A Friend of the Family (Work in Progress)

Note: more cleaning has led to more discoveries of old stories and pieces I had forgotten. Any feedback on this would help.

-K.D.

*

Marshall knew Stevens over twenty years ago, so he wondered why he was suddenly contacted by him with a letter. They had last spoken on a school retreat and Stevens had told him that he would not be going on to college or university. Marshall did not admit that he was relieved to hear this. Stevens had shared a few classes with him those last two years and he noticed how hard it was for his friend to follow any of the material, usually math (Algebra-Geometry) and science (Physics). Marshall had tried to help him with his courses but gave up after a month of weekends where he was at his friend’s apartment and finally realized that he was just supposed to do the work for him. He never tried to tutor him again and Stevens never asked for his help. And there was very little to say to each other after the retreat.

The letter was short but the details were clear. Stevens had married and divorced twice before making the decision not to marry again. There were two children, one for each marriage (two girls), and he saw them on alternate weekends when that was a possibility. No mention of anyone Marshall knew from their past was on the two handwritten pages. Stevens had written the letter on paper with his name and address printed on top next to the company he worked for as an advisor of some kind (his work was not completely clear to Marshall). He did not recognize the name of the company, but after marking some quiz papers for the college, he went online and discovered that Stevens was part of the sales division of a business involved in the music industry. Compact discs, downloadable songs and colourful accessories labeled with the company’s logo were on various pages of their web site. The letter had explained that Stevens would also be in town and that he wanted to see his old friend again. Marshall wrote back an email and wondered what would happen during the spring break.

Maria was curious. Her husband had never mentioned Stevens; he had rarely spoken at all about his time in high school. She suspected that he had the same bad memories that coloured all of the good times that they both had with their peers, teachers and others. She did know about his decision to stay in this town, the one where he was born and raised. Was he keeping an eye on the people who did not get out? Did he still pay attention to old pain? She never mentioned this or asked questions about his old school. She was impressed that Stevens worked for such a company and wanted to talk to him about music and had a thought about bringing out the electric keyboard from their basement.

On a Thursday morning, they checked each other out on Marshall’s front porch. Stevens was taller, sharper in his features from losing some weight; there was real strength in his body (he could see it in his arms and neck). Marshall, after passing a quick palm over his thinning hair, grabbed the thick shoulders of his old friend and gave him a hug. Stevens, after a moment, relaxed and accepted the embrace. Maria heard their laughter and voices from the kitchen and had to smile. At least it would be a real week of relaxation, not one where her husband had a pile of papers to greet him at his desk and nights out with his dull colleagues discussing essays and journals she never read. This would be different.

There were drinks, some thoughts about time passing them both by, and questions about the letter. Marshall’s twelve-year-old son, Peter, grilled Stevens about his work, and Maria had to drag him away to go to bed after an hour of questions about the people he had met, the places where he had lived and travelled. Maria thought about this as she took her son upstairs. She had known boys like Stevens in school. They borrowed pens and paper without a word; they caught the attention of the girls without any effort. But they should not get married, she thought. No, that was not for them. She heard her husband invite his old friend to spend the night in their spare room as she stepped back down into their living room. Stevens saw her, blushed, and accepted after Marshall’s second demand that he not go to a hotel. No, Maria thought, he should not have married at all.

Marshall did not sleep. Maria was wide awake when he went upstairs and he saw that she was trying to finish a book that she had started many times before. He smelled perfume in the air. His wife put the book down as he said “Good Night” and, with an energy he had not known in many years, threw him onto his back and made love to her husband while thinking of young men in her past.

Were they noisy? Marshall had that thought as he went downstairs to get something to eat. Peter’s room was down the hall (no problem there), but the spare room was right under their room. The door was closed as he walked down the stairs to the kitchen. He could imagine the old Stevens making some sort of positive comments about his friend. Was he really different now? He silently picked up a glass and filled it with water from their filtration tap on the counter. There was almost a temptation to tiptoe in the silence.

That was when Marshall noticed the leather case that Stevens carried with him was left on a chair near the entrance. An unzipped pouch was spilling paper onto the floor. He thought that Peter would be the first one up and he did not want him snooping through the papers of his old friend. He put the case upright, picked up some papers, and could not stop himself from reading them. One paper revealed that Stevens owed the government a great deal of money in back taxes; another showed that he was a respondent in case involving file-sharing and copyright laws. Those were private, but not as private as the letter written in crayon from one daughter that Stevens had only mentioned in passing. It was simple: “Daddy Come Home”.

He stopped reading and put the papers in the case. Marshall went back upstairs, spooned his wife, and thought about being young, worrying about his best friend and being happy with the passing of their lives.

*

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You can find more poems, stories, and articles by Kendall Defoe on my Vocal profile. I complain, argue, provoke and create...just like everybody else.

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