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"Morning, Will," Mike called as he and Sulley entered the spacious lobby. A few weeks had served to make their daily arrival at Monsters, Inc. feel familiar, but not to dampen their enthusiasm. Mike had had time by now to learn pretty much everybody's names, and could greet them all by sight. That was his thing. That had always been his thing: Mike Wazowski always said hi to everybody. The weird thing was that lately, people were saying hi back.
"Mike, Sulley, good morning!" said Theo, the taller of the pair of teenaged summer can-wranglers. "You guys are gonna kick the mail's butt today!"
"Thanks!" Mike replied. "I think. You, uh, you kick some butt too.”
"Oh, we're gonna!"
"See you guys," Sulley put in.
In a moment they had passed the teens and rounded the corner—between Sulley's stride and Mike's energy, they could keep up a pretty good pace—and as the noise of the lobby began to diminish, Will's squeaky voice drifted down the corridor behind them: "Good morning, Mr. McCay!"
Mike froze. It couldn't be—
"I told you," replied a familiar voice, "you can call me Frank."
Oh, no. Mike glanced around for a trash can, an open closet, an ornamental plant, anything. "Hide me!"
"What?" Sulley asked.
The familiar voice drifted closer. Thinking quickly, Mike grabbed Sulley's tail, clambered up onto his back and hung there, his comparatively small weight readily supported by the plates. It was times like this it was convenient having a mountain for a best friend.
Sulley half-turned his head. "What are you—?"
"Shh!"
And then he heard Frank McCay's voice again. "Morning."
"Morning," Sulley replied awkwardly, having turned to face him straight-on. What a guy. He slowly rotated a hundred and eighty degrees, presumably to keep facing McCay, and thus keep Mike out of his line of sight as he proceeded down the hall. After a few seconds of silence, he spoke again: "The coast is clear, Mike."
"Thanks," said Mike, and hopped down. "All right, time to go punch in."
Sulley fell into step beside him. "What was that all about?"
"I didn't want him to see me."
"Yeah," said Sulley with deliberate patience, "I figured that much.”
"Hurry up, we’re gonna be late.”
But when they'd settled in to sorting the morning’s mail, Sulley raised the subject again. "So what was your deal with that guy?"
That was actually a very good question, one that Mike had asked himself more than once, but he wasn't about to get into—"That guy?" he seized on instead. "What do you mean, that guy? Didn't you recognize him?"
"Nope."
"And you call yourself a scaring fan. Sulley, that was 'Frightening' Frank McCay!"
"McCay," Sulley muttered. "McCay… Oh, yeah! I think I traded a '78 McCay for a rookie Gerson one time."
"You did what? I've got six '78 McCays! He's the greatest!"
"Really? I thought I remembered his stats being pretty average."
"It's not all about numbers," Mike protested, because it was true, he'd followed every detail of McCay's career and he simply didn't have the numbers of someone like Thompson or Benitez. "He's got style! Panache! You know, a—a certain—je ne sais quoi!"
"All right," said Sulley, more than a little skeptically. "So you're his biggest fan. Since when are you shy? I mean, come on, yesterday you told Earl 'The Terror' Thompson that he was drinking his tea wrong."
"He was! You don't put sweetener in green tea, it's barbaric. Honestly, you'd think somebody who's been around long enough to…" He trailed off under Sulley's level gaze. "Look, 'Frightening' Frank McCay was kind of my idol, okay? It's different."
It was different. Thompson was an abstraction: a photo a year, a few articles here and there, dry statistics and data. It had been easy to reconcile Earl "The Terror" Thompson, the record-holding scarer, with Earl Thompson the laid-back old guy who liked terrible puns and sweetener in his tea. But "Frightening" Frank McCay was so much more than that. He was—he was somebody who had said fifteen words to Mike once; but then that had been more than anybody else had wanted to say to him that day, or most other days for a long time. More than that, McCay was the catalyst that had led to Mike's entire path up until this year. In a way he was bound up with the entire concept of scaring, with academics, with dreams of success, with a lot of things that Mike had recently reevaluated or lost.
Sulley had returned his eyes to his work and was alphabetizing a stack of business-size envelopes with surprisingly dexterous fingers. "You don't want to meet your idol?"
"Well—technically, we've already met."
“Huh. What, is he mad at you or something?"
"No!" said Mike, stopping short in front of a cart and waving an envelope in frustrated dismissal. "No. I hope not, anyway, oh, but who am I kidding, he probably doesn't even remember me." He had glanced down at that, but now looked up in sudden horror. "Oh no, but what if he does? Or worse," he added, a little frantically, "what if he doesn't? Or worse, what if he does? Or—"
"Mike," Sulley interrupted. "'Do Not Bend'."
"Huh? Aah!" The envelope that had been bearing the brunt of Mike's nerves sprang back into shape and fluttered across the floor. He darted after it, caught it and put it hastily in its place. "It's not much of a story anyway," he said, returning to the main In pile. "It was all the way back in fourth grade."
"Seventy-eight."
"Yeah. I told you I grew up here in Monstropolis, right? So they take all the fourth-grade classes on a field trip here to learn about scream energy. At least they used to," he added. "You know, come to think of it I'm not sure they do that anymore. Which might be my fault. But my class came here."
"And that's when you met this guy?"
"Yeah. He's an MU alum, you know. It was only his second year as a scarer—of course, I didn't know that then, I didn't even know who he was. I didn't know the first thing about scaring. Anyway, 'Frightening' Frank McCay said hi to our class, and, you know, he was really cool, and then none of the other kids would let me see, and, well… I kind of ended up sneaking onto the scare floor and following McCay into the human world."
Sulley looked across the room at him in surprise. "You did what?"
"I know, I know! Pretty crazy, right?"
"Pretty gutsy," said Sulley, with an impressed nod. "When I was in fourth grade I didn't even wanna go into the swimming pool, let alone the human world. I guess you've always been brave, huh?"
Mike rolled his eye. "I wasn't brave. I was a little kid! Honestly, I mostly just did it because I was mad at Davey Baumgartner for saying I couldn't, and I wanted to prove him wrong. I guess I picked kind of an extreme way to do it," he added, with a self-deprecating smile.
"Oh," said Sulley quietly, no longer looking up.
"Oh," Mike echoed, suddenly awkward. He really had just been trying to make light of his younger self; he hadn't meant to bring up… that whole thing. "Anyway," he said, pushing ahead with rapid and cheerful speech, "that's why 'Frightening' Frank McCay was always my favorite scarer. His technique was really impressive—I know he's no record-holder, but even when I look back on it now after all my studies, it was a really good scare. You know the parents came in and he made them think he was a sweater? It was the coolest! And he was… he was nice to me. I mean he acted stern, but I think he was also kind of… impressed."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. I guess really that's why I feel so weird about meeting him again. He's the one that made me wanna become a scarer in the first place, and now I'm… you know, not."
"Yeah." Sulley's shoulders slumped a little more.
Mike cursed himself internally. Why did he keep saying the wrong thing? He wasn't trying to guilt-trip anybody, it was just—complicated, all right? "But—but who needs it," he said. "It's okay that I'm on a different path now. It's—listen, Sull, I like this. This is totally great." He was probably talking to reassure himself as much as Sulley, he realized. "We're the great team of Sullivan and Wazowski—we're doing really well. This is a good job, and we're getting really good at it, and—and I'm really glad we're in this together. And you know, we're not gonna be mail guys forever! One of these days you're gonna be the world's greatest scarer, and I'm gonna be the world's greatest scaring assistant."
At last Sulley met his eye again. "Coach," he corrected, smiling.
"Right. I—this isn't bad, Sulley, I'm not unhappy. It's just that—you know—a lot of stuff has changed, and it's…"
"It's not always easy," Sulley finished. "No, it's not. I know. I get that."
"Yeah. I know. Thanks."
They left each other to their thoughts and the shuffle of paper for a long half-minute. Then Sulley spoke again: "Listen, Mike, I do get where you're coming from. But you know, you're probably gonna run into the guy eventually."
And he was right; quite literally, as it turned out. About a week later, Mike was in the cafeteria grabbing a cup of coffee on afternoon break—and then with a jarring thump he was on the floor, dripping coffee and staring straight up at the one monster he'd been trying to avoid.
He'd gotten older. Mike knew that, of course, he'd seen his pictures getting older with each new series of scare cards. His color was deeper now, duskier; his figure had filled out a little from the lankiness of his early twenties. But he was still a scarer in his prime, obviously fit and strong, and even in his current surprised expression it was easy to see the same spirit, the same… Mike-ne-savait-quoi that had so captivated him as a fourth-grader. Mike glanced around; he'd thought Sulley was right behind him, but he must have slipped away in the confusion. Traitor!
"Whoa, are you all right?" McCay was saying. His tentacles had helped to steady him from the impact, and his continued uprightness only magnified his height. "Sorry! I didn't see you."
I didn't see you. "That's okay," Mike said automatically.
"Sorry," said McCay again, helping him up. "It was my fault. Let me get you another coffee."
"Oh—you don't have to—"
"No, I insist. Here,"—he indicated an empty table with a napkin dispenser atop it—"sit down and get yourself dried off. Do you take sugar, or salt or anything?"
"Uh-uh."
In a minute McCay had returned with two coffees, and sat down beside Mike. Oh, no. "Hi there, by the way. Name's Frank." He extended a hand, and then looked at Mike curiously. "Say, don't I know you from somewhere?"
Mike couldn't decide between I dunno and I don't think so. "I—" he faltered, looking down and nervously straightening his Monsters, Inc. staff ballcap.
And McCay's face lit up. "Hey, I remember you! Aren't you the kid from that field trip? Michael, right?"
"Yeah. Miz— w— Mike Wazowski." He accepted the handshake.
"Wow, small world. Hard to believe I've been here so long! You've really grown up, huh?"
"Yep, that's what happens," Mike quipped. He wasn't sure he believed it, though. This was absurd, he knew it was; he was grown up—for crying out loud, he was practically almost twenty! But right about now he felt every bit as small as that little kid ten years ago that nobody had bothered to see.
McCay was still looking wistful. "I tell you what, kid, you caused quite the stir around here. You should've heard old Waternoose the Second chewing me out. 'Reckless endangerment of a child'… He was right, of course," he said, abruptly serious. "I should have been more careful. It really was dangerous. But, hey," brightening, "here you are back at Monsters Inc., so I guess it must not have freaked you out that bad."
"Freaked me out?" said Mike, indignation finally overcoming his reticence. "Are you kidding? That was one of the greatest days of my life!"
"Really?"
"Of course! It was the day I first got into scaring. I mean I had no idea how fascinating it all was. Now I've read every book, I know all the theories—scaring is my life! And you," he said, gesturing broadly at McCay. "I mean, no wonder I wanted to find out more, because you were incredible. Your technique is flawless. I've followed your career ever since. I've got every one of your scare cards, I had your poster above my bed for forever and oh, jeez, am I being weird?" he added, because he'd suddenly noticed his listener's confused expression; he wasn't always great at keeping up with that kind of thing once he got going. "I'm being really weird, I'm sorry, I—"
"No, no, you're fine!" said McCay. "I just—wow. I had no idea it meant that much to you. It's a real honor to have you as a fan, I just… I hope I've been able to live up to it." His faraway gaze returned to Mike. "So I guess you'd be a college student now, right? Did you consider going to my alma mater?" he asked, grinning.
Well. Here it was, then. "Actually, I did get into the scare program at MU," Mike admitted, but before McCay could congratulate him, he couldn't have borne that, he went on, "but no, I'm not in school now."
"Oh! You graduate already?"
"No."
"Oh." McCay's smile had vanished. His gaze dropped away from Mike's. He stared at his coffee and tapped arrhythmically with his claws on the styrofoam cup. "I—" he said. "Man, I…" He shook his head in frustration, then turned back to Mike and tried to maintain eye contact. "Listen, kid, back then, if I made it sound like… I mean, MU's not… It's a good school and all, but it's just some college, you know?"
"I know," Mike said. He picked up his coffee, wishing he could hide behind it, and gulped at it in an attempt to vanquish the sudden tightness in his throat.
"Ed and me were always joking around like that," McCay went on. "It was awful silly. I mean, I was… man, what, twenty-three? Just a kid, really."
Mike looked slowly up at him. "Twenty-three's a kid?"
"Well—yeah," said McCay, looking surprised himself. "Yeah, kind of. I mean, it didn't seem like it at the time, but man, I was kind of a jock and a show-off, I was so—so young, you know?"
"Not really."
"Well, I—I mean, if you think about it, it was a long time ago. Half a lifetime for you, right? Say, kid," he added, "do you know how old I am now?"
"Thirty-two and eleven months," said Mike without hesitation. "Okay, you gotta admit that was weird."
McCay gave him a smile. "A little. But do you know how different I feel now from that guy you met? I've grown up so much. I've gotten way better at scaring. I've met so many amazing monsters, and I've seen and learned so many amazing things. I—man, do you know my kid's gonna start school this month? If somebody'd'a told me that last time we met, I wouldn't have believed it for one second."
"Congratulations," Mike said absently.
"Kid, what I'm trying to say—" McCay's hand was moving in small, indecisive circles, as if he thought he could catch the drifting threads of his ideas and wind them together around his claws. "What I'm trying to say is—is that just because something seems really certain when you're nine, or when you're eighteen—or thirty-two… It doesn't mean… It doesn't have to be that way your whole life, you know? Things change. Life can surprise you, and you gotta keep looking forward, right?"
"Right." He was right. Mike knew that, he did. He was trying.
"Good."
Something else occurred to Mike. "You know I lost your hat," he said. "It kinda got exploded."
"Kid," said McCay, looking deeply pained and slightly baffled. "Kid, it was just an old hat." He gently reached out and tapped the brim of Mike's Monsters, Inc. cap. "Listen, I think the one you're wearing now looks really great."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah," said McCay. Then he blinked in sudden comprehension, and something of juvenile recklessness began to creep back into his smile. "Hang on, did you say exploded?"
"Well—uh—"
"Wazowski? Oh, man, I knew I'd heard that name somewhere. There was a blurb in the alumni newsletter—they're asking for money to repair one of the door labs. Seems a couple of freshmen pulled off such a powerful scare that they completely overloaded the place."
Mike was entirely failing to repress his own smile. "Yeah, that was Sulley and me. James P. Sullivan, I mean, big handsome blue guy, you've uh, you've probably seen him around. We're a team. The alumni association was really that impressed with us?"
"Ha! Those old fogeys? No, the writeup seemed pretty angry. But I'm impressed," said McCay, with a conspiratorial wink. "All right, though, I'd better get back to work…" He stood up, took a step, and then Mike heard him speaking again: "Oh, hi there! Sulley, right?"
Mike stood and turned, and there he was, there they both were. Sulley, he noticed for the first time, was taller. "Uh, yeah," said Sulley.
"Frank," said McCay, shaking his hand. "I've heard about you—seems you and Mike are quite the team."
"Uh, yeah. We sure are."
"You know, the mail around here's been way more efficient lately than usual. Keep up the good work."
"Thanks, sir."
Then McCay turned towards Mike. He raised his right hand to his head, grabbed the brim of an imaginary ballcap, and then extended the hand in a quick, casual salute of a wave. "See you around, Mike!"
Mike touched his own hat. "See you—Frank."
And then Frank was off towards his scare floor, and Mike and Sulley set their own good pace to the mailroom again.
When they were out of earshot, Mike suddenly remembered to be indignant. "Sulley!! You threw me to the wolves!" He hesitated. "Thanks."
"I thought you might want a little time. I guess it went well?"
"Yeah." He was smiling. "It went really well."
Sulley said, "You know something, Mike? I think you were right."
"Sure I was! Uh—about what?"
"I think that guy really is pretty great."