The Angel in the Dark

I’ll never forget the first time I watched Star Trek.

I couldn’t have been more than 4 or 5 years old. Bedtime was pretty standard in those days; lights out by 9pm. Of course, I didn’t normally volunteer to go to bed at 9. If Mom missed the deadline by a few minutes I wouldn’t say anything just to score extra playtime. One night in particular, though, she missed the deadline by a lot. 9:15 passed. 9:30. 10pm. As much as I was enjoying being up, I started to feel a little guilty for not saying anything. Then I began to fear I’d be in trouble when Mom realized I hadn’t. So I went to talk to her.

“Um… Mom… shouldn’t I be in bed?”

“Not tonight. There’s something coming on TV I want you to see.”

“When?”

“11pm.” I was shocked. I'd never been up that late.

“What is it?”

“It’s a show called Star Trek.”

Who knew such an innocuous conversation would have such a profound effect on my life. True to her word, Mom let me stay up to watch my first ever episode of Star Trek at 11pm. The episode was called “The Devil in the Dark.” Mom wanted me to watch it because it was her absolute favorite. I would later learn, in his autobiography Star Trek Memories, that William Shatner also identified it as his personal fave.

Without boring you with too many details, the plot involves the crew of the Enterprise investigating a series of deaths amongst a group of miners on an alien world. There’s some kind of “monster” – the titular devil – running around and killing them. Kirk and Spock, however, discover the creature isn’t a monster at all, but rather an intelligent, silicon-based lifeform called a Horta. It’s attacking the miners because they’ve been haphazardly destroying these spherical rocks; the rocks, it turns out, are the Horta’s eggs, and she’s just trying to protect them. In the end, Kirk negotiates a deal between the Horta and the miners; the miners will leave the eggs alone, and the Horta will use its rapid tunneling ability to help the miners find new ore deposits.

Like many other things, Mom wanted to instill her love of Star Trek in me, and I fell in love immediately. I started watching it whenever I could catch it on, and while staying up late was a one-time-only deal, there were plenty of other re-runs available. It became something that Mom and I bonded over; I remember in the wake of Wrath of Khan both of us being so upset about Spock’s death, and I remember running into the house one day to tell her I’d heard the title of the next movie was The Search for Spock to our mutual relief. While she was never a fan of the later shows, she absolutely adored the J.J. Abrams movies, lens flares and all; we saw the first 2 in theaters together, and one of the last Christmas presents I gave her was a DVD copy of Star Trek Beyond.

* * * * *

It’s unusual for a grown man to be sitting on the couch, not doing anything in particular, and suddenly burst into tears. But that was me the other night.

For whatever reason, that night I was really feeling Mom’s absence in my life. Earlier in the evening I’d had one of those moments where I wanted to pick up the phone to call her and tell her something. I’ve gotten to where I don’t usually reach for the phone anymore, but the desire is still there. All through the rest of the night I was thinking about her, missing her, and fervently wishing she was still around.

Mason was sitting with Andi, and they were reading - with what turned out to be a slight dose of irony - a Star Wars-themed book on ABCs. I was enjoying a beer and flipping through channels. I went past one of those random channels that you can get with an antenna, not really paying attention, but something caught my eye and stuck in my brain, so I flipped it back.

That’s when I realized what it was.

It was something I hadn’t seen in probably 20 years.

It was an episode of Star Trek.

It was “The Devil in the Dark.”

The sound of Mason reading his letters and Andi reading to him about Luke, Han and Leia receded. A dam of emotions broke in my brain and immediately poured through my tear ducts. I sat there, staring at Shatner and Nimoy in their prime, trying to communicate with a creature that for all the world looked like a puffed-up pizza, and suddenly I was that little kid again having his world opened up by his mother’s love.

It passed almost as quickly as it came on. Andi noticed but didn’t say anything. I had to explain it to her later. I enjoyed the rest of the episode. Then it was time to put Mason to bed.

Then things got even crazier.

* * * * *

I was rocking Mason in his chair. We’d sung a couple of songs, as is our habit. He was trying his usual stalling tactics as he hates going to bed. But finally it was time, and I told him I loved him.

“I wuv you, Daddy.” If James Lipton, God rest his soul, was asking, that would be my favorite sound.

Then, because I’m apparently a glutton for punishment, I went on.

“Mason… say ‘I love you Grandma Frankie.’”

And Mason, without hesitation, without confusion, with a shocking amount of certainty…

Looked. Straight. Up.

“I wuv you Gandma Fankie…”

I put him to bed.

I didn’t even feel the need to check on him later. I knew he’d be safe. Someone was watching. Caring for him now in all the ways she can. And she always will be.

And I can’t tell you the comfort that brings me.

To paraphrase the Bard, there are more things in Heaven and Earth than are dreamt of in our philosophy, ya’ll.

Live long and prosper.