Take Me Home

Martin was the opposite of every stereotypical thing one might think on first glance. He was not the curious, inventive, clever, gregarious, outgoing gnome that most people expected. He was shy, unimaginative, more at home buried in a book than any social situation, and he was painfully lonely.

As much as he desired friends, no one he’d ever met gave him the chance to open up, expecting too much too soon. University was meant to be his chance to make a friend or two. After three years with no success, he decided to learn mixology. At least he’d be able to be involved in the parties, even if he couldn’t bring himself to speak.

His skills tending bar in those parties landed him a job as a bartender on graduation. An elf in his dorm found him a job, and a place to live, at his great-great-grandmother’s place in the city. His degree in Comparative Philology on the other hand, wasn’t doing anything for him in that regard.

True to form, Martin skipped the ceremony and picked up his diploma from the Dean’s office. He moved off campus early in the morning, before the magic library opened. The academic library was opened, so he dropped the mixology book, Master Mixology: 613 Enchanting Cocktails, at the academic library. Why he’d found it in the magic library he wasn’t sure; it was just a collection of drinks recipes with weird names. He’d memorized all of them in the month he’d had the book checked out.

To his dismay, when he unpacked at his new flat, the book was in his things. Maybe he’d left one of his own mixology books by accident. Not that it mattered much, as he memorized every drink recipe he’d ever read; over two thousand drinks. He opened the book and checked the stamp on the inside back cover. It was due that day.

He wasn’t sure what the overdue penalties were, but they were bound to be less painful than missing his first day at a new job. Martin decided he had time to go to the post office before work. Once there, he wrapped the book carefully and paid for express post to the magic library at the university, along with a return envelope in which they could send him a bill for the late fee.

Satisfied he’d handled that, he went back to the bar and began his first night. Martin worked smoothly, getting even the most complex multiple drink orders right the first time. The owner, Sylvia, had enough foresight to provide a stepladder so he could reach the top shelf.

When patrons tried to chat with him, he forced a smile and went about cleaning the bar, or changing a keg, or anything to get himself out of the situation. He still managed to make tips, although not as many he knew he could have.

After closing out the bar, he returned to his small flat, across the hall from Sylvia’s, and lay down to sleep. For some reason, John Denver’s Take Me Home, Country Roads was going through his head as he drifted off.

The next morning, Martin found himself singing in the shower. “Country rooooads... take me hoooome... to the plaaaace... I beloooong.” He hated the song, but it was stuck firmly in his head.

A strong cup of coffee rounded out his morning. He thought he should take a walk around the city to get a better feel for the place he lived. Propped against the wall near his shoes was the book. This time he knew it wasn’t his mistake. The book should have been in the express post and arriving at the magic library by now.

He’d handle it personally on his first day off. The bar was closed on Mondays, so he could take the train on Monday morning, return the book, pay the fee, and be home by teatime. He set the book on the small table in the center of the flat and went for his walk. When he found the local library, he spent the rest of the day there until it was time to go to work.

Martin prepped for the evening, slicing lemons and limes, refilling the ice machine, checking the soda syrup and CO2 canisters, and restocking the beer cooler.

“You’re awfully chipper today,” Sylvia said. A slender elf, streaks of grey in her amber hair, her smile accentuated the faint wrinkles around her green eyes.

“Sorry?” Martin was unsure what she was talking about.

“I didn’t take you for the type to whistle while you work. Charming.”

He realized he’d been whistling Take Me Home, Country Roads. “Yeah, it’s— stuck in my head since last night. I don’t even like the song.”

“Earworm,” she said. “It’ll be gone soon enough, I’m certain.”

Later that evening, a young human man sat at the bar and drank two shots in silence. Everything about his manner pointed to someone unhappy. Dark rings showed under his bright brown eyes, even against the deep brown of his skin. “Hey mate,” he said, “I’m gutted. My boyfriend scarpered… with a bird. Got anything to cheer me up or make me forget?”

Martin thought about it. He’d never had the chance to make any of the drinks in the book that he needed to return. There was one he could try. Not that alcohol is a great pick-me-up, but it had an apt name, at least.

After mixing the complicated drink, Martin slid it across the bar. “One Silver Lining for you.”

The man sipped at the drink while Martin went about his work. John Denver ran through his head again, more insistent now. Doing his best to ignore it, he returned to where the man was finishing the drink.

A broad smile played across his face. “Thanks, mate! You’re right. If that bastard was going to leave me to be with a girl, it’s better now than later. I’ll come back, for sure!” He handed Martin a hundred pounds for his three drinks. “Keep it, mate!”

Sleep, when it came, was fitful. Take Me Home, Country Roads kept playing in his mind, slowly gaining in volume, until it woke him in the middle of night. His throat was sore and dry, and still, he couldn’t stop whistling or humming the song.

A knock at his door roused him out of the bed. He opened it to see Sylvia, in her dressing gown and slippers. “Is there a problem?” he asked.

“You tell me. You were screaming a John Denver song at the top of your lungs.”

“Ah, I... sorry.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Did you serve anything unusual tonight?”

“Just a recipe from that book,” he turned to point at the book on the table, but it wasn’t there, “uh, that I haven’t made before.”

“I see. What’s in a ‘Time Bomb’?”

It was the first time he’d heard anyone mention any of the recipes from the mixology book. Martin rattled off the ingredients and the directions for properly mixing it.

“When did you return the Master Mixology book?”

“I, uh, was going to do it Monday.” He shifted from foot to foot, his hands twiddling some unseen thing.

“It’s overdue, isn’t it?” With her hands on her hips, she reminded him of his grade five teacher, berating him for his lack of curiosity and inventiveness.

“It’s a couple days over by now,” he said.

“That song will be drilled into your mind deeper and deeper until you return the book, by hand, to the magic library.” She sighed and crossed her arms. “How did you graduate without ever finding out how the magic library handles overdue books?”

“I’ve never...”

“Never had an overdue book before,” she said. “I guess that’s a point in your favor.”

“No, I... never checked anything else out from the magic library.”

“Odd,” she said, “most students have to check something out for their studies.”

“I usually just read them in the library and memorized the important parts. This one, though, there’s so many steps on some of the drinks that it took a while to commit to memory.”

 She knelt to be eye level with the gnome. “You take tomorrow off and get that book back to the library before it drives you insane.”

“Okay, I’ll do it first thing in the morning.”

“You’d best start right away.” She placed a hand on his shoulder. “Every moment you aren’t moving toward the library the song will only get louder.”

He nodded assent.

“Whatever you do,” she said, “do not make any more drinks out of that book until we’ve had a long talk about it when you get back. There’s a reason that book was in the magic library.”

He wasn’t sure what the reason might be, but he was sick of the song he couldn’t stop humming. He dressed quickly then looked for the book. It wasn’t on the table where he’d put it, and he couldn’t find it anywhere else in the flat. He was about to give up when he saw it leaning against the wall near his shoes again.

“Okay, I get it. Take you home.”

He headed toward the train station. The university was southeast of the city, but the station was north of his location. The song grew louder in his mind as he trekked to the station. “Shut up! I know it’s the other way, but I have to catch a train.”

After buying a ticket, Martin moved to the platform and walked south along it, as slowly as possible. While he did so the song faded to the background. When he reached the end of the platform, he turned and ran to the north end of the platform as fast as he could, the song screaming in his head until he turned back south and did it all over again.

When the train arrived, he continued walking south on the platform, waiting for the last moment to board. When the final boarding call was made, he scrambled on and found a seat. The next two minutes before the train began moving were hell.

At each stop, the song ramped back up until the train began moving again. It was relentless and maddening. By walking toward the back of the train while it was in motion, and back toward the front during the stops, he could keep it somewhat at bay.

The train stopped at Rowan’s Crossing and the conductor made her way through the cars. “Last stop, all off!”

“But… isn’t the train continuing to the Beaker Hill stop?” he asked.

“We’re broken down. The next train comes at half seven, if we can get off the tracks. It’s a four hour wait, or you can hire a taxi.”

With no other choice, Martin left the station. The university was still twelve miles on. The taxi stand was empty, except for repaving equipment. Dejected, he began the trek on foot. The song still looped through his mind, but he felt like the words were changing. No matter, the main road would take him straight to the campus, and then he could head straight to the magic library.

He reached the campus at seven-thirty, the same time the train might be leaving Rowan’s Crossing. He headed across campus and reached the magic library. It was due to open in half an hour. His feet ached and his legs burned, so he sat on the grass near the door.

No sooner had he sat than the song took over again. “Take me hoooome… little gnoooome… to the plaaaace… I beloooong… Hyrill University… magic library… take me hoooome, little gnome.”

“Oh, come on! That doesn’t even scan!” Realizing he was yelling at himself, he rose from the grass and walked towards the door. Since it wasn’t open yet, he began circling the library, still singing the non-scanning version of the song that plagued him. While it didn’t shut the song up completely, it did dial it back some. It was on his fifth circuit that he realized the library should be open, but it still wasn’t.

He pulled at the doors in a panic. Locked. It was then that he saw the sign. “Closed for deep cleaning. Will reopen tomorrow.” The library wouldn’t open for another twenty-four hours. Unable to do anything else, he continued walking around the library, humming and singing.

Martin wasn’t sure when, but guessed it was late afternoon when he collapsed near the front door. His legs could no longer hold him. He lay on his back, trying to catch his breath, while the song took over. He couldn’t hear anything over the song and his throat burned. Someone shoved a bottle of water in his hand, and he drank it all down at once, still humming.

His voice gave out sometime during the night, but still he sang, a raspy whisper. Sleep was out of the question as the song had grown so loud in his head that he thought it might burst any second. Try as he might, he couldn’t focus on his phone to see the time. He hoped someone would let him know when the library opened.

Convinced this would be the way he died, Martin closed his eyes and kept singing. The more he sang the botched lines the more he could convince himself that they scanned well enough. The morning sun warmed his face, and still he lay, singing.

When he thought the song couldn’t get any louder or more strident, it did. He opened his eyes to see the door of the library standing open. Still unable to stand, he crawled into the library, the song pounding in his head while he croaked it out. The returns desk was so very close, yet so far away.

Martin reached the desk and tried to put the book into the return slot. It was too high from where he lay on the floor. Giving it everything he had, he forced himself to his feet and inserted the book into the slot. The song kept ringing in his head, but it was reducing in volume.

“I see we have a late return,” the librarian said.

Martin collapsed.

He woke in the university hospital, an IV in his arm and a concerned troll nurse standing over him. “Good afternoon, Mr. Gillam. I am Brian, your nurse.” His voice was deep but warm, his accent unplaceable.

“Am I…,” his voice was gone, a mere whisper that burned his throat like fire.

“Do not speak,” Brian said. “Your vocal cords are damaged, and if you do not stay silent for a few days it could be permanent.”

Martin nodded, then gave what he hoped was a clear enough look of questioning to get his point across.

“You can leave if you wish, though it is better if you get your strength.” Brian pointed to a large cup with a straw near the bed. “Solid food would be painful, so I brought you a milkshake. The cold will help.”

Martin took the shake and drank fast enough to give himself brain freeze. He didn’t care, the cold caressed his throat and soothed some of the burning.

“You had the mixology book?” the nurse asked. When Martin nodded, he said, “Shall we take a trip to the lounge?”

Martin shrugged. It seemed fine to him, even when Brian lifted him out of the bed and put him into a wheelchair for the trip. His legs felt like jelly and his feet throbbed.

The lounge was equipped with a bar. Why it existed in a university hospital, Martin didn’t know.

“Would you like magical help?” Brian asked. “I am an RN but working on my degree in magical medicine.”

Martin nodded and the nurse dropped a five-pound note in the donations jar. 

Odd time to donate, Martin thought.

Brian began mixing a drink, checking the written recipe every step of the way. He was making a Bounce Back, Martin was sure of it.

Brian was about to muddle the lime without sugar and Martin stopped him with a wave of his hands. He pointed to the sugar, and Brian looked back at the recipe. “Ah, yes, Mr. Gillam.” Brian muddled the lime with sugar and added it to the shaker. After a good shake and straining the drink over ice, he handed it to the gnome.

Martin sipped the drink, feeling the strength return to his legs, the throbbing in his feet subsiding. By the time he finished it he felt fully fresh and ready to leave.

“Thanks for the Bounce Back.”

“Oh, you really should not talk for the next couple days,” the nurse said. “But if you want to leave now, you can. I will take you back to your room so you can dress.”

 As Martin sat on the train, heading back to the city, the song still played in the back of his mind. He wondered how long it would take to get rid of it. Still, after seeing the effects of the drink Brian had given him, he knew why the mixology book belonged in the magic library.

Sylvia took his doctor’s note to heart and decided that he shouldn’t utter a sound for the next two days. She also took it as the perfect time to scold him. “You should never attempt to do magic without paying for it first.”

The donation… Brian was “paying for” the magic.

“I suppose you had a rough time getting to the library, right?” Martin’s downcast look gave her confirmation. “In future, before you make one of my recipes, ask me first. Some of them can be dangerously expensive.”

“Your...?”

“Shh!” She cut him off and dropped a ten-pound note in the donations jar. “You don’t talk for two days. And yes, my recipes. Now prep the bar for opening while I make you a Well Sooner.”