Free Just a Geek by Wil Wheaton Page B

that, in my mind, I'm filling in the rest of the sound stage. I'm surprised when we don't end up in engineering at the end of the corridor. Instead, we are herded into a turbolift, where we enjoy some more special effects. The turbolift shakes and hums . . . it's infinitely cooler than the real ones we would stand in for the show.
    When the turbolift doors open and reveal the bridge of the Enterprise ,I gasp.
    The bridge is a nearly perfect replica of ours, with a few minor differences that are probably imperceptible to anyone who didn't spend the better part of five years on it. The hum of the engines, which had only existed in my imagination on Stage 8, is now real. I stare at the view screen, where a beautiful starfield gives the appearance of motion. I remember how much I hated doing blue screen shots on the bridge and how much I loved it when they'd lower the starfield. When I looked at those thousands of tiny mirrors, glued onto a screen of black velvet, I could lose myself in the wonderful fantasy that this spaceship was as real as the view.
    I am consumed by hypernostalgia.
    I am 14-years-old, walking out of the turbolift during "Encounter at Farpoint." Corey Allen, the director, excitedly tells me, "Picard controls the sky, man! He controls the sky! "
    I am 15-years-old, sitting in my ugly grey spacesuit at the CONN. My fake muscle suit bunches up around my arms. I feel awkward and unsure, a child who desperately wants to be a man.
    I am 16-years-old, working on an episode where I say little more than, "Aye, sir." I want to be anywhere but here.
    I am 17-years-old, wearing a security uniform for "Yesterday's Enterprise." I am excited to stand in a different place on the bridge, wear a different uniform, and push different imaginary buttons.
    I hear the voices of our crew, recall the cool fog that hung around our trailers each morning from Autumn until Spring.
    I recall walking to the Paramount commissary with the cast, on our way to have lunch meetings with Gene before he died.
    I have an epiphany.
    Until this moment, all I have been able to remember is the pain that came with Star Trek . I'd forgotten the joy.
    Star Trek was about sitting next to Brent Spiner, who always made me laugh. It wasn't about the people who made me cry when they booed me off stage at conventions. It was about the awe I felt listening to Patrick Stewart debate the subtle nuances of The Prime Directive with Gene Roddenberry between scenes. It wasn't about the writers who couldn't figure out how to write a believable teenage character. It was about the wonder of walking down those corridors and pretending that I was on a real spaceship. It was about the pride I felt when I got to wear my first real uniform, go on my first away mission, fire my first phaser, play poker with the other officers in Riker's quarters.
    Oh my god. Star Trek was wonderful, and I'd forgotten. I have wasted 10 years trying to escape something that I love, for all the wrong reasons .
    I am filled with regret. I miss it. I miss my surrogate family, and I will give anything to have those 10 years back. Like Scrooge, I want a second chance, will do anything for a second chance. But Christmas day came and went 10 years ago.
    The stars blink out, and I'm looking into the smiling face of Jonathan Frakes on the view screen. I'm smiling back at him and I notice that everyone is staring at me. I become aware of wetness on my cheeks. I am embarrassed and make a joke. I say to the actors walking around the bridge, "If you need any help flying this thing, I've totally got your back!" The group laughs. Garrett says something about helping out the security guys if they get into trouble and we laugh over that too.
    Jonny tells us that we have to leave the ship now and board a shuttlecraft so that we may safely return to Las Vegas.
    I don't want to leave. I've just gotten here. I want to cry out "No! Don't make me leave! It's not fair! I want to stay! I need to stay! Please let me