Sympathy

by Sarah Meade

Random drew her knees up against her chest and huddled in the corner of a bench outside a rather seedy-looking bar in the spaceport. They had stopped here mainly for fuel after they had escaped from the Earth, and weren’t entirely sure what they were going to do afterwards. Her parents (odd thought, that) had stopped in a café, ostensibly to do some “talking”. About her, she had guessed.

This gave her a few free hours to wander about, so the dark-haired girl quickly made use of her time. She just wanted somewhere to sit and think, where she wouldn’t be noticed. Unfortunately, she had chosen to sit outside a bar, and she had forgotten that there was one person aboard their ship who was immensely fond of hanging around in bars. His name was Ford Prefect, and he was a friend of her father’s.

He was, Random remembered, the one she had hit on the head with a rock. He didn’t seem to have any hard feelings about it, except to bring up his head injury whenever he was asked to do anything involving menial labor.

She was able to spot him quickly in the crowd because of his bright red hair, and she realized with irritability that he was heading straight for the bar she was now seated next to. Ford stopped, paused in the doorway, and eyed the sullen girl who was wishing desperately that she was covered with an S.E.P. field.

He nodded to himself, then walked over, grabbed her arm and proceeded to drag her in with him while stating, “Come on, kid. You look like you could use some alcohol.”

“Wait---“ Random started to protest, but she was powerless against Ford Prefect when he wanted a drink and felt that somebody else should have one. Eventually she found herself in the strange position of sitting at the bar next to Ford as he ordered a couple of Pan-Galactic Gargle Blasters. She stared at the yellowish liquid in the glass before her suspiciously.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” he asked, looking at her quizzically.

“I’m underage!”

“How do you know? You’re not a child, at any rate, you’ve just been treated like one,” he replied. Random considered this for a moment and was surprised to find that it made sense. What the hell, she thought, I’m old enough, and picked up the glass.

“Random, I wouldn’t---“ But Ford’s warning came too late. Random had made the awful mistake of attempting to drink an entire Pan-Galactic Gargle Blaster in one go. After slowly setting her glass on the counter, her eyes widened and she launched into a terrific fit of coughing and spluttering. Ford responded by helpfully pounding her on the back. When her eyes had stopped watering and she was finally able to breathe, she gasped out one question.

“Can I have another?”

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By her third Pan-Galactic Gargle Blaster, Random was crying.

“I don’t even know why I’m here!” she howled, slamming her glass onto the counter, leaving a small dent and earning a death glare from the bartender. “My mother hates me and my father doesn’t know what to think of me!”

“If it makes you feel any better,” Ford offered, swaying back and forth, “Your father doesn’t know what to think of me either!” He found this humorous and started to snigger.

“Don’t you dare laugh at me,” she snarled, reaching into her pocket. Even drunk, Ford knew very well how dangerous Random could be when angry. He made a vaguely placating gesture.

“Random, put the rock down.” Fortunately, she had already forgotten her anger and was attempting to focus on the object in her hand.

“Since when did I have two rocks?” she asked, confused. He took this opportunity to pry the rock from her fingers and hide it under his chair.

“Ah, look, it doesn’t matter. What I’m trying to say is, so you can’t relate to your parents. Big deal. Practically everyone in the Universe has some kind of problem with that. Take me, for example. I can’t even pronounce the name my dad gave me.”

“Why don’t you ask him?” she asked curiously.

“Can’t, he died of the shame before I was even out of school. Oh, and I’m all right with the name I’ve got now, so why should I care much about the other?” Ford sat back and calmly studied the small amount of liquid he had spilled that was now slowly eating its way through the counter. Random looked slightly horrified.

“Was that supposed to make me feel better?” she asked incredulously.

“Maybe. It probably came out the wrong way, though. It usually does. Don’t worry, eventually you’ll find some way of dealing with this that doesn’t involve throwing rocks at people. There is somewhere you belong, you just haven’t found it yet.” At this point, Ford nearly fell off his chair and Random had to grab him by the back of his blazer to keep him from getting a concussion. Then she sat for a moment in awe.

“D’you know,” she said seriously, “I think that’s the deepest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

“Glad to hear there’s someone who doesn’t think I’m a complete idiot,” he snapped, downing the rest of his glass.

“Well, excuse me for trying to be nice!” Random shot back. They both sat and glared at each other for some minutes. Then Ford grinned.

“You’re excused,” he said. “Want another one?”

“Sure, why not?” she replied.

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By the time Ford and Random had finished their rendition of a Betelgeusian drinking song he was trying to teach her, the other occupants of the bar were looking at them with distaste. Partially because they were both completely plastered, but mostly because the words of the song were somewhat rude.

Random leaned against him and laughed hysterically. She felt like she was going to fall over. She also felt like she might finally have found someone who made her feel like she belonged, even if it was only by getting drunk with her and listening to her rant.

“You know Random, you’re not so bad,” he said. She laughed again. She felt like she couldn’t stop. Then she suddenly paused.

“Ford?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry I hit you on the head with that rock.” Then she gave him a radiant smile, and promptly slumped forward onto the counter.

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When Arthur and Trillian arrived at the ship at the time they had agreed on, they were greeted by the bizarre sight of Ford Prefect half-carrying, half-dragging their daughter towards them.

“Ford!” said Trillian, startled. “What on Earth’s happened to Random?” He coughed slightly.

“She’s just, er, recovering from something.”

“Look here, Ford,” said Arthur sternly, “Do you mean to say that you’ve gotten my daughter drunk?”

“No.” Both Arthur and Trillian breathed a sigh of relief.

“Good, then,” Arthur replied.

“I’d say,” Ford continued, “That she’s only slightly inebriated.”