Dark Matter
Mamma had always had a love for other people's possessions. When growing up, other people’s possessions were all she had. She told us about the endless stream of hand-me-downs. We used to joke about how her house was the first recycling plant in our country. She didn’t find that funny. In rebuke one day she explained that it wasn’t about recycling, it was about destroying. Everything that got passed down to her destroyed its past, and everything she had to pass down to her siblings would destroy her. The only way to escape was to think of it as other people’s possessions, as though they were only being borrowed by her for the briefest of moments. That idea led her to play games in her head. She forgot about her older brother owning the rugged baseball cap that now floated on her head, and instead pictured a famous athlete like Chipper Jones that affectionately gave it to his number one fan. All these other people’s things belonged to grand figures that carried her through the misery of poverty, carried her high on their shoulders and held her tiny filthy hands in theirs, as they gallivanted on the red carpet rolled out for the most special of events. Everyone in her mind was gathered there, night after night, as she opened the closet. Blinded from the reality of her childhood, a scintillating sequins prom dress popped out and hugged onto her skin. After the dance, when the sweat would have the sparkling sequins rub off, her skin would be the one to blind her family.
Wishful thinking had allowed her to shoot for the stars and even got her as far as being one of the few women in our country to get a PhD in astronomy. The work was relentless, but it brought her closer to the safety of the unknown, the unrelenting void of space where nothing belonged to no-one. This led her to accrue at the same time an elevated status within her community and, given that her contributions were quite valued across the education field, many schools were more than willing to have us enroll pro-bono. I never had the chance to meet my father. All men—excluding myself—were seen with utter dismissal; they always treated my mamma like she owed them for loving her. My science teacher would always gush at the opportunity of seeing mamma during the parent-teacher meetings. If you ever thought those meetings could be awkward, try imagining yourself being the third wheel during a date where both you and your mamma had to attend. He would wear his astronomy tie with glow-in-the-dark stars that would constantly distract us whenever the projector was rolled out for an impromptu ‘Bill Nye the Science Guy’ viewing session.
“The thing about glow in the dark,” he would explain to my mamma, “is that it’s only possible once the stars have absorbed enough energy from the light, which is just the complete opposite of what stars actually do, right?”
“Is that so?” Her face ironically reflected the complete non-absorption of whatever he was rambling on about, containing the faint glimmer of kindness that allowed strangers to always interpret intrigue where there was nothing but boredom.
“I’m sure someone like yourself already knows all about the contents of the tie, but it’s always a pleasure to teach the small details that many would overlook!” He tried putting his hands on the desk now, possibly pretending that she would join her hands to his. “That’s how I’ve been seeing my role as an educator when it comes to your two wonderful children.”
“I’ve been told you’ve been relegating most of that duty to a certain Bill Nye lately.”
He immediately became flustered and leaned back into his chair. “There’s a–a demand in education, I mean from the people that keep the school running.” He straightened his posture as my mamma’s eyes stared into his, “we have to stay hip with the kids, you know? When I was a kid, Bill was like a hero to me. Nowadays my heroes are the incredible scientists like you!”
One of the mothers had overheard their conversation and spread the word. There was a tentative approach to get my mother invited to one of the many private dinners the school held for fundraising, but no-one knew how to approach her. What we knew was that there was no way to have her come out without first going through us. I was used to having the science community always at our doorsteps with little gifts, but now people’s admiration for mamma reached into the school we went to, entered into my life and got me hooked head over heels on mamma like all the others. Now that she knew they were interested in her, we were given the mission to be invited to anything that got us into others’ houses. Our reports back to HQ would include such info as the jobs of their parents, how much they made, their names, last names and whether or not she could see them appear on tv or in the newspaper. It was difficult at first to find any friends, when every conversation would revolve around someone’s parents. I never really got to know anyone. Each kid was just like an accessory on a parent’s keychain, put side by side with the keys to their Mercedes and mansion. I guess we also went into our own little game, finding the wealthiest parents at the very start, something that would really sweep mamma off her feet. Even though the kids found it difficult to talk to us, their parents—apparently sending off their children on the same mission as us—were forced into inviting us to their birthdays alongside the rest of the class. Anyone whose parents were impressive enough, which turned out to be almost the entire class anyway, was on that birthday list.
The string of parties became the most treasured memories I have of those days. Later I was to read The Great Gatsby and couldn’t help but feel like the unimportant neighbor, stranded in the middle of lavish parties where any kid would try to infiltrate. The difference was that most parties were confined to apartments, although confine does no justice to the extreme proportions of certain living quarters. There was one kid whose birthday was reserved to the ‘party area’, a remodeled living room that had a glass ceiling and dark walls that expanded to the size of an actual club’s main stage. The setting was monochrome at first; I can only imagine mamma entering inside and feeling like she had entered the void of space, watching her lie down in the middle of the room, in the middle of the night, and just weep at the view of Saturn, whose rings would circle her over and over, embracing her mind with the fantasies she hadn’t escaped to since her childhood. The moment the candles on the cake were blown out, the lights were turned on and the slick black walls flashed up in neon lights of various colors, changing uncontrollably and invoking the entire party into a dance frenzy. Walking over to the soda fountain, I searched the room for my sister. Locking eyes, we shared a look of complete agreement. This was the place for her.
The parents whose apartment had contained the best party of the year happened to be tv-hosts for a very popular pop-culture/science show for kids called ‘Stars on Stars’. They had done collaboration videos with some of our favorite tv-heroes, in order to explain to children things like black holes, basic biology and climate change. We couldn’t have found a better family if we tried; getting mamma invited to their place for brunch was incredibly easy. We had found them lounging in their living room, a space that had been closed off during the party. There was a definitive theme to each of their rooms: the living room was all about antiquity and contained museum-like exhibitions of statues, busts and paintings from centuries we had never learned about in school. It was quite obvious why they would want to close this off to us. When the food was ready, we were surprised to notice that the mother was the one to bring it back, instead of any maid or housekeeper. It made us realize that there wasn’t a single person outside the family to clean, cook, or maintain the apartment. Apparently they only hired people for big events.
Mamma was in complete disbelief. “That must be so much work… I can’t possibly imagine cleaning this every day.” She took another look at the room, “especially when you have your show to work on.”
The father was the first to chuckle—it was the type of comfortable laughter that immediately brings those around him into complete ease. “You’re right, this place is usually a complete pigsty; you’re actually really lucky to visit us after the cleanup from Jessie’s party.”
His wife was quite embarrassed and attempted to change the topic. "We actually do try to maintain the house; my husband is just being his usual sarcastic self." This, she realized, had not changed the subject in the slightest. "Anyways," she said, her eyes darting desperately to her husband's.
The co-host was able to immediately pick up on his wife's gaze, in the same way he would whenever she would forget her lines. "Oh right! We have an exciting proposal that I'm sure will delight you!" His voice switched to the familiar tone I would hear on his program, his posture being that of preparing the next segment. "We would absolutely LOVE to have you be the first guest appearance on our next season. We're doing an amazing segment on dwarf planets, and specifically why little Pluto was thought to be a planet for so long."
His wife picked up where he left off, naturally and without a moment's hesitation, "as you’ve noticed already, we've had a lot of work on our hands with balancing the show, cleaning and raising Jessie," it was at this point that she paused and scoped the room for her son. "Oh dear, where did he go?"
Mamma took this opportunity to send us away with the premise of finding Jessie.
Jessie's mamma was in complete agreement. "Yes that's perfect, I'm sure you two don't want to hear about this boring adult stuff anyways."
As we left the room, we heard Jessie's parents describing what they considered a much-deserved vacation before starting the next season. What we really cared about wasn't the room full of ancient people and their ancient possessions, nor was it a kid we hardly knew anything about. Instead we scoured every room relentlessly for a pair of spare keys, mapping out a layout of the apartment in our minds. My sister called dibs on Jessie's room and I told her the first person to find the keys could get first picking. A thought popped into my head, staring at the kitchen and seeing the perfect marble table, brand new electric stove, and artsy uncomfortable chairs. Why in the world did they have such a tacky cookie jar? Now this could be because I was actually feeling a little snackish—I've always had a terrible sweet tooth—but my first instinct was to open it up and see what I could find. At worst it would be a decent treat, at best it would be the perfect hiding place for a spare pair of keys. While my sister was rifling through the many drawers in Jessie's room, I stood at the doorstep dangling them from the tip of my fingers.
We came back to the big people's room where mamma was just about ready to leave. I tugged at her arm three times just like we practiced, and she gave us a wink. The brunch didn't last long after that. Apparently Jessie was actually off to swimming practice that day and his mamma had just forgotten. When I handed her the keys, mamma’s face lit up like I'd never seen before, a sense of pride swelling in our pitiful chests. We could hardly sleep, full of the anxiety of mamma waking us up with the news that it was finally time. When that day came, she picked us up from school in a rented car and we were off on a clandestine adventure, driving in zigzags like we were being chased.
We stood in front of the apartment but the apartment stood taller, a skyscraper that actually tore open the fabric of the world; it left the early dark sky bleeding onto the edge. At first the ability to roam inside someone’s apartment was tantalizing. Each room was intact, almost identical to how we saw it before leaving brunch. I had chosen Jessie’s room mostly so that my sister couldn’t, although I’m sure the parent’s room wasn’t much to complain about. Some time passed and it wasn’t long before the lack of any personality within the room became overbearing. How could I imagine myself living there if I couldn’t even imagine Jessie living here? I heard a dashing sound pass by the door and couldn’t help but go outside, even if we really weren’t supposed to. I was sure it was the sounds of my lil’ sis, equally bored with the room she had been confined to.
To my surprise I saw an intruder, a little girl that we somehow didn’t account for. I followed her to the kitchen and observed as she opened up the fridge, disappointed by its empty contents (although anyone could’ve easily guessed that a family wouldn’t leave food behind before going off on vacation). Her emotions were all in short bursts of passion; the intense disappointment led to the renewed interest for the cupboards, the sink, the drawers, throwing any food she could find, aiming for the luxurious marble counter. My eyes would wince each time a box of cereals had crashed onto the surface and spilled its contents on the floor. When all had been gathered into its singular ungodly pile, the emotion of the little girl, perceivable by a lick of the lips and a widening of eyes, was that of hunger. Perhaps too many a feast of dried fruits, protein bars, seaweed and spilled cereal could hardly ever be called a feast. To this girl, however, it was the fulfillment of every craving she desired.
Amassing it all into a large bowl, she then proceeded to saunter around some more and explore the rest of the apartment. I envied that kind of curiosity. Her ability to be satisfied by the contents of her bowl but never content by the view laid before her eyes. We walked into the living room and its bleakness, its dark dreary atmosphere, mixed in with the statues whose judging ancient eyes pierced me like the scolding of a particularly angry school teacher. I was amazed by how unfazed she was, how easily she entered that room. She almost immediately plopped herself onto the long roman lounging chairs and fished her hand inside the bowl for another protein bar. There was an ease to everything she did, and even though it was obvious we were both discovering the apartment together, truly analyzing every nook and cranny for as long as we desired, there was the feeling I had that maybe all of this belonged to her. Or at least that was the way she acted.
She sejourned through every room, entering each one in a random order. Entering bathrooms to run a bath she would never take, or flushing down triple-ply toilet paper to admire the suction force of the toilets. Maybe it was by sheer coincidence that the final room happened to be the party room. I’ll never understand what happened in that moment. When the doors were flung open, I stood right behind the curtains, peeking my head out so as to just make out the contents of the room. At night-time it was just as stunning as I remembered it to be. When her eyes took in the room she was literally stunned, floored even, as the dark bleeding sky seeped in through the windows, observable from such an intimate distance. Before the day broke through, Venus was the planet that held your attention, announcing the start of the day but the end of ours. Lying on the floor was my mamma, unfurled before the sky. Though her mind could not explain the phenomena, her eyes had accepted the incomprehensible, and her soul rejoiced in the beauty of it all. Mamma had caught the attention of the little girl and she made her way towards her. They were both lying down there, side by side. I thought they were weeping together, the muffled noises from their mouths as though they couldn’t bear to interrupt the moment in any way. Mamma must’ve noticed the little girl’s tears as well, her body shifted so as to be facing her.
With a gentle caress on the little girl’s cheek, mamma whispered, “don’t spoil your view darling, can’t you see we finally made it? We’re back home now, back in the world I should’ve never left.”
A shooting star passed through the sky and I wish I could’ve seen exactly what happened, because by the time it was gone, so too was the little girl. Mamma was left alone, stranded in the midst of other people’s possessions.