How Not To Be A Groupie

Want a plane that loops the loop

Me, I want a hula hoop

The Chipmunks were the soundtrack to my existential crisis that afternoon. My plate of complimentary carrot cake sat untouched in front of me. Complimentary because the waitress took one look at my tear stained face and felt sorry for me. She was so nice...too bad I could only blubber out a thank you in response. 

Poking the cake with my fork, I set the fork down and looked at the clock. It was one in the afternoon and getting warmer every hour. Fans stood in every corner of the diner, ribbons blowing furiously. A fresh wave of tears spilled over, dropping onto the table in pathetic puddles. 

My friends were gone. They were all gone and I was now faced with the reality that I may never see them again. 

Not to mention I still had no way to get home to 2024 and may never see my other loved ones again. 

Surely I couldn't time travel around other people. I had been alone when it happened and the magic or whatever it was dropped me off in some alley. Maybe I had to return to that alley. But of course I'd never find it and I'd spend the rest of my days endlessly searching. Malcolm's offer of finding their family home grew tempting. I could stay with their parents and perhaps figure something out there. At least I would have a place to sleep.

Unless they didn't like me and threw me out. I couldn't bear to think about that.

The Chipmunks died away and were replaced by Eartha Kitt. The little bell rang above the diner door and I watched a customer leave, putting his wallet back in his pocket. He had been the only other customer in there with me and now the emptiness was magnified. Alone. That's all I ever was anymore.

Maybe I was exaggerating. 

And I certainly couldn't bitch and complain about the band leaving me behind. I made sure they did, my stubborn and foolish little ass just standing there watching the buses leave without me. I had a right to be sad, but I couldn't just sit here and cry. I had to do something.

So I decided to find where Mr. and Mrs. Young lived and explain to them that I was a friend of their sons. Maybe they'd believe me, maybe they wouldn't. Maybe they'd take me in out of the kindness of their hearts. 

Or they'd find out I had been their sons' groupie for a month and....I didn't want to think about that.

Pushing my plate aside I pulled my laundry bag out from under the table. Seeing as there were no eating customers, I wouldn't offend anyone by displaying my laundry. The piece of paper Malcolm gave me was a bit crumpled but I smoothed it out over my knee and examined it. Burwood, what the hell was Burwood? I'd have to ask around. After paying for my lunch I'd have just enough money for a bus. My hair whipped across my face from the fans. 

Would they believe that I knew their sons? Or would they think I was some crazed fan looking to get attention? Just another poser? If they wanted to ask Malcolm or Angus for proof, they'd have to wait for them to call first since they had no steady address at the moment. And until then, what would they do with me? I didn't have money for a motel room. I could grab a quick job somewhere. Like in the old days. Sure, why not? I wasn't helpless, and I started to perk up after having a plan. Even my appetite came back a bit and I snatched a bite of free carrot cake. 

The fans were blowing so hard I actually felt goosebumps on my bare legs. Either someone turned them on way too high or they were malfunctioning and threatened to explode, sending spinning blades right at my head. I chanced a look behind me to see what was going on and noticed the entire diner was stone cold empty. Not only no customers, no employees either. Should I find someone in back and tell them their fans were about to send me to Oz? I gripped the paper in my hands which had bent and folded from the wind. It wouldn't do to lose it so I stuffed it back in my bag and closed it. 

When the wind stung my eyes I was forced to close them. And only then did I finally realize what was happening. Clutching my bag with one hand and stealing a few final bites of carrot cake with the other, I braced myself for what was coming. Stools scraped against the floor and pinned up orders flapped against the wall. The bell above the door rang incessantly and I wondered how much ringing was real and how much was in my head. I kept expecting someone to come into the diner, or someone from the back to check what was happening but there was no such thing. 

The bell faded and the winds began to die down. Christmas music had been replaced with silence. My eyes remained shut for as long as I could stand it. When curiosity got the better of me, I opened them and looked around. Books all over the floor, papers scattered everywhere, a few clothes where they shouldn't be...and a laptop on my desk and a cellphone on my bed. 

I was home. 

With a mouth full of carrot cake.