Mom's Imaginary Friend

“Well, I’ve got one for the ages, “ Alice announced. “Your mother has an imaginary friend.” She put her bag of groceries down on the kitchen table and walked over to the end table where the TV remote was sitting, picked it up, and turned it to “mute”.

“Seriously, Don, you have to pay attention to this. Either she’s going around the bend or there is something very weird going on. And she is spending money like it’s going out of style. You have to go out there and see what you make of it. You know, I’ve told you that it’s not a good thing for her to live all by herself in that enormous house out in the middle of nowhere. Maybe next time you’ll listen to me.”

Don Allwin took a large swig from his Gansett ale and sighed. He knew his Thursday night football game was about to be derailed with one of Alice’s long drawn out family dramas over nothing.

“Can this wait until after the game?’ he asked.

“Sure, it can wait until after the Super Bowl if you like.. Your call. She’s your mother after all. But don’t say I didn’t try to warn you when she shows up in church next Sunday with a mixing bowl on her head and her bra on outside of her dress.”

“I’ll go out tomorrow if you’ll just let me watch the game tonight,” Don bargained.

“Deal,” said Alice. “I don’t even want to talk about it. Go out there and experience it for yourself. “ She flounced back into the kitchen and began taking out the ingredients for her world famous American Chop Suey to take to the bingo game/potluck dinner on Friday.

****

The next morning, as promised, Don embarked on the mission to visit his mother and certify her sanity. Although she only lived twenty minutes outside of town on the so-called gentleman farm where he had grown up, it sometimes seemed like she lived on the other side of the country. After the death of his father some years before, his mother had grown more and more reclusive and reluctant to leave the comfort of her home. He thought previously that she may be bordering on agoraphobia and felt guilty that he hadn’t already moved her into the accessory apartment he had added to his own house. He and Alice had kept putting it off as not being necessary “yet” and he wondered if they had somehow missed all the omens that “yet” had come and gone and they were now on the far side of yet.

He turned into the drive and was startled by how good the place looked. The shutters looked like they had been repainted and rehung — the left one on the bow window now looked like it was in line with the right one which hadn’t been the case in fifteen years. Before his father passed, one of his last home handyman deeds had been painting and hanging these very shutters, of which he had done a horrendous job . Almost every single person who came into the house afterwards found some opening in which to mention “hey, did you realize that the left shutter on the bow window is way higher than the right shutter?”

Which of course they did realize, and realized it over and over every time they drove up to the house. His mother, Claudia, had found occasion to mention this flaw at least once a day to his father Ned, who initially promised to rectify the mistake sometime in the near future. Which never happened. He himself had promised to fix it, he reflected shamefacedly, and never had and now his mother must have actually paid someone to come and do it. The gutters looked new too. The cupola on the roof had also been painted and now sported a fanciful flying pig iron wind vane. The mulch around the beds looked fresh and there were new entry lamps on either side of the front door. He recognized them as being exactly the same ones that Alice had wanted on their own house and which he had rejected as being too costly. Holy cow, how much had his mother spent on all this? Had she won the lottery? Was she being scammed by some local handyman?

He lifted the new heavy brass door knocker (a pineapple) and rapped on the door. When Claudia opened the door he was relieved that she pretty much looked like herself, although like the house, she appeared better groomed and more maintained than he had recalled seeing her look in years.

“Hi Ma,” he said. “Long time no see. Sorry I haven’t been by lately, things have been really busy. I have more work than I can handle and I’ve been running behind.”

Claudia smiled her usual loving and benevolent smile at his apology. “Oh, honey, I understand. I’m just glad you’re doing so well. Would you like some quiche? I just made it.”

“You just made quiche?” he asked. Cooking had never been Claudia’s strong suit. She had always been a fast food or convenience food sort of mother.

“Oh, yes. I’ve been experimenting. It’s actually ridiculously easy. I whip up the crust in the food processor and pat it into a pie pan and then pour in the cream and egg mixture with whatever I feel like and then bake it. Today I’m doing shiitake mushrooms, caramelized onions and spinach. Nothing fancy. Let me get you a slice. We can have it in the sun-room.”

She toddled off into the kitchen leaving Don to his own devices in the front room. He noticed that the room, like the outside of the house, appeared to be somewhat refurbished. The fusty afghans and porcelain figurines had all disappeared. There were soft throws and cushions everywhere he looked as well as some new side tables and foot stools. The space looked remarkably warm and inviting. The old desk where his father had done accounts had been moved from its former shadowy nook in the corner and was now occupying the sunny alcove of the bay window. There was a blue vase filled with sunflowers on its corner and Claudia’s old laptop computer took up the rest of the surface. There was a wireless mouse and a mouse pad next to the computer.

“All right dear, we’re all set,” called his mother and Don followed her out to the sun-room off the kitchen where there was a white wicker table and four matching chairs he had never seen before. The space had previously been filled with a beat-up chrome and red vinyl set that had been Ned and Claudia’s first kitchen ensemble after they married which Ned through either sentimentality or cheapness had refused to part with, despite Claudia’s lamentations of how ugly and worn out it was.

“Wow! This is great, “ said Don, wolfing down his quiche. “I thought you didn’t like cooking. How come you didn’t make stuff like this when I was growing up?”

Claudia put down her fork and pursed her lips. “I would have liked to, but you know your father was never one for experimentation. He wouldn’t eat garlic for heaven’s sake. Every time I brought home something new to cook or try he pitched a fit. It took all the enthusiasm right out of me. He did love his Hamburger Helper. Tuna Noodle casserole was the runner up. I can’t smell tuna to this day without becoming nauseous.”

“You look great Ma. So does the house, inside and out. I don’t mean to meddle, you know that. But what’s going on? What’s with all this new stuff? I hope you’re not blowing through all the insurance money.”

“I haven’t touched it,” Claudia said. “I haven’t even tapped the savings account.”

“Then how are you affording all this stuff?” Don asked.

“Oh, it’s all Marvin’s doing,” answered his mother.

“Who is Marvin?” asked Don. He was kicking himself for leaving his mother alone and vulnerable to the blandishments of whatever con man or gigolo had wormed himself into Claudia’s confidence.

“He’s my friend,” answered Claudia. “We spend most nights together.”

Oh my God, this is worse than anything I could have ever imagined, thought Don. He tried to stay calm and dispassionate as he formulated a game plan to extricate his mother from the opportunist, fortune hunting cad she had become involved with.

“He stays here?” asked Don.

“Oh, yes, he’s always here. But he never presumes, he only pops up if I’m in the mood.”

“In the mood?!” Don realized his voice had risen and elevated into almost a screech. He briefly imagined his sweet grey haired mother tossing around in a sweaty mass of entangled arms and legs in her four-poster canopy topped bed and then slammed his minds door shut to such a tawdry image.

“For company, dear. You weren’t thinking what I think you were thinking, are you? Now that is rich,” and Claudia dissolved into a mass of girlish giggles.

Don felt foolish yet relieved. All right, things hadn’t gotten to a crazy stage yet as far as he could tell. “How did you meet Marvin?,” he asked.

“Oh, he just showed up one night,” answered Claudia. “He asked if I needed help and I did so he jumped right in.”

“Wait, he just showed up one night and asked if you needed help and you let him in?!” Don was close to bellowing but he didn’t care. “Do you know how incredibly dangerous and foolish that was? He could have murdered you and we would never know what happened. How could you do that to me and Alice and the girls?”

“No, I didn’t let him in, he was already here. I was playing solitaire on the computer and he popped up and showed me a play I missed.” Claudia sniffed and was clearly miffed. “ I would never let in just any stranger. Give me some credit.” She began picking up their empty quiche plates and utensils and headed back into the kitchen. Don followed her.

“Okay, Okay, I misunderstood, I’m sorry. But I’m not getting it. What do you mean he was already here? Here where?”

“On the desk, dear, where he always is.” To Don’s annoyance, Claudia was speaking to him like he was three years old.

Don looked again at the vignette in the bay window. He saw a big old desk, antique rolling desk chair, vase with flowers, laptop, mouse and mouse pad. No photo or evidence of anyone called Marvin.

“Mom, there is no one named Marvin at the desk” said Dan in a measured and calm tone. He was starting to get what Alice had been talking about and why she was so agitated the night before. His mother did in fact appear to be losing it. He wondered if she had had a stroke.

“Not at the desk, on the desk. ON, ON. You’re not listening.” Claudia snapped her fingers in frustration. “ He told me that no one would understand and I should keep our secret. I can see that he is right.”

Don felt he had a sudden flash of insight. His mother must have a new Facebook friend or have wandered into some malevolent chat room or forum that took advantage of elderly widows. That had to be it. He must be selling her goods and services at some outrageous inflated rate, perhaps on her credit card, which was why she hadn’t tapped the bank accounts. That would likely be his next step. Marvin was probably just a front for some gang of foreign internet criminals.

“Mom, have you been going onto new websites. Is that where you met your friend Marvin?” he asked.

“No Marvin is not on a website,” she answered. “He is in the mouse.”

Claudia picked up the wireless computer mouse and stroked it fondly. “Don’t worry Marvin. Don will understand. He has much more imagination than Alice.”

She turned to Don. “Would you like to meet Marvin? He’s kind of reluctant because he says this is where things always go bad.”

Feeling like he was a captive in a bad dream, Don nodded wordlessly. His mother slid into the old desk chair and lifted the lid on the laptop, causing the screen to light up. She hit a shortcut to Word on her desktop and then opened the document he could see was called “Marvin” and scrolled down to the next blank page. She tapped quickly and expertly on her keyboard

HELLO MARVIN

She turned to Don. “For some reason, he can only see all caps. I think he must be far sighted.”

In later days and months and years, Don always recounted the following events in the same way, but only to a very few select friends and family members:

“I was standing there, wondering whether I should call her doctor or social services when the mouse moved. Then the onscreen keyboard appeared out of nowhere and the mouse clicked out HELLO CLAUDIA IS THIS YOUR SON DON? Letter by letter. Point at letter, click, point at letter, click.

My mother was not touching the mouse, I swear it. The mouse was moving by itself. We weren’t even on the internet, it was only the Word program in my Mom’s computer, but she said that doesn’t matter, Marvin could write in email or do Google Docs or any word processing program.

According to my mom, sometimes when she woke up in the morning and checked her email, there would be a message for her in the Drafts folder from Marvin, telling her something that he’d done overnight, like rehanging the shutters or replacing the sun-room set or the door lamps. Either it was something they picked out together online, or sometimes he surprised her but she was always happy because he understood her tastes so well. The things simply appeared in the middle of the night while she was asleep. But it wasn’t just the material things he provided for her: they played solitaire together, they read and discussed books. They streamed and watched movies. He found new recipes for her to try out. In all honesty, I have never seen my mother happier and more fulfilled than she was in her year with Marvin.

Yes, it was just a year. Mom was doing so well with Marvin that Alice and I didn’t see any need to move her into our house and we just told people she had a gentleman friend who looked after her and left it at that. One morning I got an email from Mom although it turned out to really be from Marvin and it said

CLAUDIA DIED IN THE NIGHT. GOODBYE AND BEST WISHES, MARVIN

When I went to the house she was in bed and she looked very happy and serene. I checked her computer but the “Marvin” document was gone and her email Drafts folder was empty, so I have no physical evidence of Marvin. I buried Marvin the Mouse with my mother and sold the farm. Alice and I have the wicker set, the door lamps, the pineapple knocker and the flying pig weather vane in our own house. And that’s how it happened whether you believe it or not.”

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©Valerie Kittell