Stu finally arrived back home later in the evening. The day’s heat had cooled, much like his temper, as the spring evening settled in. Robert Roberts had run his license and found nothing outstanding on Stu. The bank, provided with three forms of identification, was happy to reinstate his debit card and unfreeze his funds. The Missing Persons investigator had, after seeing Legless and hearing about how Stu had gone off to find himself, suggested that next time, Stu try Mapquest.
Feeling more like himself after discovering he was, after all, himself, Stu decided a small shopping spree was in order. He drove to Wally World--all the while explaining the concept of a Super Center to Legless--where he purchased new jeans and a few shirts and some boxers. He ignored the looks he got when Legless, delighted with the different colors and patterns, made selections for him that included Scooby-Doo and Marvin the Martian. Stu had wanted to say that no self respecting man walked around wearing under shorts with a talking dog and a cartoon Martian on them, but that would have required explaining a talking dog and a Martian. Besides, the boxers he’d been wearing when he was dumped in Middle-earth were covered in lipstick “kisses”.
Of course, walking past the section known as Accessories had been a trip rivaling some Stu had taken in high school; the kind where his body stayed in his room and his mind went elsewhere. The variety of brightly colored belts, hats, scarves, and heaven’s knew what all else, kept the elf happy for over an hour and Stu wishing he’d left Legless locked in the trunk.
Now, as he pulled into the drive way, Stu was glad to be at home. He shut off the engine and the sound of the car and radio faded. Crickets competed with the sound of drunken singing. Stu gripped the steering wheel with two sweaty palms and stared wild-eyed at the garage. Surely not.
“Listen, beloved,” Legless exclaimed as he climbed from the front seat wearing a green glittering newsie cap and candy-striped leggings over the bottom of his overalls. For the life of him, Stu had been unable to coax Legless into a pair of jeans. “They are singing our old marching song.”
“One ring makes you larger and one ring makes you small,
and the ones the dwarves give you
don’t do anything at all…
Go ask Boomer when he swallows.”
“Oh, God,” Stu stammered as he stepped from the vehicle. Cautiously he walked around the car and approached the side door leading into his mother’s kitchen. The singing only grew louder. And more slurred. His Aunt Sue’s high, nasal screech was underscored by Glimmergroin’s deep bass.
“If you go off chasing ring-bearers,
and you know you're going to fail…
You might have to shit in a pail.
Go Ask Argyle when he’s shaved.
When El Ron of Rivendell gets up
Tells you where to go…
And you've just had Maggot's Mushrooms…
So your mind is moving slow…”
Legless grinned widely. “I believe your family is joining in.”
Stu opened the kitchen door and stepped inside. His mother’s normally spotless kitchen looked like a frat house after Rush night. On the stove a chili-crusted pot still bubbled sloppily. Take-out cartons of Mexican and fast-food hamburgers littered the counter. Plates were stacked high and unwashed in the sink. Glimmergroin, Aunt Sue, Joanne and William all sat around the kitchen table, banging their hands against the pine top to keep rhythm and causing the various bottles and glasses to jump.
“Go ask Grandlaff,
I think he'll know.
When logic and proportion have fallen
And the Steward is talking backward--
And Arwen's off her head…
Remember what the Loth'orien Witch said…
Frito…
Comb your head!”
“Stu,” Joanne Martin looked up from her glass and rose shakily on her feet. She weaved her way toward her son with a drunken grin lighting her features. She slipped one arm around Stu’s waist and the other around Legless. “You boys look like you could use a slooowwww,” her head swiveled exaggeratedly left, “screew,” and then back right.
Stu’s face reddened right up to his ear tips. “Mother! Please don’t encourage--”
“I’ll fix ya up,” she declared, unmindful of her son’s discomfort. “How ‘bout you, Legsy? You wanna slooww screeww?” She listed to the right and her breath fanned the elf’s face.
Aunt Sue hiccoughed loudly. “I sure as hell do.” Her wig was perched nearly sideways on her head, neatly covering one ear.
“Sure he does!” William declared and he, too, rose from the table, sending his chair over backwards and clattering to the floor.
“I’ll do it for you, my lady,” Glimmergroin promptly fell off his chair and landed on his back, staring blankly at Aunt Sue's varicose veins.
The elf tilted his head to the side and grinned at his beloved. “Is this some ritual you have not told me of, beloved?”
“Oh, God, I hope not,” Stu mumbled as his mother waddled away.
William grabbed two tumblers and filled them a quarter of the way with orange juice and then topped it off with Southern Comfort. “Two sloe screws!” He declared as he held the glasses aloft and squinted at them. He weaved unsteadily back and forth. “Needs ice.”
“Ice!” Shouted Joanne and she flung open the freezer door with enough force to send it careening back against its hinges. The door reached its apex and swung forward and clocked Joanne. She fell against the appliance, rocking the fridge and sending the jars of homemade preserves atop it rocking and clattering. Unfazed, Joanne muttered "oops." She scooped two-handfuls of ice from the ice maker and staggered over to her husband and dropped the cubes into the tumblers with a splash that sent orange juice and liquor splashing over William’s hands and on to the floor.
Eagerly, Legless stepped forward and grabbed the tumblers from William. “Thank you, my lord,” he offered a formal little bow before taking a sip of his beverage.
“Hot damn, I got to get me some of those,” Sue had clambered down from her perch and was now bent over at the waist examining Legless’ legwarmers. “Them’s hot.”
For the first time, Stu noticed that his Aunt Sue was attired in flame red satin Capris and a lemon yellow bell-sleeved chiffon blouse. The sheer material did not hide her parchment skin or, in Stu’s under-educated estimation, what could only be described as an orthopedic bra. Glimmergroin, thumping up behind her, wore electric blue satin pants with day-glo pink front laces and a green and flannel blue plaid jerkin that left his arms, as well as most of his hairy chest, bare
“Jesus, all he needs is a Hog and he‘ll be set,” Stu said, taking in the dwarf‘s attire.
“Why would the dwarf need a hog, beloved?”
“To ride,” Stu said sniffing the mixed drink.
“Dwarves don‘t ride pigs.” The dwarf frowned and smoothed droplets of his drink off his beard. “What’s that on your head, laddie?”
Stu decided it was for the best if the discussion of hogs and riding pigs ended on that note and kept his lips firmly clamped together.
Legless handed Stu one of the glasses before patting his head. “It’s called a newsie cap. Beloved bought it for me.”
“Well ain’t that nice,” Joanne said with a raucous giggle. “Hit me again, Willie.” She said, holding out her empty glass to her husband.
Stu downed his drink the three quick swallows. In all his years of existence, he’d never seen his Aunt Sue drunk. He’d also never heard his Aunt Sue yell hot damn or seen her wear pants. He didn’t know what to make of the sudden changes and, so, with nothing more constructive to do, he examined the other bottles of liquor on the table. He’d never much cared for SoCo anyway. The array and variety shocked his eyebrows up around his hairline.
“Ya’ll opening a bar?” He read the labels and shook his head. There was the standard Jack Daniels, usually reserved for his mother’s barbeque sauce, Maker’s Mark, Canadian Mist and something called Midori. A close examination of the label made Stu grimace. “Watermellon liquor? Sheesh.”
“We’re celebrating your h-homecoming,” Joanne sloshed her drink all over the top of Glimmergroin’s head.
Stu snatched up the Maker’s Mark and poured it over the lonely ice cubes in his glass. “Well, gee, mom, I’d have been just as happy,” he glanced over and saw Glimmergroin pinch his aunt’s backside. “Happier,” he corrected himself, “with a cake.”
After a few more gulps of Maker’s Mark, Stu began to relax and decided not to notice that Glimmergroin and his aunt were making out in the kitchen. He also didn’t say a word when Legless curled in his lap. And when his mother began singing the ‘marching song’, Stu poured another shot of Maker's Mark and joined in. .
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