Chapter 30
Stu: Your Chariot Awaits
Stu never feels himself hitting the floor. He floats instead, floats on a bed of snack cakes and candy. He is moving through a tunnel on this sugar float and on the walls of the tunnel are records. He hums snippets of songs as he sees each record. “Band of Gold.” “McArthur Park.” “Billy, Don’t be a Hero.” At the end of the tunnel the bed of snacks disappears and Stu finds himself unceremoniously dumped into a dank, damp crevice. There’s a crack in the wall, a strong light emanating from the crack. The light gets brighter and brighter and Stu smiles, thinking he’s finally getting the hell out of Greener Valley. “Go to the light, Stu!” he says to himself, but when he gets up to run toward the wall, three shadow figures stop him.
It’s Tony Orlando. And Dawn. And the other Dawn. He never quite understood why two women were called one Dawn but it never mattered to him before this. When he was masturbating, they were one and the same. And now here they were in front of him – shadowy or not, it was them – looking like they just stepped out of 1970. He feels briefly guilty for all the dirty thoughts he had about the Dawns, as if they can see into him and know all the Dear Penthouse type situations that took place in his head.
But they don’t seem concerned with that.
Tony reaches out a hand. Stu hesitates, realizes he has no other way out of the crevice, and takes Tony’s hand. It feels like reaching into smoke. Like nothing. But when Tony pulls, Stu is yanked forward and even if that smoke is nothing, it is certainly something. Tony pushes Stu toward the crevice, toward the light. The Dawns flank him as he walks into it, nudging him forward. When he goes through, he feels immense heat. The hair on his chest and legs singe, leaving an acrid smell behind them.
He finds himself standing on the side of a road. A horn honks. His ride is here.
He climbs into the familiar jalopy-chariot
“Good evening, Stu.” The driver tips his hat toward his passenger. “Interesting outfit, Santa.”
Stu grunts. Unlike Curtis, Stu has taken this particular chariot before and knows what to expect. He’s not unnerved. He’s not worried. He’s definitely curious.
“What does She want from me?”
The driver grins, whips the horses. The jalopy-chariot rumbles to life and they travel a road Stu knows should be familiar but isn’t. It’s just a small circle, not the expansive highway they rode on the past few times he was in the passenger seat. They drive around it a couple of times, the driver cutting the curves short, the jalopy tipping sometimes as they round the curves. Stu grips the sides of his seat, white knuckling it even though he knows he can’t really be hurt out here.
“So how long has it been, Stu?”
“I don’t know. Ten, twenty, a hundred years. Time doesn’t really seem to matter anymore.”
“It’s been 297 years, Stu. Two hundred. Ninety. Seven. Years.”
The driver takes his hands off the wheel to reach into the console. The jalopy continues on. He produces a bottle of Jack Daniels and two Dixie riddle cups.
“Drink, Stu?”
“Of course.”
The driver pours, hands Stu his cup.
“Look at the riddle, Stu.”
It’s the one about time flying.
“Yea. I had this one last night.”
“Oh come on, that’s funny stuff, Stu!”
“There’s no world in which that’s funny to anyone but a six year old.”
“Ok. Maybe not funny. But certainly apropos.”
“Certainly.”
“297 years. That’s a long time to be roaming, Stu.”
“Not my choice.”
“Nope. But guess what, Stu? It’s your lucky day. You’re getting a choice!”
Stu gulps down the Jack and holds out his cup for another. Instead the driver turns the radio on.
“Don’t you just love this song, Stu?”
It’s the DeFranco family.
“I fucking hate this song, Frank.” The driver cringes when Stu says his name, but doesn’t address his discomfort.
“Well here’s your chance to never have to play it again”
The chariot has stopped. They’re in front of a glass door. Stu knows what’s behind that door. Rest. Peace. The end.
“So here’s the thing, Stu.” Frank turns the volume down on “Heartbeat.” He pours Stu another Dixie cup of Jack. “You can go in that door, have your penance done with and rest in peace. Or.”
“OR?”
“Or you can go back to Greener Valley and help save them. They kinda need you there, Stu.”
“I’m dead back there.”
“No, you’re just unconscious. Not dead.”
“Oh.”
Stu thinks.
“If I go help them, I have to stay?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“I don’t know, Stu. Maybe five. Maybe ten. Maybe another 297 years.”
Stu is not an altruistic person. He’s not been a very good person, not like he was in North Bennington. He took on a different tone when he came to Greener Valley. He soaked up some of what lies beneath that greener grass. But maybe there’s a part of him that’s still good, because something about Greener Valley tugs at him. He’s there to protect them. He’s there to keep them from imploding. He’s there to keep Her at bay. It’s something he’s good at. Something he’s been doing for a few hundred years. Keeping towns and cities from imploding, keeping them out of Her clutches when she goes off on one of her frenzies. Of course, there always came a time when She caught up with him. She always found a way. But until now, until Greener Valley, he’d always been able to stave Her and the shadows off. He’d always kept the towns cloaked and safe without ever letting the citizens know they were just a breath away from death and destruction. If he gets out of the car and walks into that door, She will win. Stu will be defeated for the first time. And he’d never know it. He’d be resting peacefully. Or would he? How could he trust anything that happened in this world? He’d seen people dragged away from peaceful resting places before. There was no surety that he’d RIP forever. What if they woke him up? What if they woke him and told him that everyone in Greener Valley died or they didn’t die but were forever changed? They would do that. They would wake him just to tell him that. They would. Who were they kidding? That glass door was a farce. He’d never rest peacefully. So what was the point?
Fuck it,” he says to Frank. “Take me back to Greener Valley.”
Frank smiles. It isn’t a friendly smile. But it isn’t evil, either. Frank rarely got to see someone do the right thing. He was, for lack of a better word, humored.
“Ok, Stu. Let’s ride.” He pours two more riddle cups of Jack Daniels, turns on the radio, whips the horses into gear and the two ride off to Greener Valley singing the Motown version of “Winter Wonderland.” When they reach the crevice, Tony and the Dawns are waiting for Stu. Tony hands him another Dixie cup. This one is not full of Jack Daniels. Its a cup of pure, white snow, fresh as if it were just plucked from the sky.
“I left something else for you up there, Stu. Now go. Go make it snow.”