Left-Handed Engineers From MARZ
Marlone's visit, part III

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After supper, the TV went on and Jack became totally absorbed in some cop show Zephyr had never seen before. Bored (and a bit sour over the fact that once again his chair was taken), he took his coffee and sat by himself out on the deck. The saplings lining the backyard were growing lusher and taller, and in a couple of years would mostly block out the overpass behind them. In the meantime, Zephyr found the headlights of cars and semis zooming by entertaining to watch.

The door opened behind him. "May I join you?" Marlone asked.

"Sure," Zephyr replied reluctantly.

She sat in the other lawnchair and placed her own coffee on the table beside it. "Beautiful evening," she observed.

"Yup."

"Listen, Zephyr, about what I said before, about wanting to help you... I know that might sound weird to you, but I mean it. I'm strong enough now. If you have a drug problem..."

Zephyr sighed heavily. "Mom... okay, fine. If you really must know, I do have a drug problem. I can't get the stupid pills into my mouth. Kind of like that guy in 'Airplane' with the drinking problem."

"Stop joking. This is serious."

"I am being serious. I keep dropping them and losing them. There must be $50 worth of pills behind the toilet. After a while I got frustrated and gave up. They're too fucking tiny."

Marlone stared at him in disbelief. "Not all of them! Some of the ones I saw were horse pills!"

"Maybe once you get them in your mouth. Before that, they're miniscule."

"Oh, come on, Zephyr."

Zephyr held his hands up. "Zephyr the klutz," he reminded her.

Marlone blinked at him, understanding finally setting in. "That coordination problem? You've still got that?"

"Yup."

"I thought you outgrew it a long time ago."

"It's not something you can outgrow, Mom. It's permanent."

"But... look at all the stuff you do! All the engineering, all the things you build! You fix cars and computers... hell, you were doing the plumbing when you were twelve! How do you explain all that?"

Zephyr shrugged. "Persistence... practice. Sometimes I don't and say I did, like with the pills. Sometimes I ask Reg to do things for me. He has impeccable fine motor skills."

"I'm sorry," Marlone said meekly.

"Mom, it's not about you. It never was. You've always acted like everything about me, my very existence, even, was a huge glaring error on your part. Maybe so, but aside from that, all this stuff is stuff I have to overcome. I can manage on my own just fine, Mom, but not if you get personally insulted every time I drop something or fumble something. I've tried to tell you this for years, but you would never listen. I need you to let me be me, and stop trying to project yourself onto me."

"I'm sorry. I guess... people at the meetings keep telling me to watch you and Portia for signs of substance abuse, so I was just trying to do the right thing."

"I appreciate it. But I really don't have a problem. I don't know if you noticed, but most of the bottles in there are full. I never touch them."

"Then why do you keep getting them?" Marlone asked. "Didn't you tell your doctor?"

Zephyr shrugged.

"You didn't, did you? Why not?"

Zephyr shrugged again. "I don't know."

"God, Zephyr," Marlone said. "That could be dangerous. You have to be honest with your doctor. If you really do have that aorta thing you mentioned before..."

"Which I do! I've known since I was nine, and so have you!"

"Well, then, what if you have a heart attack or something? You know, if the insurance company finds out you've been lying about the pills, they can use that against you."

"I'm not going to have a heart attack, Mom," Zephyr grumbled, but as he said it he realized that his logic was weak. He was just avoiding his problems by denying them, again... a habit, by the way, he had learned from his mother. However, just because he couldn't prove his life wasn't in danger didn't mean it really was.

"You might," Marlone insisted, but timidly, as if she too realized that they were reaching a logical impasse.

Zephyr looked at Marlone, and Marlone smiled at Zephyr. "So," he said, "How 'bout them Angels?"

"I don't know... I don't watch sports. You'll have to ask Jack."

"It's okay, Mom. It was kind of a joke."

Marlone sighed. "We never could talk very well, could we? Portia was always a lot easier to talk to. I guess because she always talked back, even if it was just screaming and threatening and cuss-words. I don't know if I've ever told you this, Zeph, but I used to wish you'd scream at me too once in a while... just so that I knew you thought I was worth talking to at all. You were always so closed off, so cold... like a rock."

"Mmm." Zephyr stared up at the darkening sky, remembering. "Nobody bothers a rock for long. After a while they get bored and leave you alone."

"Are you still like that?"

"Hell, yeah."

The doorway behind them darkened, and Zephyr looked up as Reg slid the partition back and then gently replaced it.

"Reg, man! Come sit down." Zephyr moved his feet and straddled the lounge chair so Reg could sit on the end. "Is it 8:00 already?"

Reg sat and took Zephyr's hand in his own.

"Hey, my mom and I were just talking. Do you want to talk with us? Maybe we can talk about something better, like the cars going by. Or our garden... we forgot to show off the garden."

Marlone stood up and gathered her cup of coffee. "I think I'll go inside and keep Jack company," she said.

"You don't have to leave, Mom."

"It's getting a little chilly, anyway. Maybe that doesn't bother rocks so much, but I need a sweater or something. Or a husband." She grinned at Zephyr slyly and then disappeared into the house.

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