Page 224 of The End of the World As We Know It
“A. Right. Chus. Mannnn!”
He lifts and spins himself around with impressive fluidity. Ezra’s stomach lurches. He’s the spitting image of his father.
“Well, heya, cats and kittens, you’re listening to WTAF. Any requests?”
Susie looks to Ezra, but Ezra’s too busy gaping to respond. She does her best to sound tough.
“We don’t want any trouble,” she says.
“Then none ye shall have.” The man holds up his hands, showing they’re empty. Then gives a big, silly grin. “Until you do. Because, y’know. ‘Life is what happens to you while you’re busy’ something, something.”
Ezra gives a sudden, private gasp. What the hell was he thinking: this strange man doesn’t actually look athinglike his dad. For a fewseconds there, it had been uncanny, but the longer he stares, the more inaccurate that comparison becomes. There’s only… a similar vibe. A manic glitter in the eyes. An insouciant lilt in the voice. If anything, this man looks more like the two vagrants from the gas station, with his beard, his long hair. He’s nowhere near as shabby, and his clothes aren’t ragged, but there’s definitely something road-worn about him.
Susie, meanwhile, is still trying to handle the situation, unaware of Ezra’s little epiphany.
“My name’s Susie. This is Ezra.”
The strange man snorts. “Ezra. Sure.”
“What’s your name?” she asks.
He shrugs.
“Oh, I’ve got loads of them. I’m the Nowhere Man. Lord of the Narrative Cul-de-Sac. Maestro Supreme of the Disposable Digression. You see, not everyone gets the old woman. Not everyone gets the Walkin Dude. Some people—the people who don’t get the chance to choose—get little ol’ me. Yup! When you won’t be takin’ any stand, you’ll find me cuz I’m your man.” He giggles at his near-rhyme.
Ezra finds his voice at last. “Great. Another basket case.”
“A tisketanda tasket,” the man replies, nodding. “Tom’s a-cold.”
“Let’s get out of here,” Ezra says. “I don’t like this. I think if we keep walking, we can hit Green River in probably—”
Outside, a sudden clap of thunder makes the windows rattle. Susie and Ezra both flinch. It hadn’t looked like rain when they’d walked in. Now, through the windows, the sky has gone from dusk to midnight black.
“Gonna be a big storm,” the man says. “Might as well wait it out here. I’ll be gentle. Why don’t you call me…” A shimmer of inspiration. “Tom Bombadil.”
“Oh, comeon.” Ezra crosses his arms over his chest.
“Why not?” the man asks. “As good a name as any! We can be whoever we want to be these days, right?”
Susie looks at Ezra. “What’s he talking about? Who’s—?”
“He’s screwing with us. That’s a character from a book.The Lord of the Rings.”
“Oh, I saw that Bakshi cartoon! My friend Corey got a hold of a print right before everything, y’know. But I don’t remember anyone named—”
“No, they cut that part out of the movie.” The man lets out a great guffaw. “Now what’s so funny?”
“I just love watching people put puzzles together. ‘They cut that part out.’ You’re soooo close already!”
“Close to what?” Ezra asks.
“Tom” leans forward with a stage whisper. “Not every Armageddon puts up a fight. The scenery’s being scrubbed. The world’s being moved on. There’s been a revision. Arewrite.”
“Okay.” Ezra heaves a sigh. “So, are you with those two Renaissance Fair rejects we just ran into? Prince Peter and what’s-his-name? Or did you all just happen to get the same head injury?”
Tom looks genuinely aghast. “Oh noooo. They wound uphere? Ugh, hope they find their way out. A long time ago, I gave them my Ur. Thought maybe it’d help get them back on track. See, this is why I don’t give gifts, Poor Tom.”
Ezra rubs his temples. “Why is everyone so damned insane all of a sudden?!”
