I Was a Prisoner on the Satellite of Love

Cast of Characters (In Order of Appearance)

Sue: a wife, a human
Mack: Sue's husband, a human
Crow T. Robot: a robot living on the Satellite of Love (SOL), the stage set for the television show Mystery Science Theater 3000
Rich T. Realtor: a RE/MAX realtor, a human
Joel: a human living on the SOL
Tom Servo: a robot living on the SOL
Randy: a human therapist in Atlanta

I slump beside my husband, Mack, barely speaking to him, on the Northwest Airlines flight from Hartsfield International Airport in Atlanta to Grand Rapids, with a layover in Detroit. In the Hartsfield gift shop I was comforted by familiar Braves baseball caps; Dawgs T-shirts; the drawl of slow, fluid syllables. Now, after landing in Michigan, I'm confused by foreign Midwestern logos, sights, and sounds: Red Wings hockey sweatshirts; "M Go Blue" pennants; flat accents, heavy on my ears. I want to be home in Georgia. But my husband has a new job offer, so we're flying here to look for a house prior to our move.

Outside the terminal of the Gerald R. Ford International Airport we wait for the realtor, here on Memorial Day weekend, 1995, me in a sleeveless floral blouse and hot-pink sandals. Freezing, I might add, in sleeveless blouse and sandals. While it was over eighty degrees in Georgia, it feels less than fifty here, practically still winter. Indeed, everyone at the airport wears dreary tans, grays, blacks. All the footwear seems to be sturdy boots. Everyone looks as if they hike. I am the only one in floral, the only one in sandals, in pink. Besides, I hate ice hockey. I don't know what "M Go Blue" means. Is tan actually a color? All my boots have stylish heels. ["Get your shoes on," Crow T. Robot quips, from his front-row seat on this movie of my life. "We're at the monster."]

Rich, the RE/MAX realtor, glides to the curb in a black Jaguar. He leaps from the car, enthusiastically welcoming us to west Michigan. I barely shake his hand before collapsing in the back seat, forcing Mack to sit in front. Let him schmooze with Rich, listen to the glowing chamber of commerce sales pitch. Let him hear about this "perfect" house, that "perfect" neighborhood. ["Hour after hour of heart-pounding small talk," Crow says, in a mock-stentorian voice.]

Just two years ago, after renting for ten years, we bought our first house in Georgia, only recently completing the painting and repairing. That's the house I want, in Georgia. But now, because of this job offer, we must sell a house I love. I must give up my adjunct teaching job. I must leave my therapist and my group. ["Goodbye," Crow calls. "Thanks for the Valium!"] Worse, I fear I might also have to leave Crow—Crow, the robot, whom I think I love more than my husband. At least it feels as if I'm leaving Crow behind. Surely though, I reassure myself, cable television stations in Michigan—just as in Georgia—must air the Comedy Central series Mystery Science Theater 3000 (MST3K), in which Crow is one of the stars. But all in all it feels as if I'm leaving my life behind, or as if I'm being abandoned. ["Does anyone have a copy of Final Exit?" Crow asks, innocently.]

We've planned to buy a house in one of the lakeshore communities about forty minutes west of Grand Rapids, either in Spring Lake, Ferrysburg, or Grand Haven. During the drive to the coast I notice many trees still bare ["Enjoy our bleak landscape," I hear Crow say.], whereas in Georgia spring rains are funneling toward summer. I want to ask the realtor to turn on the car heater, but I'm too exhausted to speak. The thought...