“You know what I think? I think wasted potential is a lot scarier than feeling overwhelmed. There is no monster greater than regret.” -Jenna Woginrich

☄️ 🌌 🚀 💫

DID YOU KNOW? It's been said that at the edge of every black hole there is an event horizon, where once you cross it, there is no turning back. It is commonly referred to as “the point of no return.”

Small towns have a lot in common with black holes.

For instance, at the edge of every small town there rests an event horizon.

And every single person in every small town has, at one point or another, considered crossing it.

Most never do. It's a brave thing to try and attempt, ain't it, compadre? And most folks simply ain't got the gumption.

And the ones that do? Well, it's usually because their personality, or their talent, is just too big, too great, to be contained by such a place.

Did you know that Big John Pepper went to high school?

He was there for all of twelve days before he hopped on the back of a giraffe and rode off into the sunset.

Some say it was the greatest 12-day high school career of all time.

He set a shot putt record.

But a young man by the name of Rusty also attended that very school.

And his light was so great that no one even noticed Big John Pepper attended. Or left.

He was devilishly handsome, yet angelic towards his peers. He had the coolest car. He was the best athlete. He was the kind of kid a whole town looks at and says, “maybe he's the one who will get out.”

He was, as they say, “on the verge.”

And that's a very dangerous thing to be.

Because that means you're right at the boundary. Right at the edge of that event horizon.

Where failure is not an option.

Yet it remains a possibility.

Where potential is infinite.

Yet opportunities aren't.

The thing about small towns is they don't change too much. After all, time works different in a black hole, don't it?

When Rusty left that little town, he had the nicest car. The prettiest girlfriend. Elite athleticism. Unlimited potential.

When he came back, his car was rusted. He had kids and a mortgage. A limp. And his fingers were stuck like this: 🤏.

He just kept saying, “I was this close.”

But the town was exactly the same as he'd left it. The same people. The same expectations. The way time stagnated there reminded him of how he'd wasted his.

Shortly after he'd returned, Rusty heard about the weird boy who went to his school for 12 days. The one who disappeared as mysteriously as he'd arrived, who already had a mustache, and wore a park ranger outfit to school.

He heard he went on to accomplish his dreams.

“I was this close 🤏,” he replied.

But it ate away at him. The way things shake out sure has a way of doing that to folks, don't it? Crawls under the skin, colonizes the heart, brings a pox to the psyche.

And for Rusty, as he sat alone at a table in the Small Town Diner his mama used to take him to, waiting for one last opportunity to arrive, that was especially true.

After all, it's supposed to be a point of no return.

☄️ 🌌 🚀 💫

Randi Dick had enjoyed Big John Pepper's time staying on the roof of the family RV. She figured it must be like what having a dog is like, except this dog had a job and spoke English.

She'd never had a dog.

And no, the Lasagna Boys did not count. It was a Golden Retriever she'd always dreamed of, not a couple of mangy, little chihuahuas that had the disposition of cats yet couldn't bathe themselves.

But as far as Golden Retrievers went, Big John Pepper was close enough.

Despite their short time together, Randi and Big John Pepper had created a morning routine together. She would get up while Fred was having some French pressed coffee in his Cecilworth Muggington, pretending to read the paper. Big John Pepper would hear her wake up and go hide. He was very talented at hiding. Eventually, she would find his tennis ball and throw it. Big John, for whatever reason, would always reveal where he was hiding so that he could bring the ball back to her. Then, they would have breakfast, and listen to 90s alternative together until brunch, where they would enjoy mimosas, before going their separate ways for the afternoon.

This morning started no different.

“Fred,” Randi said, stepping into the kitchen area of the RV in some Saved By the Bell pajamas. “Did you see where Big John Pepper went?”

“What do I look like?” Fred asked while sipping his Cecilworth muggington and pretending to read the paper. “If I had to guess, he's being emotional about some shid that is too complex for me to dive into somewheres. Bein’ SAWFT out in the woods over yunder. But I ain't got nary a clue. Now can I read the news in peace, baby? Please. I just want to read the news.”

Randi narrowed her eyes. “What's the news say today, Fred?”

Fred's eyes widened. He studied the paper intensely. “Looks like there's gonna be some… some kind of like… space… spider… invasion.”

“Oh wow, really, when?”

“...Tuuuues…day.”

When Randi stepped outside of the RV and took a deep hit of that pure oxygen bong called the air, she began her usual routine.

“Big John Pepperrrrr… where arrrreeee yeeeewww…??”

Big John Pepper didn't answer. He wasn't going to answer. But Fred really pissed her off with his little attitude. And suddenly she didn't feel much like playing.

She grabbed Big John's tennis ball and threw it.

Suddenly, Big John Pepper ran from a clearing, leapt in the air, caught the ball in his mouth, ran around in circles with his arms out and the ball in his mouth, and then brought her the ball.

“Give me the ball,” Randi said.

“Grrrrrrrr…”

“Pepperrrr… ball. Now. Give it to me.”

Big John Pepper dropped the ball into her hand.

Then he said, “I'm experiencing anxiety. So I'm punching down a tree.”

“That's nice,” Randi said, in a dismissive but motherly way. “Are you hungry?”

“No,” Big John Replied. “I'm just going to keep punching that tree over there until it falls over. And then, if I don't feel any better, I'm going to punch that tree right there until it falls over. I figure, eventually I either stop feeling anxious, or I have enough wood to build a house right next door to you guys. Then I can build a house. And that would probably cure my anxiety. If not, well, maybe I could build a whole neighborhood, or—”

Randi interjected, “What's got you so anxious, Big John Pepper?”

“Check out this tree I've been punching on,” Big John Pepper smiled, happy to ignore the question, and took Randi by the hand about twenty five yards away from the RV.

A large oak tree sits by its lonesome, looking like a beaver has done some work to it.

“I figure if I punch it about a thousand more times, I'll get to yell, ‘Timberrrrr!’ Which, as you know, is one of the manliest things you could ever yell—”

“Big John Pepper,” Randi interjected again. This time, sounding like his mom. He didn't understand how she did that. But it was magical. “What has got you so anxious? Is it your match with Hayes Hanlon?”

“No,” Big John Pepper replied defensively. Randi stared at him for a moment, just long enough to make him concede to the truth. He kicked his feet in the dirt. “Kind of. Sort of. It's not that I've been booked to manhandle him.”

“Then what is it?”

Big John Pepper sighed and said, “He reminds me of somebody.”

☄️ 🌌 🚀 💫

Rusty La Bord sat in the Small Town Diner, a plate of eggs and toast in front of him, pretending to read the paper.

His eyes betrayed his anxiety, as every few seconds, they drifted towards the window.

He promised he'd come.

And then he swore he never broke his word.

And then he said “Rusty, if you blow this horn, I swear on everything I believe in that I will be there.”

And then he cut his palm, and Rusty's palm, and made a blood oath that he would appear.

This all happened in a dream where Rusty was trying to find a gun.

The man showed up to stop him.

But when Rusty awoke, there was a horn in his hand. So he stepped outside and blew it.

Yet all those promises and the horn manifestly present and in his grasp did nothing to assuage Rusty's concerns. He knew better than anyone that things didn't always shake out the way they were supposed to. No matter how much something seems like it's guaranteed — it isn't.

But then, Rusty saw it.

A giraffe. Walking right through the middle of the small town.

And on its back?

Him.

The one who made it out.

No one else even knew who he was. That's how much he made it out.

How much did he make it out?

He made it out so much that he strode into town on a fucking giraffe.

It made Rusty's heart ripe with loathe.

The entire population of that small town seemed to pour into the streets and observe the man riding the giraffe. Kids were losing their minds. Adults were laughing and clapping.

That was supposed to be Rusty.

It was nothing like that when he came back. There was no excitement. Just whispers. Giggles.

“You folks got a stable that's big enough for Parcheesi?” The man in the park ranger suit with the mustache sitting atop the giraffe said.

He named the fucking thing Parcheesi.

Pomp. Circumstance.

Rubbing Rusty's nose in it.

The way he took the giraffe's reins and tied them to a post outside the diner. As though the giraffe couldn't leave.

The man walked in and took his hat off, nodding at everyone who acknowledged him, making his way towards Rusty's table. He hits a few howdies, sticks the landing on a few 🤙’s, before pulling a chair out from Rusty's table, sniveling it around, and sitting on it backwards.

“I told you I'd come,” Big John Pepper said.

“How did you know where I was?” Rusty replied.

“You're pretty easy to find,” BJP said.

“Yeah?”

“You're the only guy around here who crossed the point of no return and returned anyway.”

Rusty hesitated. He felt a degree of contentiousness in his heart. “You crossed the point of no return as well.”

“Yeah, but I'm different,” Big John Pepper replied.

“How?”

“I became larger than the sum of my parts.”

“Can I get you anything?” A waitress, sixty-something years old, never saw a giraffe she gave a fuck about, or a man she was impressed by. “I see your friend got started without you.”

“I'll have a coffee. And a napkin. And a pen.”

“What does that mean?” Rusty asked.

“What does what mean?” Big John Pepper replied.

“That you became more than the sum of your parts.”

“Can't explain it.”

“Why not?”

“You didn't.”

It cut Rusty like a knife. The truth was a proper weapon in the man's hand.

Rusty ripped the truth from Big John Pepper's grasp, but when he pointed it at his neck, it became a bouquet of flowers.

“Soften,” Big John Pepper replied. “I'm here to help you. You said your life doesn't have meaning because you failed at becoming what you were destined to be.”

“Yes,” Rusty replied.

“And how do you believe I can help?”

“You can get me out of here,” Rusty said.

“...I beg your pardon?”

“You. Me. The fuckin’ giraffe. We can just get out of here. Never look back. Cross that point of no return and just… never look back.”

Big John Pepper scratched his chin, considering what Rusty had requested from him.

“You're saying you'd like to abandon your wife and kids, and go out past the point of return to… what, exactly? Chase a dream you already lost big on?”

“I was this close 🤏,” Rusty replied.

“My friend,” Big John Pepper began.

“Coffee,” the waitress said, setting a hot muggington in front of BJP.

“Oh!” Big John said, “Napkin? Pen?”

The waitress gave him what he asked for with a displeased glare.

“My friend,” Big John continued as he drew. “A man needs no help abandoning his family, for that is not what men do. I came here because you said you needed help. To not… harm… yourself in a heartbreaking way. That too would be abandonment. Which is precisely what I aimed to prevent. All that is merely the preamble for my major point, which is this: you ought to be happy that you gave it a shot. You DID cross that event horizon. You DID bet on yourself. It just didn't pay off. And you had to come back. And the fact that it didn't pay off is on you, so don't punish your family for it. You little weasel. I drew this for you.”

Big John Pepper reached out and shoved a napkin into Rusty's chest.

“The fuck is this?”

“That's Parcheesi. She's proud you tried.”

Big John Pepper stood to his feet, and tossed a wad of $2 dollar bills on the table.

“That should cover it.” 🤙

☄️ 🌌 🚀 💫

“Well, what happened?” Randi asked, enchanted by the story. “After you left? Did he get better?”

“I don't want to talk about it.”

“Did he… harm himself…?”

“No. Worse than that.”

“What could be worse than that?”

Big John Pepper wiped the salty water from his eyes, and punched the tree. Again and again and again. Then he yelled at gods unseen. A warrior's cry. A “why” in a language more universal than a single language.

“Well,” Big John Pepper said, slightly choked up. “He got so bitter about his own dead dreams that he… he took his kids’ dreams and he… he murdered them… in cold blood, right in front of… right in front of the dang kids.”

Randi Dick realized Big John Pepper wasn't anxious at all.

He was just empathetic, and grieving a tragic loss, and something about Hayes Hanlon made him think about it, and he was too much of a golden retriever to know how to express it.

“Do you still have the giraffe?” Randi asked.

Big John Pepper looked at her through teary eyes and smiled, shaking his head.

“He died a warrior's death.”

“Oh…" Randi said, stunned. "I'm sorry.”

“Don't be," Big John said, a proud smile on his face. "Hey! Would you like to go to the Giraffe Store?”

“Theres such a thing as a Giraffe Store?” Randi asked.

“Only during even years,” Big John answered.

Randi stared at Big John Pepper. The things he said always seemed so completely absurd, and, in some cases, contrived.

But she couldn't turn down the opportunity to see the Giraffe Store.

☄️ 🌌 🚀 💫

Hayes Hanlon.

You say you're the event horizon, but…

I don't know. 

I don't know about that.

But I do know who you remind me of.

And well, I don't mean to accuse you of anything. And I don't mean to offend.

But I have seen Fred's wrestling DVD collection. It's a highly illegal wrestling DVD collection. I'm told INTERPOL could get involved. But you're in there. At your best. Winning titles. Being the man who eventually became a hall of famer — one of, if not the youngest hall of famers there ever were.

And I'm not trying to take that away from you at all.

But I think we both know that you should be better than you are.

To me it feels like, after all your success, and all these accomplishments, you are still “on the verge.”

Waiting to be more than just…

Well…

Third Glue.

I, uh… 

I just want you to know that there's two ways this unfolds.

The first way is that once you get there, it's everything you ever dreamed of, and you never look back.

The second way is that once you get there, it eats you alive. 

Once you get there, the same thing happens to you that happens to 95% of the people who try it.

A bunch of nothing. A bunch of feeling like a loser.

Alternatively, you could keep messing around, being Third Glue, losing to hippies — HIPPIES, HANLON! — and just wallow in your past successes like they mean something today. 

But that alternative eats you alive, too.

So essentially, there's a 66% chance that you eat it for the rest of the career. That means there's a 66% chance the world of PRIME looks back on the career of Hayes Hanlon and asks, “What Could Have Been?”

But I want you to know that if you are unlucky, and that 66% chance hits you, and you end up going back to your town and running an insurance company and having kids…

Heal. 

Heal before you do that.

Because if you were ever to become so bitter about all that potential you're in the middle of squandering, if you ever become so full of regret that you can't think about anything else?

You're going to screw up everyone you love.

Believe me.

I've seen it.

Obviously, your best course of action would be to get lucky and hit on your 33% chance of finally crossing your own point of no return and reaching the highest of your possible highs.

But that would require you to do things you'd be uncomfortable with.

Like have a long win streak.

Like leaving your solvent club.

But I have a feeling that a guy like you? You'd just rather stay comfortable. 

And that's fine.

But man to man? Don't ruin the people that love you over it once that regret creeps in.

Because that's a 100% awful thing to do to folks you love.

Which, you're not awful.

You're just… either not as good as you thought you were or… you're too comfortable.

Either way, you never become more than the sum of your parts.

You know?

🤙

☄️ 🌌 🚀 💫

When Fred Dick opened his eyes the next day, he went to the kitchen, French pressed himself some coffee, and poured it in his Cecilworth Muggington.

Before he had a chance to pretend to read the paper, however, a gargantuan beast caught his eye.

It stared at him through the windows. Fred raised an eyebrow.

“Honeybunny!” Fred shouted.

“Yes, baby?” Randi cooed, walking into the room.

“What's the name of this here giraffe starin’ upon my face through this here winder?” Fred said with his brow still raised.

Randi was happy to answer, “Blue-Eyes Backgammon.”

Fred nodded sagely. Sipped his Muggington. “...Is Blue-Eyes Backgammon gonna stay here?”

“Yes.”

“We got the money for it?”

“Yes.”

Fred smiled at Randi, “Can I pet him?”

“Her.”

“Can I pet her?”

“Of course.”

Fred clicked his feet in the air and ran outside.

Through the window, she watched him gleefully frolic around a very confused giraffe. And she thought that Fred's point of no return was right here, right where he was. This was precisely the sort of life he dreamed of — and he was successful.

And she thought about how this was her point of return as well, and she was successful.

And it was the greatest feeling in the world.

No matter where the two of them were heading, they weren't going back.

And Big John Pepper would be right there with them for just as long as he wanted.