The illusion of my parents has faded. Tony is gone, too. If it weren't for the unexpected return appearance of Jason Statham, I'd be all alone in this empty, dark, infinite void. Also, why is Jason Statham in my subconscious. Dad told me before he faded into the ether that I had to count my blessings in order to free myself from the grip of the N'jilarian nectar. How do I do that? What blessings? What's so great about being me?
"How am I supposed to do this, Jason Statham?"
"Are you saying you can't think of reasons why it's great to be Kilroy? It should be easy for you. It's all you usually talk about. Oh, I have a car that flies through space. Oh, I have my own moon base. Oh, I have a nanotech in my brain that makes me smarter than I deserveto be."
"You're mocking me."
"You think?"
"You know as well as I do that all of that is just a false bravado to hide my staggering insecurities."
"You're making this harder than it needs to be." He slaps me right across the face and I admit the gesture is both random and uncalled for. "Just think of your favorite things."
"Getting slapped is not on that list, dude." I rub my cheek and contemplate his advice. This space is so quiet. I sense the fake studio audience is gone now. So is Jason Statham. The reality of my insignifance is palpable. That's a fun word, palpable. Is it a favorite word, though? Does it count as one of my favorite things? I don't think so. But, i'm starting to get an idea of what they are.
"Oh, by the way." Jason Statham pops up out of literally nowhere. "You have to sing it. You know the tune."
"Shit." I take a deep breath and improvise.
Girls in nice sweaters and "Mr. Roboto"
Going commando and lemon gelato
A toy gun that shoots pink silly string
These are a few of my favorite things
Yeah, that feels good. I like this.
PIzza and burgers, all food that's bad for me
Hot showers and cold beer and being horny
Scarlet Johansson whenever she sings
These are a few of my favorite things
I realize Scarlet Johansson is not a thing. She's a person, but I'm winging it here. A swell of goodwill is building. The weight of my grief and heartache lightens and I am digging this vibe. I sing louder.
When the Herps fight
When the show sucks
When my feet smell bad
I simply remember my favorite things
And then I don't feel so bad
It's working! Light starts to fill in the edges of my vision. Time to really sell it now.
All '80s music and Victoria's Secret
Food truck fish tacos and my tuxedo jacket
My mom's warm hugs, Paul McCartney & Wings
These are a few of my favorite things
When Tony farts, when he gripes too much
When life makes me mad
I simply remember my favorite things
And then I don't feel so bad
The light is everywhere now, like I'm rushing through a tunnel. Muffled voices grow louder and louder and splotchy colors from blurry images come into view. I release a loud, long, cleansing belch and then pop back into reality. My mom and my friends stand slackjawed, clearly emerging from their own N'jilarian nectar trip. Tony looks like he has seen God and the meeting didn't go well. Mom rushes to me and pulls me to her.
"Are you okay?" Her voice is breathless and urgent.
"I'm good. I'm good." I pull away. "You?"
She nods and then sneers at something behind me. I turn and see the Head Honcho Herpezoid whose name at this point is completely irrelevant to me. His lips are curled in a sinister sneer.
"How did you enjoy your nectar?"
"I've had better," I say. "In fact, I feel great!"
"How is that possible?" he asks. "The nectar renders you empty and ruined."
"I simply remembered one of my favorite things."
He scoffs. "And what are those."
"Kicking Herpezoid ass."
To be continued...