Chewie's Wife

I'm sitting in the Newark Liberty International Airport getting ready to board my plane back to Everycity. It's pretty hot in the terminal and the yellow walls certainly don't help to minimize that sweltering feeling. It's like I'm in some sort of South American bus station. I turn on my Game Boy and proceed to lose myself for forty-five minutes when my hand starts to cramp and my eyes begin to cross. Time for a break.

I look up and see, there, in front of me, a big mane of long, shaggy black hair. I think, "Hmm. That's a lot of hair." Then the owner of the hair stands up. It's a man. He's about eight feet tall. He's sitting with a scruffy-looking woman...round, grumpy-looking, wearing a cowboy hat...and I think to myself, "I've seen these people before."

I call Catch in Wackytown.

"Hey, what was the name of the guy who played Chewbacca in the Star Wars movies?"

"Peter Mayhew."

"I'm 95% sure that he's sitting right in front of me in the terminal."

"You're kidding! Go up and say hi to him!"

"What? No! I'm not going to bother him! They're just nice, normal people, probably happily blending into the crowd, not wanting to be noticed...besides, what would I say to him anyway?"

A little background: The Mayhews live in the tiny town of Cranberry, which also happens to be where Catch and I had our first professional theatre gigs. The Mayhews were well-known supporters of the Cranberry Opera House and would attend fund raisers, hang with the cast after the shows...the set shop crew even went over to their lake house that summer and helped build their deck.

Knowing that Chewie--er--Peter sheepishly makes his living attending the Star Wars conventions he so abhors, I decided not to be a Star Wars freak and left them alone. And so I sat quietly in my chair, calm on the outside, but giddy on the inside, wanting desperately to tell everybody, "Hey! That's CHEWIE!"

But no. I resolved myself. In a few minutes, it would be over. After all, it's not like I could talk to him while boarding the plane. That's no place for a conversation. I figured they'd be in first class anyway. I mean, come on. It's freakin' Chewbacca. He's probably got, like, a million dollars and all the original Star Wars action figures.

We begin to board and Chewie ambles down the ramp with his scrappy little wife. There goes my big shot. Ah well. When we get to heaven they'll thank me for not saying anything that day and letting them just be normal people.

Wait a minute...I'm in 19A...and they're in 20C and D! What the crap? Now's my chance!

I turned to say something and Chewie gave me this look. I remembered what Han Solo said about Wookies being able to tear your arms off so I turned back around.

I returned to my Game Boy and, with great personal satisfaction, beat the game I had been playing during my evening "reading" time in New York. Behind me in 20A and B were two business executives. The one in A was truly obnoxious, talking about what a bigshot he was, that he's on first-name basis with the president of his company, that he gets to go on all these trips, that he usually NEVER travels coach...

...and as he gabbed about how important he was and how his wife gets on his nerves, I wanted so badly to turn around and say,

"WHO CARES?! DON'T YOU REALIZE YOU'RE SITTING IN THE SAME AISLE AS CHEWBACCA?"

The plane landed and I got giddy again. Could I say something? Would they remember the Cranberry Opera House summer season of 2000? What to do? What to do?!

We all stood up to get off the plane. I hurried to the aisle to remove my bag from the overhead compartment and as I opened the compartment door, I clonked Chewie in the head with it. "Oh! I'm sorry!" I said in a breathy voice.

I was humiliated. I mean, how could I DO such a stupid thing? I bonked a Wookie in the head with the overhead compartment door! I pulled my bag close and ran off the plane, choking back the tears as I went.

"There they go," I thought as I knelt there, getting my keys and wallet out of the side pouch of my Eddie Bauer bag. "There they go into the Everycity crowd. Oh well. I guess I should chalk it up to good breeding that I don't harass total strangers, no matter HOW famous they are."

I wandered through the airport looking for the exit and got pretty lost (most people don't know that the Everycity Airport is the size of Manhattan). I turned left, then right, then down an empty corridor, past Sudoku Airlines, down another deserted passage, and finally, out the doors.
And WHO, dear readers, should be sitting there but Mr. and Mrs. Chewbacca.

"E-excuse me," I stammered. The little woman turned to me, a cigarette nestled between her yellow teeth. "You don't know me but I was a company member at the Cranberry Opera House in their 2000 summer season, and I-I just couldn't help but recognize the two of you and I wanted to say thank you for supporting the theatre."

"Cranberry, huh?" croaked the Mrs. "We had you actors over at our place all the time. Did you ever come over?" Chewbacca looked on silently. He was smoking too.

"Oh no," I said. "But one of my friends helped build your deck that summer."

"Oh."

Silence.

"Yes, well," I continued, "I just wanted to tell you how much we all appreciated your support of the Opera House."

She shook my hand.

"Yep. No problem."

Silence again.

"Yes," I said. "Yeah. There you go."

I did it. I spoke to Chewbacca.

Well, I sort of did. They say he's known for being very quiet and reserved so I think talking to his wife sort of counts as talking to him. I think he muttered "Thank you" as I was leaving, but he might have been clearing his throat.

And can I just say, if they don't like being hounded by Star Wars fans, maybe Chewie's wife could find a different shirt to wear. There, stretched across her bosoms in all their Lucas-font glory, were the words "Skywalker Ranch."

Personally, I think they kinda like being famous.