Day 26: 45,013 Words!

Only 5,000 words to go! The group of heroes at the Romance Inn are about to enter Jackie's Place. I got my writing done early, so I can go visit the real Jackie's Place. I hope you enjoy! I am getting so excited about finishing.

 “I don’t know what will greet us on the other side of that door, but there is a good chance that we will lose our wits, or become separated, likely some combination of the two… it will serve us well to have some sort of material reminder of the here and now- something to ground us in our identities- a physical reminder of who we are and what we are doing.”

Sylvester Stallone, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, tentatively raised his hand.

“Yes, Sylvester Stallone, do you have an idea?” Sylvester Stallone hesitated, then spoke.

“This might be a dumb idea,” he said, looking around shyly.

“There are no dumb ideas here,” Gordon said, “Only dumb people!”

“Well,” Sylvester Stallone began, somehow encouraged by Gordon’s pronouncement. “I don’t know if any of you noticed the 24 Hour Jorts Emporium in the lobby of the Romance Inn. But, as you can see, Richard Gere and I are already wearing matching jorts as a material representation of our friendship. We have put our bitter feud behind us, and are ready to move forward. Together. United in jorts.”

It was a moving speech, and Gordon found himself choked up with emotion.

“That is beautiful, Sylvester. But I’m afraid we no longer have access to the lobby of the Romance Inn. I don’t know if any of you have noticed, but we are quite literally not in Kansas any more.” Of course, they had never been in Kansas, but now was not the time to argue semantics. Gordon had already made that perfectly clear.

“Well,” Sylvester Stallone looked both proud and nervous. “It just so happens that I purchased a pair for each of us… it was sort of going to be my contribution to this support group. I’m not always the best with my words, I’m kind of more of a shoot first ask questions later kind of guy, but I wanted you all to know how much it means to me to have your support.” The group was touched.

“It is perfect, Sylvester Stallone,” Gordon, said, wiping a tear from his eye. These jorts will be a perfect reminder of who we are. We are not bbq dads! We are Celebrity Feud Support Group Supporters!”

The drunk teenager had returned, with more than wine adjacent drinkable products. He held out a stack of red t-shirts. “Some group left these behind years ago. They said ‘some things are better left behind.’” The group nodded at the wisdom of these words. “Will these help?” He set down the stack and held up one of the shirts. It read ‘York University, Department of Social and Political Thought,’ in loopy white scrawl that paired nicely with the red background. Gordon released a breath, astounded by the synchronicity. He exchanged a knowing glance with his nemesis. Sometimes, you had to go back to go forward. He had left the Department of Social and Political Thought in the past, believing it to be dead and buried, but some things have a way of not staying dead, and the Department of Social and Political Thought at York University certainly fit the bill.

“Yes,” he said, nodding at the drunk employee and squinting his eyes. “These will do just fine.” Moments later, the communitas, resplendent in their matching jorts and bright red t-shirts were ready. Gordon opened his mouth to deliver one final piece of sage advice, when the music on the other side of the door swelled. They could now hear snatches of lyrics, “Yeah… I’m gonna take my lab to the Old Lab Road… I’m going to bark until I can’t no more…”

The group exchanged nervous glances… what could these strange lyrics possibly mean? Were they overhearing the performance of a Lil Nas X tribute band? Or a Labrador Retriever tribute band? They were mystified. But the time for questions was over, and they knew it. They would have to face whatever was on the other side of the door, whether they were ready or not. The door swung silently open, and the sound of the music blared into the room, the Romance Inn seeming to fade in the otherworldly light emerging from the other side of the door.

The Rock, who was nearest to the door, held it open as they each passed through. He gave each person a word of encouragement, or a pat on the back, and when they were all through, he looked around the room, ensuring no one was forgotten. And then the Rock stepped toward the door himself, the light shining through the door casting him in silhouette. He was an imposing figure, nearly filling the frame of the door. He stepped through and released his hold on the door. It quietly swung shut behind him with a click. For a moment, the strange light continued to shine from beneath the door, and the music continued to thump through the walls. And then, all was silent and still. For good or for ill, the door, the portal to other side was well and truly shut. This unlikely group of heroes, in their matching jorts and red t-shirts, armed with nothing other than a case of Piquette and an array of seemingly useless items, were on their own. Let’s wish them well, shall we?