“Calling me by my Christian name, I see? Ha, ha.” Micky heroically put his hands on his hips, “If you think I will crack under the pressure you’ve put me under then think again. I am renowned for my strength of will.”

He started puttering around the desert, dutifully fulfilling the role he knew he was assigned to play. It didn’t take long for the heat of the sun to beat down on him. Sweat drenched him like an unwanted shower, his curls sticking to his forehead. Eventually he lost the strength to even walk, so he fell to his knees, crawling through the desert with no end in sight. It was a nightmare. It was his home. He still thought of this place at night, relieved to find himself in bed. He pinched himself but he wasn’t dreaming this time. Did he ever actually go home? What if that was the dream?

If it was inevitable for him to be in the desert, lost and alone. No help in sight, no friends. Did they ever exist? Did any of those adventures happen? At this moment, it didn’t matter if they did or not.

Micky stopped when he came across the dreaded Coke machine. His old foe. Did he dare play this game again? Stick his one remaining quarter in the slot and see if it would offer him sweet refreshment? The definition of insanity was to do something again and again, expecting a different result. But on the other hand, what good was a quarter to a man in the desert?

He slipped it in the slot. It accepted it. Hey, it wasn’t broken! Was this the difference? Maybe he was stuck in the same desert again, but maybe this was what was going to change everything! Just one cool drink. Just one.

…but the machine said, ‘empty.’

It was like a punch to the gut. He was a fool. A fool without a quarter. He wanted that Coke so bad, he could daydream about it and trick his mind into believing he could taste a cool drop of it. But it wasn’t real. Reality was Micky in the desert, stuck in front of a machine that tempted him with things he wouldn’t be given. Like a child being told Santa Claus wasn’t real. He’d lost everything. His innocence, his hope—and his sanity.

“NO!! NO!!” Micky cried out.

At home, if he yelled then somebody would hear him. Mike. Mr. Babbitt. Nobody heard him here. Making it all the more tempting for him to fall to his knees and just scream. As if by doing so then he could knock that cursed machine over with his voice.

“AM I TO DIE HERE, LORD?? What was my crime that this is my punishment?!” Micky looked up at the Heavens, “Please, Lord!!”

“Micky.” Said a deep voice.

Micky gasped. Had his time come? Did dehydration finally take him? Was a bright light coming? “Lord?”

“No, you dingbat. It’s Mike.” He took off his hat and thwacked Micky upside the head with it, “How many times are you going to play this game?”

Micky blinked, seeing he was on the beach in front of the Pad, “…I’m back!”

“Yeah, you’re ’back.’ Back to reality, I hope. Man, why don’t you go play mermaids with Peter or something? You really concern me sometimes…” Mike shook his head, helping Micky up to his feet.

“You’re…you’re a mirage! I’m imagining you!” Micky reached for Mike’s face, squishing his cheeks until Mike slapped his hand back down.

“Don’t do that.” Mike reached to the side, handing him a Coke, “Here. I packed some for the picnic. Don’t drink it too fast, you’ll get a bellyache.”

Micky squealed with delight and took it before downing the beverage, letting out the biggest sigh of relief.

🎶Things go better with Coca-Colaaaa

Micky’s jaw dropped and he made an offended face, “I am not! You take that back!” He raised an accusing drumstick.

“Shh, they didn’t mean it, Micky, they didn’t mean it—“ Davy tried to hold him back.

“Wha—“ Mike stopped in his tracks. It was a simple statement, an easy reminder. So, why did it feel like such a punch to the gut? His throat felt dry and his eyes had started to sting, “Well…shoot, I know.”

“Oooh, I got to think of some good ones…” Micky rubbed a hand over his mouth and tried to think, “I know one real good one that I like to pull on Mike from time to time. I take the Monkeemobile out for a spin, to get groceries, whatever—then I come back and I go…’hey, Mike, I’m sorry. I got a little scratch on the side, but you can hardly notice it.’”

Micky could barely contain his snickering thinking about it, “When I say he ran outside! Hehe, he spent like half an hour out there just circling the vehicle, looking desperately for this scratch, it’s a good, harmless joke since he’s just relived there’s nothing there but I get to see him panic for a few seconds. It’s good for him, keeps him young.”

Mike stood off to the side, his arms folded and shaking his head, gravely.

“Tell ‘em what you like to do to me.” Davy huffed, putting his hands on his hips.

“Oh yeah!” Micky giggled, “Davy, hehe, I like to pour icy water into the shower while he’s getting ready for a date. He’ll be taking his time and he uses up all the hot water so I like to—bloop! You can imagine the loud, higher-pitched British protesting echoing from the bathroom when I do that. Then again, it’s just a brief shock but he’s going to use up all the hot water anyway, he’ll recover quickly.”

“What about me?” Peter thought for a moment and scratched his head, “I don’t remember you playing any jokes on me.”

“I wouldn’t do that to you…” Micky shook his head.

Peter smiled, “Aww, thanks, Mick.”

“You’re too easy, it’s not rewarding enough.” Micky finished.

Coupling Saturday: TorkLenz

(Peter Tork/Micky Dolenz)

Coupling Saturday: JoRk

(Davy Jones/Peter Tork)