Remember The Moon Read online

  I never wanted to ask questions after she told me about her breakup with Marc that year in Rome. I knew it had been tumultuous between them. Although she never said so, I think Marcus following her to Italy showed a sign of weakness in Maya's eyes. She enjoyed her time in Italy without him, she told me once, surrounded by the type of people she longed to have in her life – painters, illustrators, filmmakers, and writers. Although he was a musician, he dismissed her friends as nerds or hippies. How she wound up with me, I will never know. I suppose I was supportive of her art, something that Marc seemed to have little patience for, which is why seeing one of her paintings in his kitchen surprised me. As far as I knew, she’d had very little contact with him in the years that followed. We heard from Maya's mother, who still talked to his parents, that he had bounced from job to job, never quite settling into any one career or place for very long. There had been many girlfriends, apparently, but he had never married or had children.

  “Why are you calling me, Marcus?” The angry tone of Maya's voice coming from the phone that Marc held to his ear was unmistakable.

  “Is it wrong to want to hear your voice?”

  “Calder's still awake. I told you not to call during dinner time.” Calder came into the kitchen and started tapping the counter with the broken chopsticks.

  Marcus turned around, apparently to look at the clock on his microwave.“Oh. Sorry. I lost track of the time. It’s just that I need to see you again.”

  “I can’t.”

  My mind spun. See her again?

  “I need to hold you in my arms.” Calder's drumming got louder.

  “I have to go,” Maya said.

  “Your kid has pretty good rhythm,” Marcus said.

  “Yeah. I guess. But I have a headache.”

  Marcus laughed.

  “I’m hanging up now,” Maya said, her tone tense.

  “Wait, Maya–”

  She hung up the phone and stood staring at it for a moment. I was back in the kitchen with her.

  What the hell was going on?

  She took a giant swig of wine and turned to Calder.

  “That’s enough now, sweetie.”

  Calder continued, louder now.

  I wanted desperately to soothe her. I wanted her to know I was there. I wanted to know what was going on between her and Marcus. I blew a little on the back of her neck to make her shiver.

  Jay? She stood perfectly still, listening for me.

  I’m here.

  What do I do with your son?

  Kick his ass.

  I bet you would tell me to kick his ass. She smiled despite herself and looked toward the ceiling, thinking I could somehow hover there against the ceiling rather than sit right here beside her. The problem is, I forget, or maybe I never knew, exactly how you did that, Jay.

  Don’t let him get away with shit. He’s taking advantage of you.

  I suppose you would tell me to follow through on consequences.

  Exactly.

  I just don’t know if I have the strength.

  C’mon Lenie, buck up. Or I’m going to have to kick your ass!

  Maya closed her eyes. I can do this. I can do this. I have to do

  this! She took a deep breath.

  “Calder, can you please stop drumming on the counter like that?”

  “Why?”

  The edgy skateboard dude on the front of Calder's shirt looked oddly menacing.

  “Please come here and sit with me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I need to talk to you.” Calder climbed up onto the stool next to her.

  “Calder, this is not cool. Breaking things and being rude to me is unacceptable.” Calder's expression was stormy, back in shut-down mode.

  “If we’re going to live together in this house and get along, we’re going to have to respect each other. Do you understand what that means?”

  Lenie, this isn’t getting through... She stopped talking and looked at him.

  “Do you understand?”

  And there it was, the most useless line a parent can say to a child. The game-ender.

  “I hate you,” Calder whispered.

  “I don’t care if you hate me. You’re going to learn to respect me. Your father would be disappointed and wouldn’t tolerate this kind of behavior, so neither will I.”

  I am not disappointed with him, Lenie.

  Calder burst into tears.

  “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!”

  For a moment, Maya looked stricken but then her face softened and she pulled Calder into her lap. He struggled but she kept a tight grip on him. “It’s not really me you hate.”

  “Yes it is!”

  “No, it’s your father you hate.”

  Hey! What the...? Calder looked at her, surprised.

  “I know that sounds weird, but that’s why you’re mad right now. You’re mad because he’s not here. Do you want to know something? I’m mad at him too! He sucks for dying!”

  Tears were running down her cheeks now. She had Calder's attention now.

  “Mama, are you crying?”

  “Yes, I’m sad and mad too.”

  “I want him back! I want Daddy!” Calder started to bawl.

  “I know, sweetie, I know.” Maya hugged him tighter, letting his tears come. His shoulders relaxed.

  Not the approach I would have taken, certainly, but whatever works for you, Lenie. Once again, I had underestimated my wife. After a while, Calder's sobs subsided.

  “I’m sorry I was mean to you, Mommy.”

  “I know, sweetie. We gotta help each other sometimes. We have all this anger inside us because Daddy died and for you it comes out when you drum things. Maybe we need to find you something to pour your feelings out on. You seem to like drumming. Would you like to take some drumming lessons maybe?”

  Yes!

  “Drumming lessons?” Calder sniffed.

  “Yeah. What do you think?”

  “Could I get a new drum set?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Cool.”

  “OK. I’ll look into it.” Maya looked pleased. I could hear her thinking: I am brilliant! Bring on the headaches!

  “K.” Calder looked bored again. His thoughts were already back with SpongeBob.

  “You know, your dad played drums and your grandfather was an amazing pianist. Perhaps you have some of their talent in your genes.” Calder shrugged and tried pushing himself out of Maya's lap. Maya's grandfather, Albert, appeared above me, sitting at his piano playing a piece that I vaguely recalled as Handel. It seemed I had some competition. I wasn’t the only musical influence in the family. When I looked up at him, he smiled down at me before fading away.

  “Just for the record,” she said as she kissed the crown of Calder's head, “your father would never have been this nice.” Hey! I resent that!

  “He would be mad I said that.” Calder looked up with alarm.

  “Why? What would Daddy do?”

  Take away the skateboard.

  “I think he would have taken your skateboard away for a week.”

  “I’m glad you’re not mean like Daddy.”

  Lenie, you break my heart.

  Maya stood up and gave Calder a final hug.

  “I guess we better get you some proper drum sticks.” Calder shrugged again and walked back into the living room to resume watching his cartoon.

  “Dinner in ten minutes!” Maya called to him as she turned on the gas and stirred the sauce.

  See, Jay, I can do this. Even without you.

  Yes, Lenie, you can. And you’re doing a great job. I’m glad about the drum thing. But what the hell is going on with Marcus?

  Maya and Calder faded from my view as I continued to sit on the back stairs. How had I g
otten here? What was expected of me? Clearly, I had no influence over my family and seemed only to be remembered with a certain amount of resentment.

  “Hard watching it, isn’t it?” My dad now sat beside me on the step.

  “Was I like Calder?”

  “Angry? Hell yeah.”

  I sat now at our old dining room table. My mom, in a crisp white nurse’s uniform, sat across from me at the stripped oak table in one of our chipped wooden chairs. I slouched as I picked out a rhythm on the edge of the table with my new Pro Mark drumsticks.

  “Can you please stop? I’m trying to talk to you.” I didn’t care. A sixteen-year-old intent on driving his mother crazy. I continued to play the table. I recognized in my own face Calder's same grief-induced shut-down mode and almost laughed seeing our resemblance. Same slouched shoulders, same downward, stone-cold glare, same clenched jaw. My hair, honey colored and long, almost to my shoulders, curtain bangs that shrouded my inner turbulence.

  “I’m trying to talk to you.” My mom did a decent replica of my stone-like stare.

  “Jay, we have to get this sorted out. You’re failing math and barely hanging on in English.”

  “I KNOW! Jeez, you think I don’t know I’m fucking flunking out of high school?”

  “Don’t swear at me. Something has to change. If it keeps up, I’m going to have to make you quit the band.”

  “But the band is the only thing that keeps me sane! I HAVE to keep drumming or I’ll die! SCREW you!”

  “You leave me no choice, Jay. You need to pull your socks up, and fast. From now on, you do homework before anything else.”

  “I fucking hate you.” I whispered this under my breath so she couldn’t hear me.

  This brought me back to the step with my dad.

  “I was proud of your mother that day. It was really hard for her to stand up to you like that. It took a lot of work on my part to get her to that point with you. But you truly needed your ass kicked.” My father’s eyes flashed and he smiled as his thought came through to me.

  “Yeah, I guess I did. Wait, what? Work on your part?”

  “I could see you were spinning out of control, hiding away in your room pretending to do homework when you were really drumming away on your bed and smoking pot. And those sticks weren’t your only instrument, if you know what I mean.”

  “Jeez dad. You saw that?”

  “Relax. I took about as much interest as watching birds fly. You’ll see.”

  “I hope not. Will I have to see Maya... ugh. I can’t even think of it.”

  “Really, Jay. It won’t affect you emotionally. I promise.”

  “OK, so explain how you helped mom.”

  “Dreams. It’s all in the dreams, J.J. my boy.”

  “What? You can enter people’s dreams?”

  “Not always. If a person is depressed or overly anxious and not sleeping, or using some kind of substance, like alcohol or drugs, then you’re blocked. But otherwise, yes, it’s possible to enter people’s dreams.”

  “How?”

  “You just have to have the desire. It took me a while to figure it out. When you started screwing up in school, I finally figured out that if I entered your mother’s dreams I could get her to kick your butt and not put up with your attitude.”

  “Why didn’t you just enter my dreams and kick my butt yourself?”

  “Because in your anger, I couldn’t reach you.”

  “Oh. I hated Mom that day, but I did get myself straightened out after that.”

  “Yes, you did. Straight A’s as I recall.”

  “I should thank you.”

  “Nah. It was nothing! Just a dream!”

  “I got to stay in that band, until we broke up after high school. I wanted to be a rock star so bad.”

  “I know, Jay. It just wasn’t in the cards for you. Besides, you wouldn’t have met Maya.”

  “Yeah. Or had Calder. I look forward to our reunion someday.”

  “Yes, I have to say it’s been wonderful having you here. I look forward to seeing your mom again, too.”

  “And to think I thought there would be nothing after you died. I guess I was ‘dead’ wrong.”

  “Ever the crack-up, J.J.”

  “What’s going on with Maya and Marcus, Dad?”

  “One thing at a time, J.J. You don’t need to worry about that now.”

  “What are you talking about? I don’t need to worry that my wife is being stalked by an old lover? Did they have an affair? Is that what’s going on?”

  My dad just gave me a sympathetic glance and faded away.

  In Maya's dream that night I found myself in a snowstorm. A blizzard. Flecks of white glowed as they drew near and then rushed away leaving a trail behind them like tiny comets zooming across the sky. Except there were millions of comets all within touching distance. I found Maya huddled on a snow bank, peering into a vast green-black nothingness pocked with celestial dust. I took a seat next to her. Calder materialized before us, arms crossed over the skateboard dude t-shirt, chopsticks clutched in one fist, hair tousled, glaring. She reached toward him but he stepped away. She stood up and took a step closer to him and he stepped back onto a skateboard and shot out of sight.

  “I can’t reach him.”

  “Be strong, Lenie.” She took another step forward, her silky iridescent white gown flowing behind her.

  “I can’t.” She sat down again, her knees pulled up inside her gown. “Jay, I need you.”

  “I’m here, Lenie.”

  “I know you’re here, but I can’t see your face.”

  “I’m here.”

  A full, luminous moon rose quickly in the sky and from somewhere Beethoven’s Piano Sonata #14 played by Grandpa Albert could be heard. Maya closed her eyes, listening to the music.

  “Lenie, I’m glad you’re letting him take drum lessons.”

  “Why can’t I see your face, Jay? I want to see your face.”

  “I don’t know, Maya. But I’m here.”

  “I’m sorry about Marcus. I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

  “What happened, Lenie?”

  She turned away from me, gazing dreamily into the comet storm. “Isn’t the moon beautiful?” She stood up and walked into the falling stars, gown flowing behind her.

  This dream thing would take practice.

  Chapter Eight

  JULY 15TH, 2006

  I dreamed about you last night, but I couldn’t see your face. It was frustrating. Calder was there too. He was lost to me, receding into a snowstorm. He still feels lost to me even now that I’m awake.

  I heard Calder’s skateboard and glanced over the computer screen and saw him – hair flying, no helmet – hurtling down the hill outside. I leapt up and tore out the door, yelling his name. He turned toward my voice and missed seeing a bump in the pavement, causing him to take a flying leap off the board and land on his knees. It took me a minute to reach him. His lips squeezed together as he held back tears and clasped his leg, a rip in his jeans exposing a scrape just beginning to bubble with dots of blood.

  “Oh, Calder. Not again! And you’re not wearing your helmet. I’ve told you again and again that you have to wear your helmet. That’s it. No more skateboard!”

  “Mama! Noooo!”

  “Let’s get you bandaged up.” I worked to keep my voice neutral and calm like the therapist taught me.

  Be consistent, she said. And in heightened moments of emotion, try to stay calm and keep your voice calm. The moment you get pulled into his emotion, you’re sunk.

  I picked Calder up off the sidewalk, my hands in his armpits while he bent over to keep a tight grip on his knee, and hobbled him toward the house as he hopped along on one foot.

  Inside, I dabbed his scrape with a wet paper towel, applied Neosporin and a wide, square Band-Aid, bought in bulk at Costco. The grey glue from the last
bandage had barely worn off.

  “Calder, your skateboarding is seriously dangerous. You not wearing a helmet is a big problem and if you can’t play by the rules, then you will lose the privilege of skateboarding at all.”

  “Please Mama, I’ll wear my helmet from now on!”

  “No skateboarding for three days.”

  “Mama!!”

  “Shall I make it four?”

  Howling, he flung himself onto the floor. I walked away. “It’s almost time for your drum lesson. You need to wipe up your tears and change your jeans.”

  Calder cried louder.

  “Now!” I yelled. I left the room, but heard him get up and sniffle his way upstairs.

  An hour later, I sat in a dingy basement on a dilapidated couch, the banging of Calder on the drums barely muffled behind an unpainted, hollow wooden door. There were long pauses accented by low voices, mostly that of the college student teacher, Brandon. Upon first meeting, Calder had been intimidated by the kid’s tight skinny black jeans belted with chains, his long, badly black-dyed stringy hair and ripped black t-shirt, but he’d given Calder a cool-guy nod and from the first lesson, Calder worshipped him. And had stopped allowing me to comb his hair. We toured every downtown department store looking for black skinny jeans in size 8, which were almost impossible to find. I finally found a pair online and Calder had barely taken them off, until today. I would have to buy another pair or patch the ones that were now ripped.

  As I waited for the lesson to be over, I continued my letter to Jay in my journal.

  The first lesson, Brandon had Calder pounding out rhythms and beats on a bongo drum. Now when he gets home from school, he dashes up the stairs two at a time to get onto his drum set. His face takes on a transcendental look, serene, angelic – that childish expression of glee, like the one he had when you gave him underdogs on the swing, and those giggles? I can’t remember the last time I heard him giggle. I wish you were here to help me, Jay. You would know what to do or say to make him laugh. Although, thinking back, those giggles stopped before you died. Did he stop laughing or did you?