By John McDonnell
“Mom, your alien made Horst disappear!” Willow shrieked. “Get him to bring Horst back now!”
Dolores thought that Horst was probably fitting in very well with all the other hominids from 8 million years ago, and she was not thrilled with the idea of bringing him back, but Willow looked a bit flushed under her corpse-like Goth makeup, so Dolores said, “Larry, can you please bring Horst back from whatever epoch you sent him to?”
“Certainly,” Larry said, and in a flash Horst was back in the kitchen, breathing heavily, with scratches on his face and an assortment of twigs, leaves, and small animals in his hair.
“Whoo,” Horst said. “I didn’t know hippos could climb trees.” He had the look of someone who had seen entirely too much for one day.
“Come on, Baby,” Willow said, pushing him out the back door. “We know when we’re not wanted.” She came back long enough to grab two beer bottles out of the refrigerator and then slam the door behind her.
After they left, Dolores sat down across the kitchen table from Larry. “That’s my daughter,” she said. “She has terrible taste in men, her hair is purple, and she hasn’t said ‘Thank you’ to anyone in ten years.”
Larry looked pensive. “On my planet it is not uncommon for mothers to eat their young.”
“That alone tells me you’re an advanced civilization,” Dolores said.
“I miss my home,” Larry said, his eyes moistening.
Dolores didn’t want him to start crying again, because it took forever to get him calmed down.
“Say, why don’t we go out to dinner?” she said. “I haven’t had seafood in ages. What do you think?”
Larry thought it was a good idea, as did Murphy and Edna. Although Dolores had to tell Edna that her full length pink ballgown, white gloves, and feather boa was not appropriate attire for the seafood restaurant, and Murphy got Larry to promise he wouldn’t turn himself into anything more edgy than a Republican congressman for the duration of the evening.
Things did not go well at the seafood restaurant, however. While they were waiting for a table Larry noticed a large fish tank and went over to look at it. He pressed his face to the glass and seemed to be communing with a pinkish gray octopus for a few minutes. Suddenly he turned to Murphy and said, “My little friend here tells me this place has octopus on the menu. How barbaric!”
Murphy shrugged and said, “It’s a seafood restaurant. That’s what they serve.”
“This is an outrage,” Larry said. “I protest! This must stop!”
“What’s the matter?” Dolores said.
“Larry doesn’t like that there’s octopus on the menu,” Murphy said.
“Abomination!” Larry shouted. “What kind of people are you?” He had morphed into a cross between a Sumo wrestler and an 11th century Viking, and was going around the restaurant overturning tables, breaking glass, and causing the patrons to flee for their lives.
“Isn’t this darling?” Edna said. “I love it when someone takes a principled stand. What are we fighting for, dear?”
“The rights of octopi,” Dolores said, with a murderous look at Murphy.
“You’d better leave now,” Murphy said. “I’ll get him calmed down, I promise.”
“I really wanted seafood,” Dolores muttered, as she led Edna out of the restaurant just before a water glass whizzed by her ear and crashed into the cash register, shattering in a thousand pieces.
Later, after a spirited police chase through the mountains, Murphy stopped at a quaint little town and treated everyone to ice cream cones, and they sat on a bench by a pier and watched the sun set over the ocean.
“I’m sorry,” Larry said. He looked vaguely like a librarian now, and had a beard and wore a threadbare blue cardigan. “I get carried away sometimes.”
“It’s okay, dear,” Edna said. She looked out at the darkening sky. “Do you ever look at the stars at night and wonder if there’s anyone else out there?”
Murphy blinked twice rapidly, and said, “Larry is from out there, Edna.”
“Nonsense,” Edna said. “Larry is one of us. Aren’t you dear?” she said, patting Larry on the knee. “Why, all Larry needs is a girlfriend, and he’ll be all right.”
“A girlfriend,” Larry said. “There would be a certain strange logic in that.”
“Wonderful,” Murphy said. “Would this girlfriend be a vertebrate or an invertebrate?”
“Mother is right,” Dolores said. “Larry needs a relationship.”
“A bit of advice, Larry,” Murphy said. “Settle on one species, at least. Women like a little stability in that area.”
COPYRIGHT JOHN MCDONNELL, 2010. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.