Blog 9: The Final Ride

The day started with chaos. Kit pulled the sheets around himself and grudgingly trudged to the large window, pulling the blinds open to see what all the commotion was about.

As his vision finally focused on what everyone was milling about, Kit couldn’t help but do a double take: there was a body sprawled on the ground, with a chalk line tracing its position, and several yellow tapes were failing in keeping the crowds away from the body.

A big corpse being the first thing Kit saw in the morning, as well as the fact that it was the first dead body he had seen in his life, he couldn’t help but give a muffled scream. Unfortunately, it was loud enough for his mother to hear.

“Kit? Are you finally awake? Lunch is ready, lazy young man!”

It took Kit a moment to find his voice, “Co-coming, mom…”

As Kit walked into the kitchen, the smell of his mom’s famous pot pie hit him with an unexpected surge of nostalgia. Wishing his mother a quick “morning’” and describing the terrible scene outside, Kit couldn’t help but think about how, almost half a year ago, his mother was making him pot pie to help him settle into the big apartment after the Mr. Evans incident. He couldn’t help but think about how everything was almost the same.

Almost. Unlike six months ago, the apartment was filled with boxes for Kit’s belongings and dollies to move the furniture. Much had changed since the previous summer, including his parents’ reunion, which Kit was coming to grudgingly bear, and the constant frazzling by Lamar about the polaroid even though Kit had told him everything he knew -which wasn’t much.

⋯

As the sun was setting a few hours later, Kit was driving out of the Maitland for the last time. Focusing all his energy on keeping himself from constantly righting the Hawaiian bobblehead on the dashboard, it was a while before Kit realized the sky had darkened, yet his thoughts had not. Somehow, his almost predictable tendency to hyperventilate in the dark had subsided -perhaps the darkness of the Maitland had somehow neutralized the one creeping into his mind. Grateful for that, if for nothing else, Kit sang along to Conrad, “I used to care of the ghosts and spirits, but things have changed,” truly meaning the words for the first time.

Blog #8: An Elevator Ride

Kit's alarm rang an hour after he was already awake and gazing at the snowflakes fluttering past his apartment window. He pulled the comforter up to his chin, unsure what to do with the free day that stood ahead of him. His mother had asked to be left alone ever since she’d come back, the dusty polaroid was no longer burning a guilty hole through his conscience, and classes had been canceled because of the snow. Finally, he decided he’d just start the day and see where it would lead him.

Two hours later, Kit buttoned up his coat and headed out the door. As Kit waited for the elevator, he couldn’t help but notice the eerie silence hanging through the building. Almost as though he were the only one in it. When the elevator doors finally opened, he did a double take: though the elevator was empty, Kit could have sworn he had seen a white-haired figure’s reflection in the elevator mirror. Blaming it on the little sleep he’d gotten the night before, Kit stepped in, pressed a button and watched as the doors shut -only to have a dirty hand appear out of nowhere and stop them.

Kit smiled awkwardly and mumbled a “‘Morning!” at Victor Marx, the Maitland’s handyman. His boots and overalls were as dirty and ragged as always, and he was carrying his bag of tools.

“Someone call you in this early?” asked Kit, wondering how he’d made it across town with all the snow.

“Just the new lady living in Mr. Evans’ old place. Complaining about noises this time -we all know there ain’t no noises. Just her being paranoid about dear old Mr.Evans!”

Kit didn’t know how to respond but was unwilling to let an awkward silence accompany them all the way down. “Talking about Mr. Evans, what do you think happened? Why do you think someone would have wanted him… dead?”

At that, Victor’s face turned a little grim. “He was the sweetest old man I knew. Maybe he should’ve just stuck with ‘ignorance is bliss’.”

Kit was absolutely bewildered. “If you don’t mind my asking, what do you mean?”

“Well, word is, the old man knew something he wasn’t supposed to, and that’s what got him killed.” And with that, Victor strolled out of the elevator as the doors opened, leaving Kit staring after him.

Blog #7: Old Rain. New Evidence?

Turning the rusted, regal doorknob, Kit walked into his childhood home and stepped in. Pushing back some overwhelmingly mixed feelings he had about being there, Kit focused on the task at hand: finding the polaroid. As he jogged up the stairs and into his room, puffs of dust shot up, leaving a light trail of footprints.

For the first time in his life, Kit was glad his mother was a sentimental hoarder. He plowed through a box labeled "OLD BACKPACKS." When Kit finally found the tattered old bag, he reached into the concealed zipper, hoping the picture was still there.

After the rainy encounter with Mr. Evans, Kit had not once remembered to give the polaroid back or even been curious enough to examine it. Now, six years later, he found himself staring at a polaroid that was stuck in the past -its edges were brown yet the image remained as undeveloped as it was the day Kit first picked it up. In what he knew was a futile attempt, Kit wiped the little square on his jeans, hoping it was just a film of dust. All he could see were shadowy figures, one seeming to hold -or push- the other. He held it up to the light, but there were lots of dark speckles distorting the image.

Could they be raindrops? What if this was taken the very day I bumped into him?

After an hour of contemplation, Kit finally decided to hand it over to the police. Before he got there, however, he met Lamar.

“What you doin’ out so late, kiddo?”

“I-I think I might have something connected to Mr. Evans.”

As sudden as lightning, Lamar’s tone shifted, “You have proof? What is it? Where did you find it?”

Frazzled by the hammering, Kit hesitantly took half a step back. “Its several years old, it's just a polaroid he’d dropped.”

“Oh, and you suddenly decided to return a dead man’s things, huh? That’s not what I think, son, it’s what they’re gonna say in there. No one will take you seriously, especially those inexperienced idiots. You know what? Let me see it, maybe I can get somethin’ done’.”

Suddenly not wanting anything to do with the polaroid, Kit thrust out the picture, hand shaking violently. Darkness spread through the sky, and with it, Kit’s weariness. Kit turned and left, hoping this was the end of it.

Blog #6: A Polaroid

Kit awoke to the alarm as he did on most days: groaning and frustrated at the little sleep he got. He screened his eyes as he turned the blinds, ready for the attack of bright light. He was met by none. Slightly fazed by the fog that was blocking his view of anything and everything outside his window, Kit trudged to the front door and swept in the newspaper. Squinting at the unusual headline -"Ether Maitland Murdered"- Kit wondered why the same seemed so familiar, but before he could figure it out, the fog that had somehow invaded the building's corridor engulfed him through the still-open door.

Kit awoke to a ringing alarm again, but six years younger and in a previous home. Kit got ready and headed to school, equipped with five pencils and an eraser, nervous yet ready to take his first SAT. As he made his way across town, he wished he'd taken the bus for the thick fog that morning was worse than the pressing darkness at night. Trying to make sure he was going in the right direction, Kit was concentrating on the GPS on his phone when he bumped into something. Or someone, to be more specific.

"Ow! I'm so sorry, it's the fog and-"

"Don't worry about it, boy," said a gruff, familiar voice.

"Mr. Evans?" Kit was so grateful to hear the friendly man's voice in that he didn't notice how unusually strained it was.

"Can't... stop now, Kit. I've got somewhere to be."

Shocked at the old man's drastically changed demeanor, Kit wondered if he had said something wrong. Mr. Evans was the most amiable old man he knew, and he enjoyed listening to his youthful stories. Yet today he seemed distracted enough to march off without a proper hello. Momentarily muddled, it was a few seconds before Kit saw something on the ground. He picked it up, thinking he would give it to Mr. Evans later. When Kit touched the wet, thick square, he realized it was a partially formed polaroid picture. Unable to see clearly in the fog, Kit stuffed it into his bag.

As Kit went to bed that night, turning up the volume on his headphones to drown out the loud arguments in the next room, he forgot all about the little polaroid.

The next morning, Kit woke up in an apartment, six years older once more.

Blog #5: Loneliness, Frustration, and a Speck of Hope

It was the fifth night since his mother’s disappearance, and Kit’s sense of guilt only grew with each moment. After yet another day of futile searching and asking around -how could nobody have seen her?- Kit found himself in his bed, worn down but sleepless. For what seemed like the billionth time, he wondered if his mom would still be with him if he had responded differently; if he had shown her the support she had wanted. Instead, he had stomped off like a child, too immature to think of anyone’s feelings but his own.

Tired of being angry, yet unable to do anything else, Kit got out of bed and trudged out of the apartment. Muddled in his thoughts, he soon found himself walking down the courtyard between Maitland East and West. It was disconcerting to be out there, in the middle of two very different pieces to a whole, rich and poor, and, for a moment, he forgot all about his mother. But, as always, the momentary peace gave way to deeper remorse: how could he think about anything other than his poor old mother?

Thinking over the details of the night his mother had disappeared, Kit felt deeply frustrated at his inability to uncover a single clue that would lead him a step closer to finding his mom. He reported the disappearance to the police but, due to lack of any proof of kidnapping -and more importantly, their obsession with the murder of Mr. Evans- they were of absolutely no help at all.

At this point, he wished he had someone -anyone- to help him, and in his misery, he banged the back of his head on the bench. That’s when he saw the star. A blazing hot speck shooting across the sky, and at first, he wished he wished his mother would come back, yet inadvertently, he added a second wish: he wished he had as good a sense of direction in life as that hurtling rock did.

Blog #4: A Conversation with an Unexpected Acquaintance

As Kit trudged through the snow, he wished he’d worn a coat, but there was no way he was going back and facing to his mother.

Kit had never been to the bar at this time and none of the booths were empty, so he had to sit at the counter.

Soon enough, Nik, not much older than Kit himself, yelled, ““Hey, what can I get you?”

Kit, still numbed by his mother’s words, looked up a second too late.

“I’m good thanks.”

Nik chuckled. “Please don’t tell me you’re here for the food. Our ‘heavenly cheesy fries’ lean more toward hellish.”

“I’m not hungry”

“Drinks?”

“I don’t drink.”

“Some milk, then?”

Kit flashed him a look of what he hoped was contempt.

“Hey, I’m sorry, Kit.” Nik said awkwardly. “It’s just… this is a bar, you know?”

Kit didn’t reply.

“C’mon,  what’s up?” Nik prompted, leaning across the bar.

“I-” Kit cleared his throat and started again, “my father, who abandoned my mom for another woman, is dating my mom.”

God, that sounds even worse when I say it out loud!

“Wow, that divorce was messy… the whole town knew about it.” Nik pauses, and starts again, “You don’t have to hang around him too, though.”

“I know. But...I can’t just abandon her the way my father did! Ugh, they’ve been in touch the past couple weeks - I don’t get how I missed it!”  

“Everybody has ghosts and secrets, especially in this town. They lie, cheat, and manipulate... Just be there for her when he leaves.”

“Yep, there to pick up the broken pieces as usual.”

“Look, at least you have a mom who cares.” Nik sounded bitter.

Kit came up short. “Hey, I’m sorry...about that.” He stammered, “What exactly happened?”

“Well, they blew the money I’d saved for college on booze and drugs. And, as usual, the kid ran away from home and blah-d-blah!” Nik laughed dryly.

Despite his efforts to seem nonchalant, Kit could tell it had meant a lot to Nik. Nonetheless, Kit wasn’t one to push.

“Wow, I’m so sorry, dude…”

“It sucks, but… that’s life.” Nik sighed and ran his hands through his hair.

“I have to work. See you around.” He turned and left.

Kit remained seated, turning his phone off as it rang for the ninth time.

His second regrettable action within the span of an hour.

Blog #3: Unexpected News

Ping!

It was the fifth time his mother had received a message notification since they had sat down for dinner. Kit glanced down at the phone, which his mother had placed with the screen down, and looked back up at his mother's face. She pretended to not notice the text and continued to twirl the fork in her bowl of spaghetti, but Kit knew something was up. Something to do with the sudden reappearance of his father.

Kit watched as his mother kept playing with her food. She had barely eaten a mouthful.

"Is something wrong, mom?"

Kit still hadn’t confronted his mother about the night of the concert- he wanted to see how long it would take for her to tell him herself. So far, she hadn’t mentioned a thing, and when Kit asked where she had disappeared to during the show, the only response he got was an almost inaudible mumble about getting “lost in the dark.”

She looked up just a moment late, but Kit noticed the slow response.

“Oh no, dear! I’m doing great… not too hungry is all.”

“Well, you don’t have to eat it just ‘cause I made it. I know I’m not much of a cook!” Kit smiled half-heartedly.

His attempt at lightening the mood was met by a dry chuckle and blank eyes.  

“Really though, are you doing fine - with everything else? You’ve been looking really lost since last week.”

She smiled at her plate, not meeting Kit’s eyes. When she finally did look up, she had a strange glint in her eyes.

“I’m seeing your father again.”

“WHAT?” Of all the reasons Kit had imagined, his parents' dating wasn’t close to one. Even in the slightest.

“What do you mean you’re SEEING him?” He yelled, much louder than he’d intended, but he didn’t care one bit. 

“Is that what was happening at the concert the other night? Yes! I saw you!”

Instead of denying it, she heaved a sigh and began, “Your father is not a terrible man, Kit. I-”

Kit could not believe she was defending him - that bastard of a man! He’d had enough.

“I-I need some air. Show yourself 0ut before I’m back.” He stomped out of the apartment, slamming the door on his way out.

... 

Unfortunately, the hurt look on his mother's face as he stormed off would be his last interaction with her for a while...