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Lunchboxing Fan Fiction Presents:
"In The Thicke of It" by jamie flam 
Alan awoke on Saturday afternoon in a sullen haze. He hadn't slept well. This wasn't an isolated incident by any means. For weeks on end he had been having horrible nightmares almost nightly. Unexplainably frightening nightmares. The kind of nightmares that make you wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, with soiled sheets. Not even his therapist could offer solace to make light of these intense unconscious slips into the depths of his own personal hell. But still, Alan trekked on, because he had to. It was his way. The only way. He dragged his weary legs to the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee. Then he shuffled to the front door, opened it, and perched himself on the porch, bathrobe over boxers over underwear: the three layered Thicke approach to lower extremity protection. It was mighty bright out for an early Saturday afternoon in the Winter, and Alan let out a small chuckle. "Life isn't so bad..." he thought to himself as he sunk into his favorite porch papasan, thinking back to the days before the nightmares, days much like this, spent on the porch, or in the living room, or the game room, or the TV room, reclining, reading an article in one of his favorite journals, or just watching a game. But it was only a matter of minutes before the memory of hellish nighttime journeys pervaded his thoughts again. He sat silent and looked out onto the street, slowly sipping his unssweetened brew. After a few minutes of contemplation, Thicke arose to make his way back inside. But as he reached for the knob, he was startled by a deafening car honk coming from his driveway. He put down his coffee cup on the Bamboo Table Runner which sat on the imported Balinese Pedestal he had purchased at Pier One in an unhealthy spending spree three days earlier and walked slowly to the side of the porch to get a view of the car. To his surprise he saw a brand new silver BMW Z3, still running, top down. Not an avid car aficianado himself, Alan found himself impressed by the shiney new glow and sleek design of the car in front of him nonetheless. But who was driving? He couldn't make out a face; only dark sunglasses and wispy auburn brown hair. Alan walked up to the driver side door. "Can I help you?" he asked the mysterious stranger. "Well, let me see here...", the man contemplated, seemingly confused that Thicke failed to recognize him immediately. "You can help me. You see, I'm looking for a friend." "Well, I appreciate the offer," said Alan, "but I have friends." Then he lowered his head and looked off into space and paused. "Although being a star of my calibre, it's sometimes difficult to tell who's a friend and who's a hanger-oner these days..." "Trust me. I know," the stranger added, also looking down now. Then, expressionless, he opened up his car door and stood up, eyeing Thicke closely the entire time. He closed the door behind him and rested his back on the car. Both men stood there, staring at each other in silence. Finally, the stranger reached up and removed the dark sunglasses from his face, revealing two big brown sunken eyes. Alan immediately recognized the man, and gave him a look that said how did I not figure this out earlier. It was Dan Schneider, television's beloved Dennis Blunden from the former hit ABC series "Head of the Class". "I was wondering when you would return," said Thicke, tears welling in his eyes. "Me too." replied Dan. The two men embraced in a hug that lasted for what felt like a thousand years to Alan. Memories of Dan flooded his mind. So many years sharing the same studios, so many heartfelt talks over cappucinos in Studio City cafes about fame, fortune, and how to deal with it. The ups, the downs. The Awards Shows! The late night walks on Ventura Blvd., the Head of the Class vs. Growing Pains charity football games...where had they gone? "They've gone straight to hell!" exclaimed Alan, in response to his own rambling mind. "They sure have, boss, they sure have." said Dan, patting Alan on the back. "Now what do you say we get some frappucinos. There's a new Starbucks in North Hollywood." "I'd like nothing more," muttered Thicke, under his breath, shivering. 
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