LOST

James Kasey drove the large, orange and white moving truck around to the back of Stew’s apartment building. Alex and Stew, both with steaming cups of coffee in their hands, were there waiting to guide him as he backed it up to the door. Once Mr. Kasey brought the truck to a stop, Stew undid the latch in the back. “Dad… did they not have any bigger trucks?” Stew asked as he looked at the behemoth.

“Your new apartments just a few blocks away, right?” Mr. Kasey asked as he climbed out of the cab and walked towards the back

“Yeah. And?”

“We could get rid of the truck and wheel everything over on some hand trucks… if you’d rather.”

“No, Dad,” Stew said, rolling his eyes at his father’s attempt at sarcasm. “This orange monster will be fine.”

“I was just kidding you, sport,” James said as he tousled Stew’s hair and slung his arm around his son’s shoulders. “Your mom and I figured you could use some more furniture. You can’t eat dinner at the coffee table forever. So, we stopped by the Webb Road Flea Market and picked up a few things.”

“I was wondering what was taking you so long. You know, you didn’t have to do that. I would’ve been fine.”

“I know, but we did it anyway, because we love you.”

“I love you, too. And I appreciate it.”

Mrs. Kasey came around to the back from the passenger side holding a tray with four hot cups of coffee. She saw Stew and Alex standing there with their coffee and she stopped, “Oh, well. I should have known you’d already have coffee. Is Marc going to be able to come by today?”

“For a short while, yeah,” Stew replied. “But he should be here by now.”

“It is Saturday,” Mrs. Kasey said. “Everybody’s at the movies, I imagine. Happy Moving Day, though.”

“Yes. Stew Kasey’s Independence Day! Happy Moving Day, Mom.”

Mrs. Kasey nodded and smiled in agreement, but her eyes became wet with tears.

“Are you okay?” Alex asked her.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she said as she wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her jacket.

“I think she’s finally come to terms with me staying here. We’re both stubborn as billy goats but rationality tends to win.”

“Watch it, mister. You might find yourself loading this truck all by your lonesome.”

“Remember… nothing strenuous. Doctor’s orders,” Stew said with a wide grin.

“Then, I guess you won’t be moving,” Mrs. Kasey returned with a wide grin of her own.

“Okay, okay. You sunk my battleship. I’ll be quiet.”

“That’s what I thought. Shall we?” she said, gesturing towards the door that led inside to Stew’s apartment.

“They’re a riot, aren’t they?” Mr. Kasey asked Alex as they followed Stew and his mom.

“Yes, they are. I can’t imagine what Thanksgiving is going to be like.”

“Oh, we could almost sell tickets,” he replied, holding the door open for her. Alex laughed heartily and genuinely, making Mr. Kasey laugh in return.

A few hours later, the Kaseys and Alex were putting the final bunch of boxes in the back of the moving truck. As Mr. Kasey looked at the large amount of room left, he realized he could have gone with a smaller truck. “Well, Stew, will you look at that? Just be glad it was me who made the mistake and not you.”

“Yeah. You’ve got to ride home with Mom.”

“Hey,” Mrs. Kasey objected, “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, you’re not going to let him live this down, are you?”

“Oh, no. You can count on that.”

“Thanks,” Mr. Kasey quietly said to Stew.

“You are very welcome, Dad,” Stew replied, mocking sincerity. “If there’s anything else I can do for you, just let me know… except for weenie pills. You’re on your own, there.”

“Stewart!” Mrs. Kasey scolded, holding back a burst of laughter.

“Damn it. I was going to ask for those as stocking stuffers, too.” Mr. Kasey said, his face showing mock disappointment.

“James!” she turned to her husband in disbelief. “I’ll give you a stocking stuffer and you’re not going to like it.”

“Okay. No longer a PG-13 conversation,” Stew said as he covered his ears.

“You,” Mrs. Kasey said, pointing at Stew, “and you,” pointing at Mr. Kasey, “…minds out of the gutter and butts in the truck.”

“I’m riding with Alex,” Stew said, not wanting to get caught in the crossfire.

“Fine. Get moving,” she said, trying really hard to be serious but there was a hint of a smile beneath the gruffness. Mr. Kasey caught it and took it as an invitation to continue the faux battle. Just as he was thinking of something clever to say, Marc pulled up in his car.

“There’s Marc. Just in time… to do nothing,” Stew noted. “Well, he can help unload, I suppose.”

“Sorry, guys,” Marc said as he opened his car door and got out, at first, not noticing Stew’s parents. “Had a clusterf… uh… dge… at work.”

“Nice save,” Stew pointed out. “SNAFU?”

“Yeah, that pretty much covers it. Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Kasey.”

“Hi, Marc,” Stew’s parents replied.

“Want some coffee?” Stew offered Marc one of the two remaining cups in the tray his mom had.

“Sure.” As soon as he took the cup in his hand, he knew something was amiss. “Hey. It’s cold.”

“You’re late. That’s what you get.”

“That’s rude, mister.”

“You’ll live. So, are you helping us unload or do you have to go back to the theater?”

“No, George has got it for the rest of the day. You promised pizza and beer. I am there for you, my friend.”

“Ah, I see. If pizza and beer were not involved, you wouldn’t be here.”

“Of course, I would. What kind of a friend do you think I am?” Marc looked at Stew’s parents sitting inside the cab of the moving truck, “I think your parents are waiting on us.”

Later that day, after the last boxes had been brought in from the truck and all the furniture was moved into place, the Kaseys, Alex and Marc stood around the table Stew’s parents had bought for him. Everyone had a slice of pizza in their hand. Stew’s dad opened the refrigerator and pulled out four beers. He handed one to Alex, one to Marc and before he handed one to Stew, he asked, “You’re off the pain meds, right?”

“Yes.”

“Good. And the doctor didn’t say anything about not being able to drink alcohol?”

“No.”

“Well, this one is yours, then.”

A bottle opener made its rounds and everyone raised their bottle, except for Mrs. Kasey, who raised a glass of red wine. Glass clinked and clinked again.

“To freedom,” Mr. Kasey toasted.

“To freedom.”

“And ibuprofen,” Mr. Kasey added, holding a hand on his lower back.

“I hear that,” Marc said.

The studio apartment was not huge, but it was large enough to fit a couch, love seat, coffee table, desk, TV, a small set of bookshelves and a kitchen area with a table, an oven, microwave, dishwasher and a refriegerator. However, the love seat had to be moved in order to let down the Murphy bed. It was smaller than Stew was used to, but he didn’t consider himself one who needed a tremendous amount of room.

Stew’s parents stayed for a bit longer after they were finished eating, and then they went home, leaving the three friends to continue celebrating on their own.

“Have you seen any faeries or gnomes today?” Marc asked as he grabbed a second beer from the fridge.

“No, surprisingly,” Stew replied.

“I did,” Marc quickly, before Stew could say anything else. “She bought a large tub of popcorn and a large Diet Coke and went to see The Diary of Hacksaw Hank.”

“Shut up, weirdo.”

“I’m serious.”

“You’re serious?” Stew asked, cynically.

“No. But this fat lady with green hair came in. She looked like how I pictured your faerie friend… only taller… and wider.”

“You’re stupid.”

“You keep calling me names and I’m not going to be your friend anymore.”

“Well, I’d still have Alex and Cyndi Lauper, who, by the way, has orange hair, not green.”

“You’re both weirdoes,” Alex proclaimed.

The three of them laughed and laughed and didn’t stop until a few hours later when Marc retreated, sleepily, to his own apartment down the hall.

“As much as I’d like to stay up and make out with you as if we were a couple of high schoolers, I can’t keep my eyes open,” Alex confessed with her speech slightly slurred. “I’m surprised I’m able to finish a sentence.”

“So, what do you want to do?” Stew said, more sober than she.

“I’m not going to let you take advantage of me.”

“I wouldn’t do that.”

“I was kidding. Not really, but you know what I mean. I’ll crash on the couch.”

“I’m not going to let you sleep on the couch. You take the bed. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“I can’t argue right now. I promise not to puke on your bed.”

Stew pushed the love seat to where it faced the couch, touching it, pulled down the Murphy bed and made sure Alex got into it safely, then fell asleep, himself, on the couch.