Out

I was twelve years old when I first became aware of the Ghost of the Santa Rosa Toys R’ Us. The legend had it that it had been a farmer who had refused to sell his land to Toys R’ Us, despite their persistence. He left no heir upon his death, and Toys R’ Us was able to seize the land and build another location.

Every so often, the morning crew would enter the store to find it vandalized; sometimes select items would be knocked over, more times it would be half the store. But no one had ever broken in. Whoever had been doing this was still inside when the doors were locked.

Or…they never left at all, even after death.

Legends like this spread quickly amongst imaginative kids, and soon, we wanted proof. More like, we wanted to be the ones who finally nabbed proof of this thing. So we bought disposable cameras and convinced the only friend we had to drive us down there one night. It would be a night none of us would ever forget, or speak of for years.

It was myself and three others, including the driver. Knowing nothing of Santa Rosa, we drove around aimlessly until finally happening upon the Toys R Us in question. The lot was completely empty, the store darkened inside. We were here, and most importantly, we were alone.
We pulled up in front of the store and waited. And waited some more. After two hours of nothing, it was suggested that we start taking turns sleeping and rouse the others if there was any sighting. I took first watch. Nothing happened; disappointed, I awoke my friend, who took over.

It was nearly four in the morning before we finally found what we were looking for. And we needed no
one to rouse us.

With a BAM sounded like something had been thrown against a wall, we were all forced from sleep. We rushed to the window, eager to see what we came for.
It came from the left, as if insulted by the irony; a ghostbuster proton pack was sent flying—struck—from the topmost shelf. But nothing hit it.
And then the pack after that one. And the pack after that one.
We then realized that this invisible force was making its way towards the entrance of the store.

Get the camera! Get the camera! We urge. A full-blown invisible maelstrom has commenced in the store, toys now flying indiscriminately at opposite ends of the store, as if a gang of burglars is having a field day. But we’re all acutely aware that we’re the only living people there. We know what we’re seeing, as the store is destroyed from the inside. But no one wants to say it out loud.

An action figure I don’t recognize—one with black eyes—is hurled against the glass in front of us, where it impacts flatly and falls to the floor.

We’ve seen enough. Let’s get the hell out of here…
We don’t say anything on the way home…except…we got it all on film!!
Newfound heroes we think we are, the next day turning it over t Walgreens and talking about what we’ll do with all of the millions, no, billions of dollars we’ll get when we sell these to the national whoever. Not the least of which, is drop out and nuke the school.

We’re all euphoric and giddy as if hopped up on pixie sticks when the call comes in. The film is ready.

We foot-race to Walgreens to pick up our winning lotto-ticket in photographic form…only to learn that there’s a problem. We don’t understand what until the pimple-faced clerk gives us our finished photos.

Not one photo, not a single one, developed.
We passed them around to each other, and only then did it really sink in what we had seen that night, one week ago.

We swore we’d never tell anyone, never speak of it again. We were afraid that we had angered it, and somehow it would break free of the Toys R Us and find us all in our sleep.

Blessedly, it never did.

From that day forth, although we never talked about it, we all believed in ghosts.

Thanks for reading.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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I think it was around the time Star Wars: Episode II was in theatres. Either that, or it was the first one. Hell, it may have been a re-run of the original three movies, I don’t remember. What I do remember is that my best friend and I decided to go to Toys R’ us, where we would never be welcomed again, to pick up some lightsabers.

His was red, mine was blue. We’re fawning over our new lightsabers and talking about all of the choreography we’re going to do when, of course, I pop off at the mouth. Of course I should be the one who wins, I’m better with this than you are.

Since when?

Right here, right now.
We tear open the boxes, ripping away the ties that bind the ‘blades’ to cardboard. Of course, he happens to have a small Phillips screwdriver in his pocket for just this kind of situation. He puts his batteries in first, and then I get my chance.

I’ve always loved how much heavier the toy feels once the batteries are in place. It’s as close to real as it gets, and when I hit the activation, it will be as real as it gets.
So I do; the blade extends with that snap-hiss that always gets my blood rushing, vibrating in my hand to alert me that it’s ready. Of course, he’s ahead of me. He turns, spinning, bringing the blade down on my head. I raise mine to block and push him away, hoping to knock him off balance. But we’ve done this too many times, and he knows my trick. Rather than fight the motion, he moves with it, spinning, backing away. I hear one woman scream and scurry out of our way, but the battle has already commenced.

Neither one of us were prepared for how good the other had become. I’m bigger, so I force him to retreat, but he knows the parking lot, and worse, he has eyes in the back of his head; he knows where the store is, and as he effortlessly deflects my attacks, I push him back into the store. Right back through the exit we left through moments ago. He nearly stumbles over some poor kid, who exclaims “COOL!” as we pass by.

Somehow, he gets the drop on me, catching me by my wrist as I went for his midsection. He pulls me forward, tripping me, sending me to the rubber-matted floor in the space between doors. I sprint to my feet and charge back into the store, making out all of the “what-the’s” that come our way. I turn, face him, and brace myself for the attack I know is coming. It’s for my head again, I block, push away, he rolls with it, the battle continues.

I’m the one on the defensive now, and behind him, a throng of excited children, bewildered parents, and angry employees begin to follow us as we move through the store. Up the toy-figure aisle. I’m pretty sure they were able to re-assemble a G.I. Joe that fell victim to a wayward swing.

I remember an exchange between two employees as the crowd tailed us throughout the store; “Should we break them up?”
“Nah, nah! Let ‘em fight!”

The kids are wowed by some of the moves we pull off; a slash for my boy’s head is avoid when he deftly tumbles under it, an errant swing on his behalf allows me to knock the blade from his hand, only to have him push me away just long enough to reclaim it.

Finally, we make our way to the bicycle aisle, where the battle came to a conclusion. Both of us working our asses off, trying to land that one decisive blow, but he’s got the edge; I’m wearing down, and he just got his second wind.

Until he makes a mistake.
Pinned against the bike rack, exhausted, I’m ready to concede, until he tries that same damn downward swing he’s done as long as I’ve known him. I step aside, and while I still have no idea how that back came loose from the rack, I’ll take what can get. The bike catches him square in the chest, allowing me to twist the blade from his hand and hold both of them at his neck. Anything else?

Then everyone started clapping.
Of course, then the employees have to do their job. Crowd disperses. Yes, we paid for the lightsabers. And the batteries. And we’ll pay for the bike, too. Oh, it’s not ruined? Great! Yes, we’ll leave. No, we’ll never come back. Ever. Promise. Yes, we understand that the police will be notified if we look like we’re about to turn into the parking lot.

We left. We didn’t go back, ever.

But we had a holy blast, and we made a lot of kids laugh, and in the end…can’t say I regret that.

Thanks for reading.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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I was originally going to write about unrequited love. After all, that’s traditionally what “the one that got away” means, right?

Someone you once loved, but couldn’t have…

That subject got me in hot water with my girlfriend, so I thought I’d come at this from another angle. Apparently, “the one that got away” can also mean someone you would be with, if you could.

I didn’t know that. Honest.

So, another angle…

In another state, another life, a friend and I are hyped after seeing Star Wars: Episode II. So psyched are we that we immediately head to the nearest Toys’ R Us and purchase lightsabers that our favorite characters in the film use. Naturally, being the epitome of immaturity, we begin talking smack to each other en route to his car. Finally, I lay down the penultimate challenge; “You can’t beat me.”

Right then, right there.

It becomes a race as we furiously discard the packaging, remove the casing, and insert the batteries (doesn’t everyone carry a screwdriver in their pocket just to insert batteries into their lightsaber?). With quick whipping motions, and the push of a button, we’re a long, long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away.

I’ve been trained in how to use a sword; it’s usually given me an advantage when I have a sparring partner. Not today; part of the reason why we’re friends is because neither of us ever give up.

It is an epic match of give and take, one of the most thrilling lightsaber duel I’ve ever had (and I’ve had a lot). We back each other up until we’re back in the Toys R’ Us, completely oblivious to the summer shoppers, who I’m sure were scrambling out of our way.

We stab, deflect, and parry our way in a frenzied pace throughout half the store, garnering an audience. Moments are intense; I knock the blade away from him, he kicks me in the chest, buying himself enough time to recover. I use martial arts, throwing kicks to get him off balance and he’s so much more agile than me I might as well be fighting Spider-Man.

Not only could either of us gain an advantage, neither of us could land a fatal blow.

Apparently, we garnered a crowd of excited children, bewildered parents, and employees had hadn’t the slightest idea of what to do. Someone whispered; “Someone should call security!” to which someone immediately countered; “No! Let ‘em fight!”

It came to a head in the bike aisle. We were so engrossed in the conflict, and so frustrated with each other…we had taken our game to new heights for this. I lunged at him, he sidestepped and went for a killing blow aimed at my head. I ducked, the lightsaber caught a pink bike on the row above us, and somehow it came loose, landing neatly, without much fanfare, right in between us.

Then we became aware of the outside world. Awkward.

We were permitted to leave-and never allowed to return.

Our friendship endured beyond that, although we both promised one day we would settle things, once and for all. People like us never leave a fight unfinished.

But time moved us in different directions. I’m here, he wound up moving down South; he’s married with a family now.

If I have to pick one that got away, it would be him. It’s the only fight I have ever left unfinished.

I would also like to take this moment and say I am extremely grateful that I’m even able to attract a member of the opposite sex.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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