Remember The Moon

by Carter, Abigail;

  Life’s magic. Is that what all this was about? The joke was on me.

  One morning I woke up to the sound of what I thought was someone walking around on the roof. I looked out to see the edge of a glossy black wing. Through the open window, I shook my fist at it. “Go away, Mr. Crow!” Later, as I walked outside to get into my car, the crow swooped to perch on the garage roof and peer down at me as I backed out of the driveway. The crows didn’t frighten me, as much as they reminded me of something I was hoping to forget. Calder noticed them too and soon made it a game to name each one he saw.

  “That one’s Harry. Or Bob,” Calder said as we walked to the store for a promised treat of candy.

  “Are you sure it’s not a Harriet or Bobbette?”

  “No way! That’s a boy one.”

  I don’t know if Calder connected the crows to Jay the way I did, but since he noticed them too, I didn’t feel as crazy. Still, it was hard not to feel like Tippi Hedren, the birds all watching her, gathering, but not yet attacking. My hell could begin at any moment.

  I should have told you about Marcus, Jay. He visited Seattle for business and invited me to his hotel for a drink. I thought it would be just a drink. I didn’t set out to cheat on you. But you had become so removed from our lives. And Marcus told me he still loved me all these years later. I didn’t know what to make of it, but I was flattered and then a little tipsy and it became the perfect storm. I’m so sorry, Jay. I know that Marc showed up at your funeral, but I don’t know why. Perhaps he feels guilty too. Or perhaps now he thinks he has a chance with me. I don’t want to know. I don’t want to see him. It’s too painful. After you died, I couldn’t continue my relationship with him on any level, even as friends. He asked to come and see me, so he could be there as a shoulder to cry on, but the thought of his presence horrified me. I am still full of guilt and remorse that I cheated on you. You didn’t deserve that, Jay. Marcus coming back into my life was like discovering an old security blanket. I didn’t consider myself the type of woman to cheat on her husband, but I did. I don’t really have a decent explanation. I hope you can somehow forgive me. I wish I could forgive myself...

  I sat back in my chair and closed my eyes and sighed deeply. Why did life have to be so complicated? I wished I knew what to do about Marcus. I needed to find someone new. I needed to forget about Marcus. Nothing good could come of it.

  I assumed Jay spoke to me through crows in order to give me his opinion about Marcus, but perhaps the crows held the secret to how he viewed the meds I had started giving Calder. Was Jay trying to communicate his displeasure at my parenting skills or my adultery through shape-shifting into crows? Truly, I had to be losing it.

  ***

  I filled the prescription that Calder’s therapist had scratched his signature onto and the next morning stood by the sink and poured a glass of water. Calder held out his hand as I tipped the bottle into his palm and a turquoise capsule rolled out. Calder eyed it suspiciously.

  “We’ll just give this a try for a few weeks and see what happens, K?”

  Calder shrugged. He put the pill into his mouth and then took a mouthful of water, handing the glass back as he held his gulp of water. He swallowed, then without a word, turned and disappeared into the living room to watch some TV before heading off to school.

  This became our routine: the glass of water and the turquoise pill, the promises that I wouldn’t be late to pick him up from the school bus, but still prying his hands off my waist as soon as the bus drew near. The weather got warmer and play dates more frequent as the school year drew to a close. One sunny May Saturday, Calder called from a friend’s house begging to sleep over and I agreed, trying to hide my jubilation, but around midnight I got a call from the friend’s dad explaining that Calder was upset and refused to sleep over and could I please pick him up. I drove him home in his pajamas and he just shrugged when I asked him what happened.

  “I changed my mind,” he said. I left it at that. To me the breakthrough was tangible.

  I wish I knew what you were thinking. Are you mad about Marcus? The meds? I hate these cryptic signs - CD players, crows, puzzles that I’m left to form into some kind of meaning. I always loved you, Jay. I hope you know that. I feel like I can’t remember the sound of your voice, or what you looked like. I wish I could see you in the dreams I have of you, but I can never see your face. Every time I laugh or feel joy, I worry that I’m forgetting you. How silly it is that we feel we have to stay sad and in mourning in order to properly honor our dead. I guess I shouldn’t worry. Your crows are always there to remind me.

  I love you, Mr. Crow.

  Maya

  Chapter Fifteen

  THE HAIRCUT

  I felt helpless having to sit back and watch my family in pain. I wished I could tell Maya I wasn’t angry, but in truth I didn’t know how I felt about her confession through Liz. I felt sad, but my own emotional pain no longer had the same meaning in this place. I still felt Maya and Calder’s pain though and felt compelled to do something to ease them through it. It was like being a parent, who watched, guided, and supported their child, but tried not to interfere even when they floundered. This was the way a child learned about the world, about life. It was no easier in spirit form to watch the loved ones you left behind struggle in the wake of your death. Only now did I understand that a human’s path through life involved suffering. Why had I never learned in life that it’s the hardships that teach us our innate strengths? I lived in my own little world of resentment, angry that my father died when I was young, leaving me to my lingering sense of inadequacy. A sense that I never quite possessed something that others seemed to have and take for granted. I watched others breeze through life, families intact, confidence assured, their sense of place in the world secure.

  I convinced myself that I lived in an unlucky world, a view that had me seeking the negatives and blind to the tiny breadcrumb trail that led toward a life I thought had forsaken me. Only in death could I now articulate such ideas. I blundered through job after job, rising in status with each one, but ungrateful and resentful that I wasn’t being paid more, or didn’t have the top job. Every sprained ankle I suffered, every team I wasn’t selected for, every promotion I didn’t receive, I saw as proof of my luckless life. Even in my new incarnation as a dead man, I saw my death as more proof of an unlucky life. Only now could I see the life-long handicap I gave myself.

  In the spirit world there could be no regret.

  Death taught me that luck or unluck is merely an illusion of the human mind, a story we tell ourselves so we can blame our failures on bad luck rather than face our messy, true selves. Had I unwittingly passed such thinking onto my son during my life, causing him to hide beneath his hair, experience terror whenever Maya was not close, bang his drums incessantly for hours and rocket himself down skateboard ramps? Or had my death precipitated his anxieties, his sense of insecurity that now led his mother to medicate him?

  A few weeks of Calder taking the meds, it was impossible not to notice a shift. From my vantage point on the back stairs, I watched Calder as he sat on one of the kitchen stools while his mother paid bills at the table. Calder seemed deep in thought.

  “Can I get a haircut?” he asked abruptly.

  “Sure. A trim again? Not too short, right?”

  “No. I want a buzz cut.”

  Maya looked up at him. “A buzz cut? Are you sure? That’s pretty extreme.”

  “It’s what I want. Can we go right now?” Calder and I had a tradition of going together to the local barber shop, one of those slightly dingy places with a turning red, white, and blue barber pole outside and a yellowed 1966 Chrysler calendar still pinned to the wall. I usually got mine short on the sides, longer on top and when Calder was small, he copied my cut. But as he got older, he stopped going to the barber shop with me and began growing his hair into its shaggy mop. “To Daddy’s barber shop. ”

  �
�You’re really serious this is what you want?”

  “Yes.”

  At the barber shop, Maya sat uncomfortably on one of the three olive vinyl chairs in the waiting area while Calder perched himself on the tall burgundy leather barber chair, knobby boy knees poking out from his shorts as his legs dangled over the seat.

  “What’ll it be, buddy?” the barber asked. Calder looked at Maya.

  “He says he wants a buzz cut,” she answered.

  The barber seemed nonplussed. “A buzz, eh? Would you like a one, two, three, or four?” Calder looked at Maya quizzically. She in turn looked at the barber.

  “One is almost bald, four is as long as it gets. I’d recommend a three. It’s what most of the kids go for.”

  Maya shrugged. “A three sound OK to you, Cald?” Calder nodded.

  “OK, then. You ready?” the barber asked. Calder nodded again and the barber affixed the paper neck collar and cape around Calder's narrow frame. He pulled out the electric clippers and held them up. Maya's eyes grew wide. He turned it on and put it to Calder's head and a large hunk of long hair dropped to the floor. Maya gasped, but the barber caught her eye and gave her a warning shake of his head.

  “What, Mom?” Calder asked.

  “Nothing, sweetie, the noise of the clippers just surprised me, that’s all.”

  I understood Maya's fear. The last time she had taken Calder to have his hair trimmed, even though they had only taken off a quarter inch of hair, Calder cried all the way home in the car. This haircut would be extreme.

  Maya grabbed a magazine and held it up in front of her face to hide the sudden tears that appeared in her eyes. More long hair dropped to the floor. When the barber finished, he spun Calder around in the chair so Calder could see himself in the mirror. Calder giggled.

  “Oh wow!” he said, running his hand across the top of his head. “It feels so weird!” He turned to Maya. “Mama, do you like it?”

  Maya managed to collect herself. She tilted her head to the side to look at him.

  “I don’t think I’ve seen your eyes in two years!” She laughed. “It’s so great to see your face. I love it Calder! I really do!” Calder smiled at the barber who peeled the cape off and pulled out a vacuum and began to suction Calder's head and neck.

  On the way home in the car, Calder kept rubbing his head and leaned over so Maya could try as well.

  “Why did you decide to cut your hair so short?” Maya asked him.

  “Because of what the psychic said,” Calder replied, matter-of-factly.

  “What did she say?”

  “She said that Daddy said I shouldn’t be afraid to move forward. I should take risks,” Calder said, looking serious. “Wow. You remember that? And it made sense to you?” Calder nodded. “I want to stop being afraid all the time. I think I can do a sleepover now.”

  “I’m happy for you. That’s a big step.”

  Calder sat back in his seat, smiling.

  The following week, Calder told Maya she didn’t have to pick him up at the bus stop anymore, that he could walk home by himself. The next day he came flying into the house, slinging his backpack onto the floor like a teenaged pro. A week later, he had a new best friend, Owen, who lived down the street. The closed look he kept hidden under his hair had transformed into the happy, smiling face of an eight-year-old. Of course, Maya attributed the change in Calder to the meds, but I knew it had more to do with the message Calder had received from me, via Liz. Somehow I got a meaningful message across to Calder. Liz embellished it on my behalf, for which I was grateful.

  “How can you be sure the meds didn’t also have something to do with Calder's changes?” Alice’s thought came before her actual presence.

  “I guess I can’t be sure. Except he seems pretty aware that he’s changed as a result of my message through Liz.”

  “The medications might simply be working in conjunction with the message, but I agree, your words seem to have gotten through to him, and that’s a marvelous thing. But it could also be...” Alice’s thought trailed off. Then, after a while, her wry smile appeared before me.

  “What?”

  “Well, you’re going a little overboard on the crow thing, don’t you think?”

  “No way! I love the crow thing! And Maya gets that it’s me! Even Calder gets it, I think. That’s why he always gives them names.”

  “Yes, I agree, Maya knows it’s you, but I’m not sure you need to be quite so obvious.”

  “But I like being a crow!” I loved the sensation of swooping around in a strong, black bird body, being part of Maya and Calder's world, even if just peripherally.

  “Now, Jay...”

  “OK, Alice. I’ll cool down on the crow embodiments. But honestly, it’s been the best trick you’ve taught me. Melding minds with small creatures is awesome.” I had already worked my way up the creature hierarchy - butterflies were the easiest to inhabit but died off quickly and were unavailable in the winter season, unless I wanted to be in South America. Crows and ravens seemed to fit. I appreciated their sharp eyesight, and their loud voices made it easy to attract Maya and Calder's attention. Maya would certainly understand my choice of a crow – its symbolism as a messenger of the gods in ancient Greece and a bird sacred to Athena would hardly be lost on her. In Norse legend, ravens are symbols of creative intelligence, and in Native American legends, the raven is a purveyor of light, or consciousness, a bird of creation without which human kind would forever live in darkness. I knew she would look up all the symbolism around the crow and the raven and know without a doubt that I visited her from this world. I wasn’t wrong. Recently Maya had even begun painting again, crows and ravens becoming a theme.

  “I know embodying creatures is a fun pastime on this side, Jay. Many newly dead like to re-experience life in that way. But you don’t want to have your wife feeling as if she is being stalked by crows, now do you?”

  I laughed. “No, I suppose I don’t. Maybe there is someone else I can stalk...”

  “Have you checked in on Marcus lately?”

  “Marc? You want me to stalk Marcus? That’s a good idea, actually...”

  “No, no, nothing like that!”

  “I’m joking, Alice. But why would you want me to check in on him? I’m trying to keep him out of Maya's life, not remind him of her.”

  “Your human mind speaks those words. You know the truth about Marcus, as much as you insist on denying it.”

  “The truth about Marc? What are you talking about, Alice?”

  “You will need to figure that out for yourself, Jay. But perhaps it’s time for a visit. Try a new creature on for size...” Alice chuckled as her image evaporated.

  The landscape clouded with my angry thoughts about Marcus. He had preyed on Maya in her vulnerability. I should have been more attentive toward her, but there was no excuse for his taking advantage. For him to reappear after all those years, declaring his love for Maya, made me suspicious. He knew she was still married. Did he seek some sort of revenge against me for being the one to marry her?

  I had no doubt that Maya loved me. And of course she deserved new love in her life. But I saw Marcus as a selfish, arrogant, even narcissistic person. I imagined he was a man focused on having expensive clothes, a slick, concrete-and-open-ductwork condo, a series of short-lived relationships with designer-clad women a decade younger than himself. I had heard very little of him over the years, but knew he worked in the restaurant business in Vancouver and had done very well for himself.

  The ambient light became brighter and I found myself in what appeared to be a coffee shop. I’m not sure why, but I seemed to be sitting on the floor under a square pine table beside a youngish man wearing a grey hoodie, the hood pulled up over his head, a tangle of dark hair poking out. He slouched in his chair as if trying to hide. Marcus sat opposite the young man; a plaid shirt and jeans were all I could see from my vantage point under the t
able.

  “I’m proud of you, man,” Marcus said. The young man’s mouth turned up at the corner in what might be perceived as a smile.

  “I’ve been where you are. The first week is hell, I know, but it gets easier after that,” Marcus said. A cacophony of sound in the room was unusually deafening. Chairs scraped across the linoleum floors, a line-up of teenagers held trays as they waited to proceed along a stainless steel buffet, groups of four or six gathered at tables, hunched over huge piles of food served on brightly colored dishes, all talking loudly. The walls of the space were painted in festive colors – orange, yellow, and blue decorated with sculpted letters spelling out “Forgiveness”, “Grow”, and “Dream”.

  “You just need to stick with it. Do you think you can do that, Lionel?” Lionel, the young man, shrugged in response.

  Marcus pushed a business card across the table. “If you think you want to get high again, call me first.”

  Lionel said nothing, but a dirty hand appeared from under the gray hoodie – fingernails bloody and torn, the cuticles chewed – and slid the card into his sweatshirt’s front pouch. Without a word, Lionel stood up and disappeared out the door. Another man appeared and sat in the chair that Lionel had just vacated. This man wore a tidy, striped linen shirt, khakis, and black Reeboks. Beneath his glasses, the wrinkles around his brown eyes were permanently creased into a look of worry mixed with compassion.

  “Hey, Tom,” Marcus said. “I don’t know if I got through to him.”

  “Time will tell, but I’m hopeful. He obviously looks up to you. He wants to please you. I’m glad you’re his mentor.”

  I began to realize this place was a center for homeless kids, the last place I expected to see Marcus Pellegrino.

  “It’s hard seeing myself in him. I was in that place once,” Marcus said.

  “Mentoring is difficult. But it can also be incredibly rewarding. You’ve come a long way yourself, Marcus.”