I Don't Belong Here

 Rodger Hyde had no damn clue what a Snow Moon Village was…even though he was smack bang in the middle of one. He looked around with glazed and puffy eyes at the wonders around him: gnomes running and playing in the street, bearded wizards in pointed hats selling potions, barbarians in furs laughing it up and chugging beer together, and green elves sharpening their blades with whetstones. The architecture of each building had that old-timey English medieval look, whether it was the cobblestone streets or the wooden structures of the Restful Wishes Inn, Dragon Blade Weapons Shop, Hellforge Armory, or Ogre Tears Tavern. The sounds of flutes and harps glided through the air as half-elf bards played their whimsical tunes, dancing in the streets as they were doing so.

This entire setup jumped straight from the pages of a Dungeons & Dragons handbook. And yet, all Rodger could whisper to himself was…”I don’t belong here.” To his credit, he stood out like a nun at a porn convention with his Crossfade T-shirt, messy brown hair, green khakis, and green marijuana radiating from his clothing. His self-hating mantra was confirmed even further as passersby gave him strange looks, ranging from sorrowful concern to smelling something suspicious.

“I don’t belong here,” he whispered to himself again. Even with all of his experience playing Dungeons & Dragons as a teenager, all the monster-slaying adventures he put his paladin through, all of the seas he crossed with his wizard in toe, all of the pockets he picked with his half-orc thief, the only words that rang true to him at that moment were…”I don’t belong here.” Somebody in his head was saying that to him, but the weed he smoked that morning ensured he wouldn’t have any clear answers.

He was snapped out of his zombie-like trance when a muscular barbarian slapped him on the shoulder and squeezed it. “Hello there, little laddie! Where’re you coming from?”

“I…I don’t know…”

“Well, where’re you going?”

“D…Denny’s…”

“Denny’s! A worthy quest if I’ve ever heard one! Perhaps we can venture together, laddie!”

“I…I don’t…I don’t think so…I, uh…” Rodger wandered off as another barbarian made a weird comment about how awkward he was. That barbarian was right, but the words he really meant to say were…”I don’t belong here.”

Just a few more agonized, cringey steps and he would be out of the Snow Moon Village, on his way to a Moons Over My Hammy with French fries and diet soda. That was his favorite meal as a kid, which he was surprised he remembered so vividly considering the rest of his mind was just as scrambled as the eggs in his would-be sandwich. A few more strange looks, minor giggles, and offers for potions later, Rodger finally made it to the edge of this LARPing convention. Over the hill was the Bastion of Breakfast itself: Denny’s. Maybe the Moons Over My Hammy would have to be scrapped in favor of a rib eye steak. Or a stack of pancakes a mile high oozing with maple syrup and drowning in butter. Or French toast with even more syrup and butter. And then…the realization hit him: “I don’t belong there either.”

What would the other patrons think of him, his wardrobe choices, and his disheveled appearance? Surely, Denny’s had that kind of clientele on a regular basis…but not him. There was something too awkward and flimsy about him. How did he know? The mysterious voice in his head told him so: “I don’t belong here.” And with that, he sat on the sidewalk with face in his hand. How defeated he was to not belong to a place that only cared whether or not he paid for his meal.

Somewhere in his lost thoughts, Rodger overheard a barbarian saying, “Murphy! Miss Witherspoon! I believe that young man over there needs some help.”

“Oh, no…”said Rodger silently to himself, anticipating more awkward interactions ahead from this Murphy Witherspoon person. As sure as the sun shone brightly enough to fuck up his eyes, a light blue elven lady with long red hair, a white puffy shirt, and black baggy pants sat next to him on the sidewalk. No doubt this was her.

“Guess what?” she said in an Irish accent. “Our bards don’t know how to play Crossfade songs.” She chuckled at her own joke while Rodger could only give a weak smile, which in her mind was probably better than none. “Share a story with me?”

“About what?”

Murphy giggled and hung her head. “Your story, of course. Everybody has a story to tell.”

“Well…I, uh…I got out of bed…smoked a roll of weed, and…just wandered here, I guess. I don’t know.”

“That…sounds exciting. Very adventurous.”

“Look, I know I don’t belong here, okay? You don’t have to tell me, because I already know.”

Murphy placed a hand on Rodger’s shoulder. “Nonsense, of course you do. The Snow Moon Village welcomes people of all kinds.”

He made a flat tire noise. “Tell that to the people who were giving me funny looks today.”

“Oh, don’t mind them. They’re worried about you, that’s all. You came here looking like you got mugged by some ogres and spit out by some dragons. It’s only natural that they’d want to know more about you.”

Rodger raised his voice. “I don’t even know about me, okay?!” Murphy edged backwards a little bit. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

“No worries, my friend. I’ve faced horrors much worse than an angry pothead. I’ve ventured into fiery caves and blood-covered mountains. If you ever decide to come on an adventure with us, bring lots of potions, like this one.” She held a bottle of red liquid underneath his nose.

Rodger pulled the cork and smelled it. “It’s fruit punch.”

“All that weed must have stunted your imagination, laddie.”

“More like my mom’s boyfriend.”

And just like that, Rodger’s eyes grew wide with the realization of where he heard that familiar phrase before. He let it slip. It all came back to him in an instant. His shouting matches. The shoving. The tears from his own mother pouring down her red cheeks. He suddenly remembered the pettings she gave him on his fluffy hair in order to calm him down from a yelling session. The hugs that were as warm as a thick blanket and much more comfortable to be wrapped around in. He could fall asleep during one of her comfort sessions if not for the nightmare that awaited him when he woke up, hence the reason he smoked so much pot to begin with.

“Are you okay?” Murphy asked, probably noticing a small tear pouring down Rodger’s face.

“…I told him I didn’t want to get a STEM degree…I just wanted to write stories and play D&D…but he kept telling me to man up. He said that real adults don’t play with that kid shit. He said that money was more important than my dreams. We argued like this for hours and…I’m sorry, I don’t mean to dump all of this on you…What was I thinking?” He wiped the tear from his eye.

“So he’s the one telling you that you don’t belong here?”

“…Yes…wait a minute…how did you know I was saying that?”

“Have you seen the concerned faces of everyone around you? Of course they heard you.”

Rodger shook his head. “Who says those things? Why would anybody…it makes no sense…It’s just stupid shit…”

Murphy scratched her fingernails along Rodger’s back. “That says more about your mom’s boyfriend than it does about you. Imagination and creativity should never be suppressed in favor of capitalism. That piece of horse garbage has no idea what he’s talking about.”

“I can deny him all he wants, but it doesn’t make the pain go away.” He wiped another tear from his eye. “Look, I appreciate you trying to help me, but I really just want to eat myself to death at Denny’s, okay?”

“We don’t eat Moons Over My Hammies here in the Snow Moon Village. We eat dragon stew with extra chunks of meat and potatoes.”

“I told you, I don’t belong…”

“Yes, yes, I know what you said! Your mom’s boyfriend said you don’t belong here! I get it! But…I’m saying you do. You belong everywhere you go. Do you understand? If you’re worried about the Crossfade T-shirt and not fitting in, then…” She smiled. “I’m sure we can find some nice wizard robes to dress you in.” Rodger’s eyes started to light up behind his puffy sadness. “Or if you’re more of a fighting man, we can get some splint mail. Or demon-skin boots. Anything you’d like.”

Rodger breathed heavily. “Thank you…thank you so much.”

“The name’s Murphy. Murphy Witherspoon.”

“Rodger Hyde. Nice to meet you.” They shook hands.

Before his grin could fully form, the same barbarian from before slapped his shoulder again, jarring him out of his skin. With a hideous fanged smile, he asked, “What’s your mom’s boyfriend’s name?” He held up a battleaxe. “I’d like to have a word with him!”

NOW was the right time for Rodger to smile. Of course, murder was still illegal, but the sentiment was all that mattered. Belonging in the Snow Moon Village was all that mattered. Belonging anywhere at all was all that mattered.