Remember The Moon Page 10

  I envy him. I once knew that feeling of losing yourself in something you love and I want desperately to lose myself in that way again. To forget this world for a few minutes, and go back to living the life that someone else who looks like me is still living in some parallel universe. A life where you’re still alive. I want to go there, and not be adorned with this heavy yoke of single parent widowhood that you have bestowed upon me. It’s too much to bear. Maybe it’s time to start painting again, but something about it makes me feel sad - a reminder of my old life that I so desperately yearn for.

  Things weren’t great between us when you died. I’m sorry for that, Jay. I’ll live with that guilt forever, worrying that the problems in our marriage were my fault, that I nagged too much, always fighting for your time, your attention, your love. You hid a big piece of yourself from me, right from the beginning of our relationship, from the day of your dad’s death, even. You shut me out. I tried to be there for you, but your father’s death changed you. You never spoke of it. Will Calder grow up with the same malaise? Has he too been sentenced to a life of underlying sadness? I can’t let that happen, Jay. I could never truly reach you, but I can still reach Calder. Maybe you can still reach him too. Help him, Jay. Show him the contentment you never found. I need to tell you about Marcus, but I’m not ready yet. How do I ask a dead man to forgive the unforgivable?

  The door opened, and a flushed Calder walked out. I quickly shoved my journal and pen back into my purse.

  “Next week, Dude,” Brandon said. He winked at me and I was horrified when I blushed.

  “Don’t forget to practice that scale I taught you, K?” Calder nodded.

  “You’re doing great. You’ve got talent, kid. Just make sure you practice.”

  Calder smiled as he walked out the door in front of me.

  Chapter Nine

  MURMURATION

  The glossy chill of silk on skin. Popcorn, soggy with butter. A mouth-explosion of sour cherries yanked fresh from the tree. These sensations became memories, smooth as glass. Memories whose juicy tastes, aromas, and softnesses were tiny tortures. I stroked a silky curl of Maya's auburn hair or ran my imaginary finger along the peachy fuzziness of Calder's boyish cheek and felt nothing, not even warmth. Color in the afterlife world filled the void of human sensation – a spectrum of new senses, thought-based and linear. I slowly adjusted to deriving sensation from color. Cadmium red thoughts revived the sensation of heat, or the aroma of steak charring on a BBQ. The earthy green spectrum conjured the smell of juniper berries tinkling with ice in a martini glass. Yet I longed to inhale Maya's scent, to wrap myself in her aroma – taste her powdery floral hand cream mixed with the nut butter saltiness of her skin to which there was no corresponding color. I wanted to ruffle my son’s hair, or punch my hand into his stiff new leather baseball glove to soften it, a pleasure I failed to pass on to him.

  Runners kicked up the dust of the baseball diamond. Heat simmered the outfield where Calder stood, bent at the waist, hands on knees, flushed. I imagined the grittiness of dust in my own mouth as I watched from behind the mound. There was a popping sound as bat met ball which escaped gleefully into the sky. Calder looked up, searching, blinded by sunlight. He needed to move to his left but couldn’t see this and the ball landed behind him with a thud, his opportunity for the heroism of a final out lost as Josh, a tall, loping outfielder, ran to scoop the rolling ball into his glove and flung it toward home. The ball went awry and landed between second and third base. Another score for the other team. Calder hung his head, a puppy who knows his mistake.

  I hate this game.

  C’mon buddy. Hang in there. It happens to everybody.

  I should’ve been yelling from the stands, clapping my hands. “Good try, Son! Shake it off, C’mon now!” I watched Maya watching the other dads, their fingers hooked in the chain link as they coached their sons from the sidelines, her expression both sad and grim. She turned to one of the only other moms in the stands. A woman, intent now on her clipboard, marked the latest score, a tiny, smug smile betraying her affiliation. Maya looked out of place in her floppy straw hat, knees tucked up under her pale blue sundress and flip flops, tendrils of sweat-matted hair stuck against her bare back. With each inning, she looked at her watch, exhaling. Why is the game of baseball so boring and so long?

  The coach, a leathery-faced, balding dad of one of Calder's friends, invited Calder onto the team, trying to do the right thing for a fatherless kid, but Calder spent more time on the bench or in left field than any of the other kids. He was younger than the other boys and lived in the wrong neighborhood to officially play on the team. On the bench, Calder slumped his shoulders, legs outstretched as he leaned back against the fence. He turned to Maya and pointed at the car, eyes widening in their plea, clearly wanting to leave. She shook her head. His face collapsed and he resumed his slouch. Max, another of Calder's buddies, struck out cleanly in three pitches. He flung his bat and plunked down next to Calder, looking equally dejected.

  Maya walked over to the coach.

  “Hey, Todd. Just wondering if maybe Calder can have a turn playing infield. He always seems to be either on the bench or in left field. I think he’s getting a little frustrated.”

  Todd, distracted, dug around in an equipment bag looking for a smaller batting helmet for one of the players. “Yeah, Maya. No problem. I’ll do what I can.”

  “Thanks so much, Todd. I really appreciate it.”

  As Maya walked back to the bleachers, she winked at Calder, thinking she had solved the problem, but in the next inning, Calder was sent back to left field. I saw Maya's mouth open, surprised that her request had been shirked. The inning lasted a long time, and the kids all seemed bored. Calder kept picking at one of the laces on his glove and then found a mound of dirt to kick. Mercifully, no more balls flew in his direction, because he definitely would have missed the catch. Finally, one of the opposing team’s batters got tagged out and Calder's team was again up at bat.

  “You gonna bat?” Tanner, the coach’s son and clearly the star of the game, asked Calder. Calder shrugged and Tanner sat, bending at the waist, hands on his knees. He looked like a big leaguer, missing only the chew and spit. Within minutes, a batter struck out and another popped a fly to third. When it was his turn at bat, Tanner hit to first. Calder got a base run after a couple of strikes. I breathed a sigh of relief. Max struck out again in three pitches. The winning team came off the field kicking the dirt, slapping each other on the back and fist bumping. Calder walked from first base slowly, his one chance of excitement gone. He stood obediently in the cluster around Todd and flung his arm for the obligatory cheer for the opposing team and lined up for the handshake with all the lackluster he could muster.

  “Goodgamegoodgamegoodgame...” Calder didn’t stick around to laugh with his friends as they sucked orange slices, making monkey faces. Instead he stormed off toward the parking lot. Maya quickly gathered her things and followed him in a jog.

  Calder flung his glove, hat, and water bottle into the back seat and before they had even pulled out of the lot, his face crumpled into tears.

  “I hate baseball! Why do I have to do it?!”

  “What do you mean? I thought you loved playing.” As I sat next to Calder, I saw Maya bite her lip in the rearview mirror, a gesture I knew well. She knew this was not going to go well. I wanted to take them both into my arms and tell them it would be OK. Suggest ice cream. Turn on the radio. Something to distract them.

  “I never get to play! All I do is sit on the bench while Owen and Tanner get to play every single inning! It’s not fair!”

  “Sweetie, you know that you’re younger than the other kids playing and the coach has to play the kids who are really on the team. Tanner’s dad let you join the team so you could learn the game and hang out with Owen.”

  “I already know how to play!”

  Maya looked at him in the mirror. He drag
ged a sleeve across his face, wiping away snot and tears. “I know, sweetie. But this team has been playing together for a whole season already and you’re just starting.”

  “I’m better than most of the other kids, but I can’t even show them because I never get to play!”

  “I know it seems that w–”

  “I want to quit!”

  Oh great. Now he wants to quit. What the hell do I do now? Jay? “Calder, honey, you can’t quit. You have an obligation to the team.”

  “No one would care! I’m quitting!”

  Maya took a deep breath and swallowed, trying to hold back tears. I don’t know what to say here.

  Let him cool down, Lenie. That tactic always worked with me.

  Calder continued to sob, slumped in his seat, swiping at tears angrily. I reached out to touch his hair, but he had no reaction. I hated being invisible to him.

  “Why can’t I quit?”

  “We’ll talk about it later when we’ve both cooled down, K?”

  Calder said nothing.

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Calder. You just have to be patient.”

  What’s the right thing to say here, Jay?

  You have it, Lenie.

  “I hate being patient. I just want to quit this stupid team.”

  “I said we’ll talk about it later.”

  Maya sighed and pulled the car into the driveway. Calder jumped out and slammed his door while the car kept moving.

  “Hey! Calder that’s dangerous!” Maya yelled, but Calder just ran onto the front porch, leaned his head against the front door and kicked it with a cleated foot. Maya turned off the car and sat there, needing a moment to gather her strength. She pulled a tissue from the armrest and wiped her eyes.

  I can’t do this, dammit. I can’t do this!

  You can.

  God, Jay, where the hell are you? What am I supposed to do now?

  We all have shitty experiences, Lenie. Let him cool off. And don’t let him quit. He’ll be fune. He’s got to learn to be tough. Don’t be soft on him.

  Then Alice smiled her knowing smile, waiting for me. “Hey! What’s going on? I want to be with them!”

  “I’m here with a suggestion. Think back on your own experience, Jay.”

  The floor disappeared and I looked down at my feet to see a kid’s beat-up sneakers – royal blue with yellow zig-zaggy stripes – my old Adidas. I looked around. I was back at the Kew Garden, standing on another dusty baseball diamond, the grass surrounding it brittle, the color of wheat. I could feel the late August sun pulling the skin on my face tight across my nose. Later I would have a sunburn. A baseball rolled near my feet and I could see my teammates screaming at me to pick it up, but I was frozen. I could see them yelling, but I heard nothing. Another player ran toward me, knocking me hard as he scooped the ball off the ground and whipped it to home plate. The runners each slid into home, increasing their lead by another four. The kid who tried to save the play turned around and glared at me.

  “What’s wrong with you, man?” he said.

  I felt hot tears threatening. Shame engulfed me. Another batter walked up to the plate. I prayed the ball wouldn’t come to me. It popped up for a foul. Next, a hit to first. First and second bases safe. Sweat trailed down my forehead, pooling on my eyelashes. I shook my head and hid my nausea by bending over, my hands on my thighs, inhaling deeply. A thwack caused me to look up as the pitcher caught a pop-fly. The inning ended. I walked in slowly and sat down, my head between my knees in an effort not to throw up. I heard my dad behind me.

  “What’s up, J.J.?”

  “Dunno, Dad.”

  “You tired?”

  “Yeah. I guess. I dunno know what happened. I just froze out there.”

  “No biggie. Just have fun. Isn’t that what a game is all about?”

  “Yeah, but now everyone hates me.”

  “Why would they hate you?”

  “Cause I dropped the ball? I stink at baseball.”

  “Son, no one cares that you dropped the ball. And you don’t stink.”

  “I hate baseball. I’m going to quit.”

  “You can’t quit, J.J. That won’t solve anything. What’s this really about?”

  “Dunno. I just want you to be proud of me.”

  “Jay, I’ll always be proud of you, no matter what you do.”

  I turned to look at him, to see his grinning face behind the chain link fence, but there was no one there. I thought I was hallucinating because of the heat or something. I walked over to the drinking fountain and took a long drink, then wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.

  The images faded and I could hear the gurgling of Alice’s water fountain.

  “I thought I’d imagined that.”

  “No,” Alice said. “That really was your dad talking to you.”

  “But my dad was dead by then. ”

  “Did you feel his pride?”

  “Not really. I thought I just willed him to say those words to me.”

  “In a way you did. But still, some of his pride got through to you, right?”

  “It did, I suppose.”

  “You have the same ability to impart thoughts and feelings to the living, Jay. You employ thought. It’ll be up to Calder to hear you. A person’s grief or anger can sometimes block you from his mind. Then it’s more difficult to be heard. That may be the case with Calder.”

  “Yeah. OK. He seems pretty messed up at the moment though. I doubt he’s going to hear me.”

  “That may be true. But understand that his responses to the game may have something to do with his grief for you. If you are able to get through to him, you may be able to help him.”

  “He’s a kid. He’ll get over it. Maya just needs to be tougher with him.”

  “Is that how your mother treated you? Was she tough on you?”

  “I don’t really remember. She didn’t say much. Just left me on my own, pretty much. Maya is at least aware of what’s going on with Calder.”

  “Maya could probably use your help as well.”

  “I wish she wouldn’t be so soft on him.”

  Alice smiled and said nothing.

  Back in the kitchen, Calder was balled up in the corner against the lower cabinets, sobbing and hiccupping. Maya crouched down on her haunches, trying to tuck a strand of his hair behind his ear. He shook his head, as if annoyed by a fly and grabbed his hair in each of his fists and pulled.

  “C’mon, Calder. You’ve got to stop. This’s going nowhere.”

  “I caaann’t. I hate my life!!”

  “Calder, stop. I’m doing the best I can to make this a good life for you. I know it sucks that your dad died, but we both have to figure out now how to live without him. And it’s really hard. It’s not going to be easy.”

  Maya, be tough. Don’t coddle the kid.

  Calder stood, still sobbing, and leaned over the counter, head in hands. Come on buddy. Hang in there. I tried to put my hand on his back. He shivered. Be strong, kid. So you’re on the bench. So what? The important thing is you’re in the game. You’re learning. Don’t get all messed up over it.

  Beneath him was the drawer of kitchen utensils. He opened it, still leaning over the counter, and took out a chef’s knife. Calder! No! Jesus! He turned around, holding the knife, still crying. Maya turned and saw the knife.

  “Ohmygod! Calder, what are you doing? Put the knife down!”

  “Just kill me. I hate my life. I just want you to kill me!”

  “Calder, I would never do that. Is your life really this bad? Let’s put the knife down, K?”

  “Yes! I hate my life!”

  She reached out and took the knife from his hand and put it back in the drawer. Calder collapsed into her arms. She carried him to one of the dining room chairs and held him in her lap. I felt helpless. He was closed o
ff from me.

  “I’m not going to stab you.”

  “OK, then throw me off a balcony or poison me.”

  “Calder, I’m not going to do any of those things.”

  Jesus. Do moms have to do everything for their kids? Maya’s thought made me smile.

  She seemed to understand the drama was just Calder's cry for attention. She understood what I didn’t. This was more than a kid needing tough love. I wondered what I’d be doing if our places were reversed? I’d be freaking out.

  “Calder, I think you’re having a really hard time with your dad’s death and I think you need someone besides me to talk to about it.”

  “Who would I talk to?”

  “Someone who talks to kids and helps them with really hard stuff like this.”

  Oh shit. He’s not going to go for a therapist, Lenie. Maybe your dad or something.

  “But I don’t want to talk to anyone.”

  “Calder, you scared me just now with the knife. There are some things I can’t always help you with, and sometimes I have to ask other people to help. I think this is one of those times.”

  “I won’t do the knife thing anymore. I promise! But don’t make me see someone. Pleeeeassse!”

  “I sure hope you won’t do that again.”

  And, here it comes...

  Calder began to wail all over again, pushing himself out of Maya's arms until he resumed his fetal position under the dining room table. His aura was a deep brick red. Anger. Despair. Grief.

  Damn this shit, Jay! Why does this have to be so hard?

  I’m sorry Maya. I’m sorry you have to do this alone.

  I absorbed Maya's frustrated thoughts, feeling her panic and confusion, but felt at a loss. My old human emotions took over my thoughts as they always had. I wanted to lash out at something. Swear. Punch. Tell Calder to go to his room. Tell Maya to be tougher on him. How could this kid ever learn to be strong when things got tough?

  Maya left Calder huddled under the table, still sobbing. She walked into her studio, closed the door, and picked up the phone.