Volume I, Issue v

January 1999

What's Cookin' on the Backburner: Episode 4 by Judy Ellison

Episode 4: "Something Hugeous This Way Comes..."

It stood encased in its shiny black frame, looming large before them like the monolith of Arthur C. Clark's imagination. And like those primordial homosapiens in 2001: A Space Odyssey, the Backburner crowd assembled before it: inquisitive, yet maintaining a respectful distance, basking in the raw power of its potential energy.

Edward looked on approvingly as Lila wheeled herself apart from the group. Anticipating the sudden illuminative blast produced by the enormous screen's impending leap to life, she donned a pair of sunglasses.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," she said, expertly aiming the remote control at the giant expanse of ebony pixels, "from now on, every damn thing around here is going to be bigger!"

And, for the first time, the Backburner clientele felt lucky to be living in a constant state of arrested character development. For it was Superbowl Sunday, and they were about to watch America's biggest game on the biggest big-screen television any of them had ever seen.

The crowd let out a collective gasp, momentarily shielding their eyes from the brightness as the pre-game show erupted before them in a fantastic, larger-than-life display.

"Oh, this is wonderful!" cried V.

"It's like being in the front row, on the fifty-yard line!" exclaimed Garcia.

"Hell no! It's like being on the field!" countered Taggert. "We'll be able to see the quarter toss better than the referee!"

A brief discussion ensued, as they rhapsodized over the reveal of other tiny details, invisible to those viewing on screens of lesser dimensions: The brand names of the players' shoes. The weave of the referees' flags. The straightness of the football's stitches. The fine spray of perspiration as the players' bodies contact one another. And the ever-so-faint dental indentations at the end of John Madden's pencil, indicating the persistence of a habit he'd failed to break since early childhood. All of the heretofore trivial minutiae soon to be made huge and important before their very eyes.

But amidst all of the banter about small things being made large, there came a rather large thing designed to do quite the opposite.

It happened suddenly, of course, as events of this magnitude are likely to. First, there was the sound: it burst upon their ears the moment the bullets left their respective rifles. Second, there was the rain of shattered glass as the bullets pierced the windows. Time, for the Backburner denizens, slowed to a crawl as their senses kicked into high gear. And for the next few seconds, they relied purely on their highly-developed survival instincts: diving to the floor, toppling tables to use as makeshift shields, and throwing themselves in front of various and sundry loved ones.

When the shooting stopped, Garcia and Taggert drew their weapons and ran out the front door, while Officer Johnson checked out the back entry.

Monica was the first to speak: "Is anyone hurt?"

After some rustling about, the group concluded that they were, thankfully, all unharmed. Meanwhile, Marcus Taggert and Rick Johnson reentered the building, stating that the perpetrators were long gone, leaving Garcia to look for clues in the parking lot.

"What happened out there?" asked Tammy.

"It looked like a typical drive-by to me," said Rick.

"I'm shocked that any Port Charles mobster could find the Backburner, let alone go to the trouble of executing a hit here..." muttered V.

"Why on earth would mobsters shoot at the Backburner?" Audrey mused, "Is anyone here aligned with the underworld?"

"Um...no...of course not!" replied an uncomfortable-looking Justus.

Taggert snorted: "Like who? The cops? We got practically the entire precinct here already..."

Mike Corbin laughed: "So much for that 'ounce of prevention'..."

Taggert was formulating his reply, when he was interrupted by a series of expletives coming from the parking lot. He turned and saw Garcia at the door, holding the remains of what looked like a shattered serving plate.

"What the hell is that?" Taggert asked.

"It's the satellite dish," Garcia moaned. "Damn! How come the wrong thing always gets hit?"

Sure enough...the once-huge image on the Backburner's new television screen was now obliterated by video snow.

"You realize what this all has been, don't you?" observed Ted Murty, "We've just had our first 'huge moment' at the Backburner!"

Reginald stared longingly at the now-useless television. "Well, as huge moments go, this sucks..."

"Yeah!" agreed Dara, "Where's all of the emergency lights and noise? Where's all the excitement?"

"We already have the police here...and there wasn't any need a need for an ambulance." observed Alan.

Tony snapped his fingers. "That's it! We should've had someone killed or injured..."

"Are you volunteering?"

"Of course not!" he replied. "But you have to admit, this whole thing would've been a lot more dramatic if there were one or more wounded to tend to."

"Or a fire to rescue someone from..." said Tammy.

"Or some kind of structural collapse..." added Ned.

"Or an exploding car..." offered Taggert.

Garcia shot Taggert an icy stare. "I've had about enough of those..."

("So has the audience..." murmured the chorus of offstage observers.)

"I think you're missing the point here," said Mr. Murty, "A huge event in and of itself is not what's important...it's all of the poignant, smaller moments it precipitates: enemies uniting against a common foe, unlikely heroes displaying heretofore unseen fortitude and courage, strangers forming a community...banding together to mourn the dead or pray for the injured, estranged lovers becoming reentwined under extraordinary circumstances..."

"Maybe there's a couple trapped in the catacombs below us, having survival sex as we speak," offered Rick.

"How the hell are we supposed to know that?" asked Edward

"Besides, it doesn't involve any of us," added Monica. "You're right Reginald: as huge moments go, this one really sucks."

Lila looked out of the shattered window. "It's starting to snow. Perhaps we'll be fortunate enough to have an enormous blizzard..."

"One can only hope," sighed V.

Mike raised his hand: "I vote we move this party over to the Recovery Room. Right now, it's about as close to the Backburner as we can get."

Ned drew his cellphone out of his pocket, "And in the meantime, I'll call our contractor and have him and his crew patch things up here."

And so the Backburner folk set to work boarding up the windows and doors, and they left the beleaguered building to await its new facelift. As he was about to turn the corner, Tony Jones sighed and cast a jealous eye back toward the bar.

"It's high time something got reconstructed around here," he said.

The end...