A Visit From Mars
a work in progress…rough…but getting there….
A Visit From Mars
Deirdre was agitated. For five solid minutes a car had been driving back and forth past her house, from the corner 5 houses to her left then turning back till it reached the corner 7 houses to her right. Seven times? More? She knew it was one car, the same car. That pounding bass beat of an impossible to name song nearly eclipsed by the equally loud dual-exhaust muffler, left no doubt that it was the same maddening vehicle. Here it comes again, she realized. She went to the front door and stood on tip-toes trying to peer through the half-moon window, but just as her eyes adjusted to the glare of the late afternoon sun, the engine cut off. Silence. Squinting, Deirdre found herself remembering that it hadn’t been all that long ago, just over four years, since the sound of a souped up car pulling into the driveway had been as normal as hearing her teenage son Max bound down the stairs just in time for breakfast. All the cars sounded like that back then, all the cars his friends had driven before they grew up and moved away. Deirdre turned and was halfway down the hall to the kitchen when the doorbell rang. With a sigh, she turned back. Tucking her hair back behind her ears, she glanced at the reflection in the vestibule mirror and flung open the door to her front porch. That’s when she saw him. The young man who had probably killed her son.
“Hi, Ma. Surprised?”
“Kai. Of course, I’m surprised”, she said with as much composure as her shock at seeing him on the other side of her screen door would allow. “I thought you were in Hawaii.” Kai, it seemed to her, hadn’t changed much in four years. He still had the same lanky build of a high school senior, the same almost too skinny build that he’d shared with his best friend, her son.
“I missed Connecticut, I guess. And I wanted little Marshall, over there, to see where his Dad grew up. You know…the park, the school, Primo Pizza.”
Deirdre followed Kai’s gaze and saw a little boy kicking his spindly legs, struggling mightily to make the porch swing move. Dressed in nearly identical board shorts as her son’s best friend, the child also shared Kai’s deeply bronzed skin and some of the same Hawaiian features—glossy dark hair and almond shaped eyes.
Feeling suddenly guilty, Deirdre said, “I heard about your mom and sister. I’m so sorry”. Two months earlier the Gazette had carried an article with details of a small sightseeing plane accident in Oahu: a story about the local girl who’d been a cheerleader at the same school where her mother’d taught math before they’d moved back to Hawaii—only to perish three years later in the crash. She’d sent a card and pink tulips—Malia’s favorite—but later when she’d tried crying in her husband’s arms he’d simply said that it was karma and maybe now Kai would understand what it meant to lose someone he loved. “That’s about the meanest thing I’ve ever heard you say”, she’d whispered, drawing away in shame and shock. “Kai loved Max, you know that.” Jack, she remembered, had walked away, “No Deir, Kai killed Max.”
Deirdre waited, not knowing what to do until Marshall climbed down from the swing, announcing, “Kai, I’m thirsty.”
“Kai? He calls you Kai?”
“Yeah. It’s cool. He’s 3½, going on twenty. I call him Mars.”
“Mars? Oh,” she laughed, understanding quickly, “short for Marshall. Hey, little guy, want to come inside for a drink?”
“Thanks Ma,” Kai answered for him. “Do you have Pepsi? Mars has been asking for about an hour. I was kinda nervous, so we’ve been driving a while.”
“Soda? Are you sure? Maybe juice or water? He’s just a little boy.”
Kai was embarrassed. These were the things he didn’t think of until someone pointed them out. “Yeah, that’s a better idea.” Then, wanting to show Deirdre that he wasn’t a total screw-up, he added, “In a plastic cup, if you have one. He’s not great with glass objects, if you know what I mean. Also, he’s kind of hungry. Sorry.”
“Of course”, Deirdre replied, feeling a little sorry for Marshall, “I’ll make some fake grilled cheese, the kind I used to make for you boys after school.”
Even knowing that Jack would be angry, she was a little relieved to have the boys, young and old, now seated at the kitchen table. Deir turned her back on Kai, and busied herself pulling margarine and cheese from the refrigerator. Maybe she was putting off the inevitable but she was not ready to talk about Max with Kai. Not that her son could be easily avoided in this room. Everywhere one looked, there were photographs of Max and food. Max eating pizza, carrying a zucchini from the garden, proudly holding up a fish he’d caught, with a bowl of Jell-O. Twelve in all, a shrine of sorts made up of all she had left, framed memories.
The last time she’d seen Kai was five weeks after the car accident. For weeks, Kai’d visited every day with his sister, Malia. It had been a shock when they’d announced they were all moving to Hawaii. Malia had been the one and only love of 18-year-old Max’s life. From the moment Kai had granted his best friend permission to ask out his little sister—and by all accounts the negotiations had been anything but easy—it had been love. The two (and often three) had been inseparable. Then, one evening when Max was driving alone after dropping Malia off at home, it happened. Kai was following Max in his own car as they headed to Primo’s to meet friends for pizza. They’d promised Deirdre they’d be back early but Max never made it home that night, or ever again. On a dark street, at the only point it curved dangerously to the right, Max had unexplainably steered his compact car into a pole. The only witness was in the car right behind him—Kai.
Deirdre buttered the two pieces of toasted bread and placed a slice of cheese on each side before putting them back in the toaster-oven to melt. “Kai”, she said without turning, I’m not sure this is a great idea. You have to understand that Jack isn’t ready to see you, and he’ll be home soon.”
“I know, but I really need to talk to someone. To you. About, well, you know.”
Tears began to well in her eyes. Kai’d asked years earlier but she’d never been able to talk about that night. As long as the words went unspoken she wouldn’t need to consider forgiving her son’s best friend for the unthinkable. She could go on believing it was just an accident, no one’s fault, and continue to shut down whenever she got too close to imagining the pole landing on her son, the twisted metal, his pain. His fear. As long as it wasn’t discussed, she could attempt to bury the torment of having not been with her only child when he’d needed her most.
“Kai. I really can’t.” Shaking the thought away, she turned to face the boys with a smile only a mom in distress knows how to fake. “Marshall, here’s a sandwich and milk.” He sat up on his knees but was obviously struggling to get comfortable. “You know what? Sometimes, as a special treat, I used to let my little boy eat his lunch in front of the TV.” Deirdre reached up into the soffit over the pantry and pulled down a plastic breakfast tray adorned with Ghostbusters stickers and magic marker creations drawn ages ago. “C’mon, let’s go find something fun to watch.”
When Deirdre returned to the kitchen, Kai was staring at a picture of Max eating birthday cake. “His fingers were so long, ET fingers we called them. Malia was there, too”, he pointed, “just behind those balloons, playing with the babies. She always loved kids, always wanted to be a mom.”
“Yes. I remember telling her that she should wait until she was thirty. Or older”, Deirdre smiled sadly at the memory, knowing Malia’d never have the chance. “Speaking of mothers. Marshall’s? Are you married?”
“Me? No way.”
“Kai, that’s a little irresponsible. Are you living together?”
“No, there’s no one. No girlfriend.”
“But you have Marshall! You only get visits? What does his mother want?”
Kai sighed and seemed to be trying to find the right words. “There’s no mother, just the two of us. In fact, that’s why I broke up with Chloe. She didn’t want to be his mother.”
Deirdre wanted to read him the riot act but didn’t know where to begin. Obviously, he wasn’t mature enough to be a father. But then, if Marshall’s only other choice was someone who couldn’t be a loving mother, maybe the child was better off. “Kai, if you ever have questions, need advice…”
They both looked up at the sound of a car pulling into the driveway.
Taking a deep breath mixed with some degree of panic she announced, “Kai, that’s my husband. I don’t know what he’s going to…”
But, before she could formulate a plan, he was in the house. “Hey Deir, you in the kitchen?” Jack dropped his briefcase at the front door and walked past Marshall without noticing him or the cartoon on TV. “I was thinking we should…” Kai turned in his seat to face Jack, wearing an uncomfortable smile that couldn’t fully mask his sudden uncertainty.
“What the hell is he doing here?” Jack threw his keys onto the counter, shaking his head, trying to make sense of this invasion. “What the hell is he doing in here”, he repeated.
Deirdre was struck silent, filled with fear and guilt. Jack repeated her name—a question, filled with blame. Almost always, when he said her name she could hear the underlying term of endearment it rhymed with. But now, when he stared at her, his face turning red, she heard nothing but recrimination.
“Mr. Richter, I’m sorry for just showing up. I just wanted to talk to you.”
“Well, I don’t want to talk to you. I want your ass out of my house.”
“Jack, please”, Deirdre finally interjected. “There’s a munchkin in the box”, she nearly shouted, using the covert phrase they’d come up with when Max had been a toddler.
“Jack spun and saw Marshall, thankfully engrossed and unaware. “Geez, he’s with you? You’re just one screw up after another.”
Undeterred, Kai began to plead, “Please. I really need to talk to you, both of you.”
Jack didn’t need to look at his wife to make a decision.
“No, damn it! Not my wife. The basement. Now.”
Deirdre decided to check on Marshall, an excuse to move away from the basement door. It had taken her years to fully understand that preventing everyone else’s attempts to divulge the details of that night to her wasn’t just cowardice, it was survival. Kai seemed determined to take away her sanity, to open a chasm into her soul that she didn’t trust herself to be able to close.
And now, she saw, it wasn’t just affecting her. Marshall’s mood had turned pensive. Was it the briefly raised voices from the kitchen? Or, maybe she wondered, was he always this way when Kai left the room? He’d lost Malia and his grandmother, how could he trust anyone to ever come back? She watched him for a moment from the arched doorway. His eyes were downcast. Deirdre took a deep breath and, once again, found the artificial smile that she hoped would ease the tension. “Hey, little man, everything ok in here? Are you still hungry?”
“M”
“What, honey? I didn’t hear you.”
Slow, and with studied determination, he spoke. “M….A….X”
“Oh!” Deirdre smiled for real this time, relieved that he was apparently just concentrating on spelling his name. “That’s right, Marshall. You’re so smart. Do you know the rest of the letters in your name?”
Without looking up, he nodded. “M…A…X”
This time, as he repeated the three letters, she heard what he’d said and was stunned as the sound of a small boy’s voice spelling her son’s name reached her memory and then wrapped around her heart. Stop, she told herself. He’s just confused. “Marshall…Mars, right? That’s just a little bit off. Your name starts with M,A,R”, she explained, emphasizing the last letter.
Marshall shook his head, confused. “Look”, he said pointing at the breakfast tray. And there it was, in blue marker where her son had written his name some eighteen years earlier.
“Oh, sweetie. That spells Max. Let me write your name for you.” Deirdre went to the desk, pulled a piece of paper from the printer and carefully wrote MARSHALL. Then she got a few more blank pages and a pencil for the little boy who still hadn’t budged from his spot on the area rug.
She’d just knelt down next to him when they both heard the muffled sounds of a scuffle followed by a crash coming from the basement.
Marshall let out a quiet gasp as Deirdre went flying back to the kitchen where she tore open the basement door. She was poised to run down the stairs when Jack shouted, stopping her dead in her tracks.
“DEIRDRE! NO! Stay up there. Just STAY!”
“But, we heard a crash. What happened? Are you ok? Are you both ok?”
“Yes, fine”, he said, sounding more in control. “It’s fine.” Deirdre heard sadness in his voice and knew she needed to stop this. Her husband was trying to protect her, but at what price? His own heart?
“Jack, Please, stop. Come back up. Kai, please. Let it go. Marshall’s up here. This isn’t the time or place.”
“Deir, I’m asking you…telling you. Close the door.”
She hesitated, listening, one hand still on the doorknob. No one spoke or seemed to be moving to pick up whatever had fallen. Deirdre was just about to reluctantly close the door when she heard someone moan and, then, what sounded like someone crying. She leaned forward slightly, straining to make it out. Was that Jack or Kai?
Silently and carefully, she crouched in the open doorway. It seemed like forever but finally she heard the hushed tones of someone speaking. It was her son’s best friend, not her husband, but she could barely recognize him. His voice was taut, punctuated by what Deirdre imagined was Kai wiping away tears. The words came slowly, cautiously, as if he’d rehearsed them for years.
“Mr. Richter, It wasn’t his fault. I was playing with him. I was going fast, behind him, and I guess I scared him. The crash wasn’t his fault. It was all mine. It was horrible. It happened so fast but I remember it like it was slo-motion.
“I went to his car and his eyes were open…he saw me. He knew I was there. I told him he’d be ok, I did, and I held him through the window. I held my brother, my friend. I didn’t let go. You’ve got to believe me. I know I screwed up so bad. I know. I loved him so much.”
Kai’s voice was cracking and Deirdre, listening 20 feet away, wanted to run but couldn’t. She didn’t care anymore if Jack heard her—that wasn’t it—but she was frozen, stuck in place as the words that she’d avoided hearing pierced her heart, holding her in place.
“Mr. Richter”, Kai went on, “I really am so sorry. I have nightmares all the time. I’d do anything to change it all. I was holding him and he was trying to talk.”
For the first time since she’d been listening, Jack interrupted. “Talk?” His voice was filled with resentment but also pain. “My son was alive? He spoke? For God’s sake, you son-of-a -bitch. He was alive and speaking and no one ever told us? All this time we thought that it was instant, that Max never…that he never felt…”
“I know. I wanted to tell…I wanted to but it was too late. Max knew I was there and he asked me to…”
“What? Dear God, what did he say?”
Kai hesitated, but only for a moment. “He asked me to call his mom. He just said ‘get my mom, I need my mom’ and then he closed his eyes. He wasn’t there anymore. He was gone. Oh man, I’m so sorry.”
Deirdre felt her world implode; the room began to spin. She felt herself teetering and knew she was about to topple down the stairs. Pushing herself flush against the doorjamb, she grasped the edge of the landing. Then she felt it come pouring out of her; a scream—but there was no air in her lungs and the sound came out like the high-pitched wail of a cat in pain. And tears. Not the cascading tears that for months on end after her son’s accident had seemed both inevitable and unstoppable. These teardrops fell slowly, one at a time, staining both cheeks where they landed. The rushing sound of her worst fears drowned out everything else from the basement and living room.
Deirdre couldn’t quiet the words echoing over and over inside of her. I need my mom… I need my mom… I need my mom.
Finally, her voice broke free of its stranglehold and she wept softly, “Oh baby. My sweet baby. I wasn’t there. I wasn’t there for you. You needed me and you were alone.”
A tiny voice answered, the sweet breath of a child blowing gently on her moist cheek. “Why are you crying?”
Marshall stood at her side, his tiny hand combing through her hair.
Deirdre choked back the cries still caught in her throat and looked away; trying to hide the anguished look that she knew would frighten the small and innocent child at her side.
“It’s ok Marshall. It’s ok. Sometimes I get sad.” Surreptitously, she wiped at the tears. “But, you know what? I’m not going to be sad now, because I have such a special visitor. You.”
Seemingly satisfied with her answer the young boy asked, “Help me write my name? Show me?”
“Sure, sweetness. Just give me a second to stand up. You go get the paper and pencil and bring it back here to the kitchen. We’ll sit at the table together. OK?”
Marshall went scampering off while Deirdre slowly stood to partially close the door. As she tried to block herself off from the horror that had been thrown at her from downstairs, she heard Jack’s voice and then Kai’s. Just like when the accident had happened, in the days and weeks that followed, she realized with some incredulity that life was going on.
Heartsick, she went to the table where the child was already attempting to copy the letter M. “Here”, she said pulling a chair close to his, “let me show you.” Deirdre wrote the letters to his name, this time larger and slower, allowing Marshall to see all the separate lines that went into making letters like M and A. As they worked together, she was vaguely aware that her husband was still in the basement and that the two were still speaking. Afraid that the voices might carry up the stairs and that the things they were talking about might upset Marshall, she suggested he take the paper back to the tray and practice some more by himself. “I’m big. I can do things by myself”, he said proudly as he gathered the supplies and went back to the living room.
The voices from the basement were a little louder now and from her spot at the table she could make out some of the discussion. Deirdre could hear Kai talking about Marshall and about his sister, Malia. There was something about their mother and a promise and then more about Kai bringing Marshall back to Connecticut. After some minutes, she heard the sounds of chairs being moved back into place and then Jack’s familiar heavy footsteps mingled with the flapping sounds of Kai’s Hawaiian flip-flops as they ascended.
Jack came through the door first and quickly walked past his wife, without a word, straight into the living room. Before she could question him, or even try to make eye contact, Kai emerged—a fresh bruise beginning to darken the skin below his left eye.
“Good lord, Kai! What happened? Did Jack do that?”
Without waiting for an answer, she grabbed a towel, rushed to the freezer and got ice. “Sit. Sit. Hold this on your eye, don’t press”, she instructed as she sat back down across from him. Kai looked at Deirdre and stretched his right arm across the table to take hold of her hand. As their hands touched, she pulled back, not ready to accept this boy, especially after what he’d admitted to just a few minutes earlier. But Kai was insistent and grabbed hold, tightening his grip, silently begging her to forgive him. She looked down at their hands intertwined; the side of his palm resting on the paper where she’d just been helping Marshall practice his name. M. A. R. S. She shook her head and stared at the letters. Avoiding. It was then, while she forced herself to look at anything but the person holding tight to her hand, that she became riveted on the letters written beside their hands. Her own son’s initials. Max Aaron Richter. M. A. R.
Kai seemed to read her thoughts and volunteered, “It was Malia’s idea. To name him after Max. She wouldn’t even consider anything else.”
“Malia?” she asked, confused. “You let Malia pick his name? What about Marshall’s mother?”
Kai was silent, not answering immediately. He took the ice pack from his eye and gently placed it on the table. When he looked back up at Deirdre, he was crying.
“Ma, Marshall is Malia’s. Max and Malia…”
As Deirdre tried to focus on what he was saying, she felt the now familiar sense of vertigo begin to envelop her. She turned her head quickly, trying to find the one thing that could center her, keep her from spinning away. Her husband. Her rock. Jack. She needed him. And there he was, in the living room, on the sofa. Mars sat cradled in Jack’s powerful arms—the little boy clutching the remote control in his long fingers. His ET fingers.
“Guess what” Jack said, finally looking back at his wife, a sadly contented smile lighting his face, “we’re gonna have to start calling you grandma.”
