With These Passing Hours - CC/FF M/L YTEEN - 1/1 [COMPLETE]

[Lolita]

Title: With These Passing Hours
Rating: It’s clean my darlings.
Disclaimer: Roswell and all it’s characters are merely being borrowed. However, Claudia is mine.
Summary: A short story. Post Control. Max left in the ship that he found. This story is told from Liz’s daughter’s point of view.
Authors note: The title was inspired by Collective Soul’s song, Run.





“I’m sorry, Miss Parker but your mother has stopped responding to any of our treatments,” Dr. Levitt advices.

“You can either put her in a hospice or take her home. I’ll give you time to think about it.” She gives me a sympathetic look before she turns and walks away.

I brace my hand against the wall to support my jellied knees.

My God! Is this all that’s to be done?! After all the treatments… nothing!

I slumped down onto the vinyl couch burying my face in my hands. I want to cry. I want to scream. This isn’t fair! It’s not her time yet. There’s so many things that she still wants to do. That we want to do. To just end it like this… this can’t be happening!


I walk down the brightly lit corridors, hypnotized by the loud clicking of my heels. I turn the corner and see my Uncle Michael coming out of my mother’s room.

“Hey kiddo,” he looks up and gives me a half-hearted smile.

He must have noticed the way my arms are wrapped around my waist because a second later, he’s got his arms open and I rush into them. Something about being comforted by one of the only father figures I know finally breaks open the dam that’s been holding my tears.

“Shh. I know sweetheart,” he coos as he runs his hands down my hair.

I pull back, embarrassed at being caught bawling like a baby.

“Geez. Look at me. Blubbering all over your shirt,” I sniff and wipe the wet spot on his shirt. “Great, and now I’ve just ruined your shirt.”

I swipe my hands across my cheeks wiping away the evidence of my little crying fit.

“Is Aunt Maria inside?” I point towards my mother’s room.

“Yeah. She’ll be out in a minute though. We gotta pick up Meg and Jason in half an hour.”

I nod in understanding.

“Is Jason still playing soccer?” I ask trying to make small talk. I’m hoping to delay from going into my mother’s room, thinking that if I don’t go in there Dr. Levitt’s prognosis won’t come true.

“Yeah,” Uncle Michael nods, a proud smile ghosting his lips. “He’s pretty good too. Who knows? Maybe he’ll stick with this one.”

“You better go in there and tell Maria that we’ve got to get going,” he says after checking his watch.

I wave him goodbye and push the door open to my mother’s room. I stand frozen for a moment as I hear the door shut behind me.

My mother is laying there, the covers pulled up to her chest and her sparse hair, the result of intensive chemotherapy treatments, fanned across her pillow. She’s like a frail imitation of the woman I know. Her brows are creased in pain. Her once beautiful face bears the evidence of her disease.

It pains me to see her like this.

My mother has got to be one of the strongest women I know. Being pregnant at eighteen, she didn’t have a lot of resources but she still managed to attend college and raise me at on her own while working at my grandparents’ café. Growing up, she was both my mother and my father. She took me to little league games; she attended all of my school plays, and when I graduated high school at the age of sixteen, she sent me to Harvard.

At first I protested, telling her that we didn’t have enough money. I did have a scholarship at the time but still, I knew that with living expenses and books there just wasn’t enough for school.

However, there’s no arguing with my mother once she makes up her mind. She’s one resolute woman. I still remember what she said to me four years ago…

‘Claudia Parker! How dare you say you don’t want to go to Harvard! Why, that is the most prestigious school in North America!’

‘But Mum, it’s too expensive!’

‘Nonsense, Claudie. Is that all you’re worried about? Don’t waste your gift over this. You were blessed with something, Claudia. Don’t just throw it way.

‘Let me worry about the money and you just take care of your studies.’

And so, the following fall I found myself in a dorm room in Boston, starting my first year of undergraduate studies at Harvard University.


“Hey Claudia,” Aunt Maria greets giving me a squeeze and a kiss on the cheek.

“Hi Auntie Maria. Uncle Michael’s in the hallway waiting for you.”

“Come by the house and I’ll cook you dinner,” she pinches my cheek before picking up her purse. “I’ll see you later,” she adds as she exits the room leaving me alone with my mom.

I quietly make my way to my mother’s bedside.

As I near her, her eyes drift open and she gives me a warm smile.

“Hi baby.”

“Hi Mum,” I smile back though I know my voice sounds scratchy from crying.

“C’mere,” she lifts the corner of her blanket and I crawl in next to her. I lay my head on her chest as she softly runs her fingers through my hair, just like she did when I was little. I tighten my arms around her thinking that if I hold on to her tight enough, no one can take her away.

“Did you eat yet?”

I shake my head in the negative.

She makes a tsking sound with her tongue. “Claudie, you know you have to eat,” she admonishes.

“I know, Mum,” I sigh letting my eyes drift close. I lose myself in the moment. It’s like I’m five years old again and suffering from my nightmares.

“Remember when I was little and I would have my dreams?” I mumble, relaxed by the motions of my mother’s hands.

“Yes.”

“Remember how I’d come to your room crying and you’d bundle me up with the covers and tell me that those baddies will never get me because they’d have to go through you first,” I yawn. “Then you’d let me wear that swirly necklace and tell me that it’s a talisman that will keep all the monsters away.”

I still remember those dreams vividly, but most of all, I remember all the feelings that accompanied the dreams. The feelings of longing and loneliness were the most prominent. I would always wake up in a cold sweat and crying until my chest hurt. I never understood what those dreams meant but as I grew older, they seemed to come fewer and far in between until they just disappeared altogether.

“Where is that necklace anyways…?” I ask but I don’t hear her answer. As soon as the words leave my mouth, I fall into a peaceful dreamless sleep.

* * *

The following morning I find myself at home and cleaning up my mother’s bedroom.

“What time is your mom coming home again?” My best friend, Jane asks.

“Any time now actually,” I balance the cordless phone on my shoulder as I fumble with the pillows.

“How’s she doing?”

At her question, I stop my fussing and sit down at the edge of the bed.

“Not good,” I tuck a stray hair behind my ear. “The doctor told me to take her home. She said that there’s nothing else to be done.”

“Oh Claudia. I’m sorry,” I can hear the sympathy in her voice and it takes all of my strength not to break down and cry.

“I know, Jane. Please… I don’t want to talk about it right now,” I plead knowing that my mom is coming home in a few minutes and me crying on her bed isn’t going to help to make her feel better.

“Okay. I better let you go. Give your mother a big hug for me and tell her that she’s still the coolest.”

“Sure, Jane,” I smile at her uncanny ability to lighten my mood. Ever since I met her at the public library back in Boston, she’s been like a sidekick.

“Talk to you later, Claudia. Bye,” she says before hanging up.

I put the phone down on the night table and make my way to the kitchen. Grandma is standing by the stove stirring a big pot of something that smells delicious.

“Hey grams,” I lean my head on her shoulder.

“Hi Claudie-girl,” she greets in return, placing a kiss on the top of my head. “What time is it?”

“It’s almost 12:30. Mom should be home soon,” I reply inhaling the delicious smell of chilli.

A few minutes later, I hear heavy footsteps trudging up the stairs.

I see my Aunt Maria helping my mom and my Uncle Michael trailing along behind them carrying my mother’s suitcase.

I can see the strained smiles plastered on their faces while my mom tries to mask her exhaustion. I can tell that climbing the steps is taking a lot out of her. Her condition is progressively getting worse. I know that the doctor told me that her cancer is terminal that she only has a few days left, a week at most, but there’s still that irrational part of me who thinks that the doctor is wrong. That all those tests and specialists were wrong. That my mom will get better and that we’ll take that trip to Las Vegas that she promised to take me on for my 21st birthday.

However, looking her over, I know that I’m being foolish, but still. The doctor’s diagnosis is a bitter pill to swallow. Wasn’t it just last year that my mom was planning to run the Albuquerque marathon? It’s disgusting how this cancer has ravaged her body within a matter of months.

My mother looks up at me and her eyes sparkle. I stand there in awe of this woman who has raised me alone since birth. I watch her slap my aunt’s hand away determined to walk to me on her own.

“Hello, my darling,” she holds her hands out to me and I grab them with fervour as she pulls me into her arms.

I bury my face into the crook of her shoulder wanting to bask myself in her familiar scent. However, instead of smelling the familiar scent of lavender, my senses are assaulted with the smell of antiseptic and medicine, just another reminder that my mother is not well and that my time with her is limited.

“I’ve tidied up your room and bought you some fresh sheets,” I say with forced cheerfulness as I take her hand and lead her to her bedroom. “I got them on sale at Bed, Bath and Beyond.”

I make a great show of her bed and turn to face her eagerly awaiting her opinion.

“It’s lovely, Claudie,” she says and gives me a soft kiss on my forehead.

I proceed to give her a play by play description of my shopping adventure, hoping to mask my nervousness by boring her to tears.

Mid-rant, she stops me by laying a hand on my lap.

“Sweetie, can you do me a favour and call your Aunt Maria in here?”

Nodding my head obligingly, I call my aunt in and leave the room to give them some privacy.

* * *

[Lolita]

The following morning I open my eyes and am assaulted by New Mexico sunlight filtering through the gauzy curtains.

Like I had done many times before when I was a child, I woke up in the middle of the night from a nightmare and in my distraught state sought-out the solace of my mother’s arms. This time I didn’t tell her about my dream, for it was different than any of the other ones I’ve had before.

This time I understood what it meant.

I dreamed of my mother’s death. I saw myself at her funeral, weeping as her casket met its final resting place beneath the dry earth. Even now I can’t think about it without feeling tightness in my chest.

I swing my legs out of bed and quietly pad across the wooden floor, careful not to wake my mother.

I make my way to the kitchen passing by my grandmother’s bedroom and notice that her bed’s been made. She probably got up a couple of hours ago and is already downstairs managing the café.

This was another thing mom used to do before she got sick. Ever since grandpa passed away three years ago, mom had taken over managing duties of the café letting my grandmother retire, but with mom being sick, grandma has had to take care of the café once again.

“Claudia…,” I hear my mom moaning my name. I instantly put down my cup of tea and rush over to her bedroom, where I see my mom curled up in the fetal position on the bed.

“Mom!” I call breathlessly as I kneel to her bedside.

“C-Claudie… please….m-my pills,” she reaches out her hand toward her dresser where her bottle of Vicodin sits.

I grab the bottle, popping it open and spilling two pills into my hand. I help my mother sit up and hand her the pills and a glass of water.

As I watch her tear-streaked face, my heart breaks.

Something happens to you when you see your parent cry. Growing up I thought of my mother as some kind of superhero, someone who’s invincible and who can leap over tall buildings in a single jump. But seeing her here, broken and in deep pain, my idolization shatters and I’m faced with her mortality.

“Do you want me to rub your back with the eucalyptus oil, Mum?”

“Sure, baby. Thank you,” she whispers, giving me a tearful smile.

I grab the bottle of oil and for the next ten minutes I proceed to massage her back until finally, the medication takes effect and she falls into a painless sleep.

The rest of the day goes on as expected; I take care of my mom while all of her friends drop by to see her. At six o’clock, Uncle Michael and Aunt Maria drop by bringing their two kids with them.

An hour and a half later, we call in for pizza.

When the doorbell rings, I open it expecting the person on the other side of the door to be the pizza guy but instead I’m confronted with a tall, dark-haired man with intense eyes.

“Hello?” I greet, disconcerted by the way he’s staring at me.

“Claudia, is that the pizza guy?” Aunt Maria bellows from the kitchen. “I’ve got a couple of twenties in my pur – ” she stops mid-sentence as she pops up beside me.

After a pregnant pause, she finally addresses the stranger on the doorstep. “You’re not welcome here,” and with that she pointedly slams the door in his face.

“Aunt Maria!” I’m stunned by her action. I know that she’s always been dramatic, a little high-strung even, but in all my life I’ve never known her to be rude.

I yank the door open and with a polite smile I greet the stranger again.

“I-I’m looking for…Liz Parker,” he says hesitantly, his eyes darting about the people behind me.

“Are you a friend of hers?” I ask while searching my memory for this man’s face. Was he a guy my mom dated? Someone she went to college with? Coming up with a blank, I wait for his reply.

“You could say that,” he says, the corner of his lip bearing the trace of a smile. “I know her from a long time ago."

I nod and open the door wider to let him in. I offer him a seat and am mildly surprised at the hostility I feel emanating from my Aunt Maria, Uncle Michael, and even my grandmother. As I walk towards my mother’s room, I glance back to see him squirming on the couch as the three adults stalk around him like he’s prey.

I open the door and the lamplight spills onto the darkened hallway. My mom is sitting up on her bed writing in an old leather book. She looks up as I enter, closing her book and resting it on the nightstand beside her.

“Is the pizza here yet?” She asks with a hint of excitement in her voice. I smile, knowing that it’s one of the foods that she missed during her month long hospital stay.

“No, Mum, but there’s someone here to see you.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know. I forgot to ask his name, but he says that he knew you years ago.”

“Oh,” she furrows her brow, probably thinking of who it could be.

“If you’re too tired, I can tell him to come back tomorrow.”

“No, no. That’s fine, sweetie. Send him in,” she smiles fixing the silk scarf that covers her head.

I return to the living room to fetch the stranger. As soon as my presence is detected all talking stops and suddenly I feel like I’ve just walked into what was a very heated conversation.

“Um…mister…?”

“Max. Call me Max.”

“Um…Max. My mother can see you now.” I notice his eyes widen when I mentioned the word mother. I’m not surprised though.

Growing up, a lot of people mistook us for sisters. I’m the spitting image of my mother, right down to my long, chestnut-coloured hair. The only difference between us is our eye colour. While my eyes are hazel, hers are a dark shade of brown. I used to ask her why my eyes were different than hers, and she would always reply that it was due to my grandparents’ genes. I did ask her once if my father’s eyes were like mine but she just shook her head and changed the subject.

I take a few steps and beckon Max to follow me. I lead him to my mother’s room and stand aside to let him in.

“Mum, Max is here,” I announce and my mother’s face freezes and the smile on her lips fade. I turn to see Max’s reaction and notice the fear in his eyes. My gaze moves down along his arm to his hand that’s clutching the door knob.

I don’t understand what’s going on and I stand rooted to my spot.

My mother’s face hardens as she spits out, “get out!”

“Liz please,” Max begs, skirting around me and stepping closer to the bed.

“I said leave!” My mother’s scratchy voice is firm, her eyes welling up with tears.

I’m about to escort Max back out when his heartfelt plea stops me, “L-Liz…please.” He drops to his knees beside the bed as a torrent of tears fall down his stubbly cheeks, and finally I see the exhaustion painted on his face.

“No,” my mother sobs as Max claps her frail hand in between his strong ones. She continues to sob but doesn’t pull her hand away.

I watch in stunned curiosity as Max bows his head and brush a soft kiss to her hand, unleashing both of their sorrow.

My mother turns to him and lets out a broken wail as Max’s shoulders heave with his heavy sobs.

A tear escapes my eye as I watch this emotional scene unfold before me. I have never seen my mother this way. Never have I seen her so passionate and so vulnerable at the same time.

“Mum?” I call, interrupting their poignant moment. I gesture to the door, silently asking if I should leave them be. She nods her head and I turn to close the door leaving a small crack open. I slump down onto the floor in the darkened hallway and shamelessly watch the interaction between my mother and this…Max.

I can’t hear what they’re saying but their expressions, their actions say it all.

I watch Max’s profile as he speaks, all the while clasping my mother’s hand like a lifeline. His shoulders are hunched as his words are interspersed with his sobs.

My mother in turn watches him, tears pouring out from beneath her lashes. She has yet to say a word since I left the room. Only the quiver of her lips lets me know that she’s listening to him and that the tale that he tells is one full of sorrow and regret.

As he finishes his story, he looks up and meets her teary gaze with his own. For a moment I feel like a voyeur, infringing on their intimate moment, but I can’t tear myself away.

He reaches out his hand and cups her cheek. My mother closes her eyes and slowly her hand moves up to cover his as she leans into his touch. Their eyes connect as he continues his impassioned speech. A moment later, he leans forward and ever so slowly brushes his lips against hers.

I’m taken aback by his gesture and by my mother’s reaction to it. Throughout my childhood I had never seen my mother kiss a man this way. She dated here and there but none of those men ever incited a reaction like this.

Max pulls back as my mother speaks. I try to make out her words but from my vantage point in the darkened hallway, I’m unable to clearly read her lips.

I see Max shake his head but my mother looks insistent. Both of his hands let go of her as it descends down her torso to hover over her stomach. He turns his eyes away from my mother and looks at his hands in determination. His actions confuse me but before I can delve on it any further, my mother seizes his hands and brings them both to her lips. He tries to pull his hands away from her grip, but my mother remains steadfast, murmuring words that seem to break through his determination.

Max keeps shaking his head until finally he collapses onto my mother’s breasts and begins to weep.

I have never seen a man look so broken and defeated.

My mother merely closes her eyes and wraps her arms around his head, trying to comfort him as best as she can.

I’ve seen too much and their sadness is too much to bear. With a heavy heart and tears in my eyes, I push myself up and leave, giving them their privacy.


When I reach the livingroom my family is on me like vultures to a carcass. They’re all furious at my actions and don’t hesitate to reprimand me for it.

For the life of me I can’t understand why. What is it with this Max guy? What’s the big deal about him? He must have done or been something big judging from not only my mother’s reaction but by my extended family as well.

As soon as I sit down, I’m assaulted by their rapid fire questioning. I suddenly have overwhelming feeling of being on trial.

‘Why did you let him in, Claudia?!’

‘Do you know what this is doing to your mother?!’

‘I can’t believe he’s back!’

I hold up my hands in defence. Their questions quiet down but their glares remain. Truthfully, I don’t know what to say to them. I don’t understand my actions myself. All I know is that from the moment my eyes collided with that of this stranger, I had a feeling that he was of no threat to me or my family, even when he made my mother cry.

If at any other time, I saw a man make my mother cry, I would have dropped kicked him on the spot before dragging him out to the curb.

However, with this Max guy…it was strange really.

Although their reunion was tearful and heart wrenching, I couldn’t deny the energy I felt between them. There was just something there. It’s the kind of feeling you only see in those classic black and white movies. It might sound corny but it was real.

“I’m gonna go check on your mother,” my grandmother's voice breaks me out of my thoughts.

I jump to my feet and grab her arm before she can even take a step. “No, grams. Just leave them alone. He’s not gonna hurt her.”

“But I can hear crying, Claudia,” she says worriedly glancing at my mother’s half-closed bedroom door.

“I know.”

“Claudia,” Aunt Maria says catching my eye, “you have no idea what Max has put your mother through. He doesn’t deserve her.”

I scrutinize her features trying to glean some understanding to her cryptic remark.

“Who exactly is Max?” I ask glancing around the room. “Well?!” I demand, irritated with the fact that no one is answering my question or meeting my eyes. They all look away guiltily and suddenly I’m well aware of the fact that something is being kept from me.

“Claudia…,” Aunt Maria starts to speak but one look from my grandmother silences her. She crosses her arms over her chest and walks toward the window, turning her back to us. Uncle Michael crosses the room, squeezing my shoulder as he passes by.

I look up at my grandmother in confusion. She sighs as she sits down beside me.

“There’s a lot you don’t know, Claudie-girl,” she says squeezing my hands, “but it’s not our place to tell you.”

“What is it, grams? What’s going on?”

“You’ll find out soon enough, sweetheart. Your mother will tell you.”

I nod in agreement knowing that she won’t tell me anything more.

I stand up and walk back to my mother’s room, determined to find out the truth. I knock twice before slowly opening the door.

I see my mother and Max tangled in a warm embrace and for a second it was like they didn’t even hear me as they continue to hold onto each other almost desperately.

When they pull away, both are wiping tears from their eyes.

My mother looks up at me and smiles. It’s like a thousand light bulbs are illuminating her face with the way she’s glowing.

“Max,” she breathes his name like a sigh, “I’d like you to meet someone. This is my daughter, Claudia.” She holds her hand out to me and I gladly grasp it.

Once again, I stand there silently as Max scrutinizes my face. His eyes move rapidly as they roam my presence until they finally widen in fascination.

“I’m p-pleased to meet you, Claudia,” he chokes out, his voice hoarse from crying.

“Hi,” I clasp his outstretched hand, shaking it in greeting. The whole time squirming from the way he’s unabashedly staring at me.

I turn to look at my mother and notice the way that she’s gazing at him, like she’s committing his features into memory. I don’t miss the way Max turns to her, his eyes misting as he purses his lips.

For a breathless moment, everything falls silent and I watch as they seem to communicate with their eyes before my mother asks Max to give us a moment.

Once Max has left the room, my mother pats the pillow lying on her lap beckoning me to lay down my head. I oblige her and she begins to run her fingers through my hair.

“Are you okay, Mum?” I ask looking up at her in concern.

“Mhhmmnnn…,” she mumbles, her eyes looking into space.

“Claudia, do you remember when you used to ask about your father?”

“Yes,” I answer, my skin prickling in anticipation.

“Why did you stop asking?”

“Because it seemed like it was too painful for you to answer me. You always looked sad every time I brought up the subject, so I stopped. I didn’t want to make you sad.”

“Oh my darling girl,” she says tearfully grasping my face and smoothing her fingers over my brow. “I am so lucky to have you.”

“I love you, Mum,” I hug her knee to me as her words pierce my heart.

“I love you too, Claudie. I’m so, so sorry.” Her tears are flowing freely now as I feel them landing in my hair. “I never meant to keep anything from you. There was just so much to explain. Too many things to understand…”

“Mum?” I ask sitting up to face her. “Does this have to do with Max? Is he…? Is he my father?” I hold my breath in anticipation.

“You’ve always been a clever girl,” she says, pride shining from her eyes. She slowly nods her head in affirmation, her lips quivering with emotion.

“Yes, Max is your father.”

I know I should be excited or angry or something, but I don’t feel anything at all. I’m too stunned by her revelation. She’s looking at me expectantly but there’s nothing I can say to her.

My father.

My father is here, and his name is Max.

I move away from her and scamper out of the room. In the hallway I run into Max who calls out my name, but I ignore him grabbing my shoes before walking out the front door.

I run as soon as my feet hit the pavement but I don’t get very far. My legs feel weak and wobbly and I slump down onto the curb burying my face in my hands.

Everything I know. Everything I believed to be was all a lie.

My mother always told me that my father left before I was born. When I pressed her for more information, she would always shut down and so I learned not to ask.

I never knew what my father looked like for there were no pictures of him to be found. And believe me, I looked.

So, as a child I made up the story that my father was an important man. A king perhaps, who was called away on duty, and that he would be back and he would take my mother and I away to live with him in his beautiful castle.

However, as I grew older, I realized how ridiculous this dream was and came to the conclusion that my father was probably some irresponsible bastard who didn’t want to be stuck with a pregnant teenaged girlfriend. To suddenly know that he’s here…I can’t even explain how I feel. There are so many emotions bombarding me right now, shock…anger…hurt…, that words seem inadequate.

I feel a hand touch my shoulder as my uncle sits down beside me on the cold, hard ground.

“So your mother told you, huh,” he says more of a statement than a question. “Don’t be angry at her. She just wanted what was best for you.”

I purse my lips and mentally block out his words.

“I know you probably hate Max but give him a chance. He was just a young kid caught in a difficult situation. He had to make a choice and it was probably the hardest choice he had to make in his life.”

I huff in disbelief. Yeah the situation was difficult alright but his decision sure did suck. If he’s such a responsible guy, then why did he pick the easy way out? I don’t hesitate to tell my uncle so.

“Claudia, there are just some things that you don’t know. Although, I don’t agree with Max’s decision, the whole situation was complicated. Just because he left, didn’t mean that he loved your mother any less.

“As a matter of fact, I know for sure that he would have stayed had he known about you.”

“What?!” I turn to him in surprise.

My uncle sighs, “He didn’t know, Claud. Your mother never told him.”

“If he loved her so much why didn’t he ever call? Why did he just take off like that?” My voice gets louder as my anger grows.

He doesn’t answer my question. We sit there for a while not speaking at all. We must have been sitting outside for some time because eventually my aunt comes out and joins us.

She looks over at me then at her husband. “She knows, Maria. Liz told her.”

She sighs and folds herself down to the curb.

“How you doing, kiddo?” She asks smoothing my hair back in a motherly gesture.

“Oh pretty good considering my mother is dying and I find out that my father really does exist,” I quip facetiously.

“You’re probably pretty pissed, huh?”

“Oh I’m jumping for joy,” I bite back, unable to hide the bitterness in my tone.

“Claudia Parker!” Uncle Michael warns, “stop being a smart ass and watch your mouth!”

I bow my head, effectively chastised.

“Sorry,” I mutter, kicking the pebbles lying at my feet.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m pretty pissed off too,” she states causing me to look over at her profile. “I know I’d be angry too in your situation.”

Understanding dawns in my eyes as I remember my aunt’s paternal circumstances. Her father left her too when she was a child. The only difference is he was killed in a car accident a decade later.

“I can’t believe my mother just took him in like that. After all he did to her. To us. How can she take him back?”

“Things between them are just complicated, Claud,” my aunt explains, “however much I hate your father for what he’s done to you and your mother, I can’t deny that he loved your mother something fierce. The only thing he had against him was that bitch of a girl Tess.”

“Maria!” My uncle turns trying to silence her with his warning glare. However, in typical fashion, my aunt ignores him and continues with her story.

“Oh she needs to know. It’s about time she finds out anyways,” she says rolling her eyes.

I look over at her in intrigue. “What is it that no one’s telling me?”

“Oh Claudia,” she sighs, “have you ever noticed that you’ve never been sick? That not once when you were a child have you ever been to the hospital. Even when you hurt your arm falling off the monkey bars.”

If I think about it hard enough, I know that she’s right. I remember falling off the monkey bars in second grade. At the time the pain was so much I felt like passing out. They had called my mom to school. The school nurse advised that she take me to the hospital but my mother was insistent. She refused, saying that she didn’t believe in hospitals, which I know to be completely false. My mother once aspired to be a scientist, so her not believing in modern medicine was bullshit.

My mother did end up taking me home and an hour later, my arm had miraculously healed. She even took me in to get x-rays so that the school would leave us alone. There was no evidence of a bone ever being broken or a muscle being torn. It was like the incident never happened.


“There’s no easy way to tell you this than to just blurt it out,” my Aunt mutters nervously. “Your father…well…he’s an…an al…he’s not from around here.”

“Well of course he’s not from around here. If he was I would have seen him before now,” I frown in irritation.

“I mean he’s an ali – ” but before she can finish Uncle Michael interrupts her.

“What Maria means is your father’s origins aren’t from this world. He’s an alien,” he explains cocking his eyebrow expectantly.

I’m stupefied by both their statements. I don’t know whether to laugh or call the hospital at the fact that what they’ve just said sounds utterly ridiculous. Finally, unable to hold it in any longer, I throw my head back and laugh. I laugh so hard that tears begin to leak out from my eyes. I laugh because of the ludicrous situation that I now find myself in.

The stress of the last few days must have caught up to me because seconds later my laughter turns into sobs and suddenly I’m crying – my shoulders shaking with the intensity of my emotions.

“Do you guys know how messed up this sounds?” I hiccup, looking back and forth between my aunt and uncle. “Aliens don’t exist.”

Both of them are silent watching me with sympathetic eyes. My uncle fumbles in his pocket pulling out a business card. He closes it in his fist and I watch with fascinated eyes as his hand begins to glow. When he opens it again, the receipt is gone. In its place is a piece of soft tissue which he offers to me.

“That a nice party trick, Uncle Michael,” I snort, masking my fear with nonchalance when in reality my nerves are starting to unravel and I’m this close to losing it.

“It’s not a trick, Claudia,” my aunt explains. “You father really is an alien. An alien king actually, and so are Michael and Isabel. Aliens, I mean.”

“You two are crazy! I can’t deal with this,” I brush my shorts down and move to get up. My uncle’s hand shoots out grasping my wrist as his eyes bear into mine.

“Listen to us, Claudia. There’s so much you need to know…”

They proceed to tell me of my father’s, Aunt Isabel’s, and Uncle Michael’s origins – of their past lives and of their destiny.

They tell me of a woman named Tess who betrayed my family and murdered my mother’s best friend. Who took off with my father’s first-born child. Of how my father became obsessed with finding his son and exacting his revenge on this traitor.

And finally, they tell me of how my father met another alien during his quest. Who showed him a ship – resulting in him taking off to his home planet, leaving my mother and I behind.

By the time they finish their account of events, my mind is spinning and fatigue is settling over me like a lead blanket.

I excuse myself and head straight to my room, ignoring everyone in the way. I shut the door and throw myself onto the bed. I bury my face into my pillow and let out a long, serrated breath. I close my eyes but the tears don’t come. Minutes later, I fall into a fitful sleep dreaming of large-headed, green skinned aliens.

[Lolita]

The following morning I wake up exhausted, barely able to open my eyes. My head pounds from all the crying I did the previous night and I struggle out of bed.

I stumble into the kitchen, my eyes suddenly widening in surprise.

Sitting at the kitchen table looking radiant is none other than my mother, who just yesterday was suffering from unbearable physical pain. She’s wearing a beautiful pink scarf around her head and a soft floral print dress. To her right is Max, who’s sporting a shy smile on his face as he cuts into his eggs. At the other end of the table sits my grandmother, who eyes them suspiciously from beneath her coffee cup.

I take my seat hesitantly as Max places a plate of eggs and toast in front of me. He turns back to the fridge and I look over at my mother.

She leans forward and whispers so that only I can hear, “Please give him a chance.”

I look at her pleading eyes and I find myself nodding at her request.

For the duration of breakfast I answer Max’s questions with as much civility as I can muster, while silently obsessing over the thought that this man is my father.

And he’s an alien!

My mother suggests that we take a walk to the park and before I start to protest, she’s already pointing to where the wheelchair is tucked away and folded.

Max carries her down the stairs and I grudgingly follow with the wheelchair. Once we hit the open air I see a change come over her.

Except for the wheelchair, hair and weight loss it’s hard to tell that she’s even sick. Her eyes, which bore the dark circles of fatigue, are now bright and shining. Her lips are curved into a smile.

She just looks…happy.


* * *

It was a warm Sunday afternoon when we buried my mother. Almost half the town came to her funeral. There were people I knew and faces I didn’t recognize, all offering their condolences.

I stood there stoically, wiping the meandering tears off my cheeks.

My aunt and grandmother, never ones to hide their emotions, wept openly. Aunt Maria at one point laid her head on the casket and I watched in fascination as she had a short one-sided conversation with my deceased mother.

I wondered if that’s what it would be like for Jane and I when one of us passes. Will she miss me? Will I miss her? Will she say a wonderful eulogy about me at my wake?

My mother was lucky to have found a friendship like that with my Aunt. I envied them at times. Sure I had a best friend, but Jane and I were never as close as my Aunt and my mom. They were almost like sisters.

And now, my mom’s gone. My aunt is alone without her best friend.

No one to share secrets with.

No one to gossip with.

No one to cry with.


My aunt wipes her tears as she lovingly smoothes her hands over the shiny mahogany wood. She kisses a white rose before placing it on my mother’s casket and stepping back.

I watch unmoving as they lower my mother to the ground and one by one, people walk by and throw earth into the gaping hole in which she lies.

I remain motionless even when the last person has left and the cemetery workers trek by carrying their shovels and machinery.

I remain motionless, even when my grandmother pleads with me to come with her and have a bite to eat.

Where was Max, my father, all this time you ask?

As the priest committed my mother to her final resting place, my eyes scanned the crowd.

There he was standing forlornly in the shadow of a weeping willow.

His hands were stuffed in the pockets of his black trousers as he stood afar from the crowd watching his beloved be laid to rest.

He stood there throughout the whole service, unmindful of the stares he was getting from the crowd.

And as I watched him weep silently for his true love, I realized that in his own way, he’s suffering too.

Finally, I understand.


When my grandmother has finally driven away, I feel his presence step up beside me.

“I loved her too, you know.”

“I know.”

“So much…,” I hear him take a serrated breath and I realize that he’s still crying.

“I know my apology doesn’t mean a whole lot to you right now, but it’s all I’ve got.”

I notice him swipe at his errant tears, trying to gain his composure and I feel my heart give a little.

Despite all his faults and his origins, this man that stands before me is my father.

My mother told me before she passed away that her last wish was for my father and I to form a relationship. She said that she would die a happy woman knowing that the two people she loved most in the world would be happy.

And as I hold my hand out to my father, I can’t help but think that my mom would be happy to know that I’m doing this for her.

But I think she would be proud to know that I’m taking a chance. I’m doing this for me. For I have come to realize that although I may never call Max Dad, I will always think of him as my father.

I know there are things that I still don’t know and things that I must learn, but I’m willing.

My journey of discovery is not complete but has only begun.


* * *


Are these times contagious?
I've never been this bored before
Is this the prize I've waited for?
Now with the hours passing
There's nothing left here to insure
I long to find a messenger

Have I got a long way to run?
Yeah, I run

Is there a cure among us?
From this processed sanity
I weaken with each voice that sings
Now in this world of purchase
I'm going to buy back memories
To awaken some old qualities

Have I got a long way to run?
Have I got a long way to run?
Yeah, I run
Yeah, I run