Home > My Favorites > Day Seventy-eight: Mother’s Day

Day Seventy-eight: Mother’s Day

The last time I saw my mother was fifteen years ago, thanks to that damn time machine of hers.

She made me take physics in high school, pushed and pushed me for success and high grades. When the time came for the science fair, she took over instantly. My plan to do a simple demonstration of pendulum action was shoved to the wayside in favor of a prototype of her laser refraction system, a new method of capturing photons in a supercooled gas chamber that no high school student in the world would ever think of trying. “Donna,” she said, “this will completely guarantee you an A. Promise.”

“Mom,” I said, “on what world do you think that a high school freshman could be able to put together a super laser-defrackulator thingie? No one will buy it for a second!”

We argued about it for days, a roundabout argument that didn’t end until I packed a backpack full of clothes and set out for my dad’s house, which is where I managed to put together a model that did what I wanted, but didn’t actually win anything.

I think it was about a week before she noticed I was gone and showed up at my dad’s, looking to take me home. In a perfect world I could have stayed there, but this world had a judge that believed that a mother was a better caretaker than a father no matter that the mother was far more likely to, say, blow out the power grid for an entire neighborhood on a whim.

My friends used to joke that she was a mad scientist. I didn’t find those jokes nearly as funny as they did.

The night before my junior prom was the last time I saw my mother. She had taken over the garage with her latest experiment, something that she swore up and down was a time machine. The explanation of how it worked was technical and confusing, especially since no matter how hard she pushed, I was never really interested in the science that she was doing. All I knew was that she would be in there when I got home from school, surface long enough to eat the dinner that I made, and then she’d go away again. All I would hear from her would be the hum of machinery, the occasional “WHUMP” of a small explosion.

This night, however, she emerged from the garage in a cloud of smoke and a howl of triumph. “I got it!” she yelled.

“Great,” I said, re-checking a math problem. “Don’t give it to me.”

“No, no, no, sweetie – I got it! The machine, it works!”

“Uh-huh.” I didn’t look up. “Congratulations.”

She went to the sink to wash her hands. “This will revolutionize everything,” she said. “The future is finally open to us, and pretty soon I’ll be able to get to the past, too.” She went to the fridge, grabbed a beer and popped the top off. “Here’s to the greatest advancement in science since the discovery of fire.” She took a long pull off the bottle and handed it to me. “Want some?”

I glared at her. “Seventeen, mom. Remember?”

“Nonsense,” she said. “Time is meaningless now.” She finished the beer and then snapped her fingers. “You know what? I’m going to have a beer with you.” She went back to the fridge for two more bottles.

“Mom,” I said, “I have homework to do and the prom is tomorrow. I am not getting drunk with you.”

“I didn’t say ‘get drunk,’ I said ‘have a drink.’ Big difference.” She turned around with a grin on her face and a weird light in her eyes. “And I didn’t say I was going to do it tonight, oh no. I’m going to have a drink with you when you’re older and better able to appreciate what your mother has done for you.”

“Mom…”

She held up the beer-less hand. “No, no,” she said. “I’m going to go have a beer with you fifteen years in the future. We’ll laugh, we’ll have a good time, and you’ll see!”

I watched her go to the garage door and just shrugged. There was nothing I could do to change her mind. There was never anything I could do. So I waved at her, said “Travel safely,” and went back to my homework. A few minutes later there was a grinding noise and a squeal and another “WHUMP” noise, and that was it.

My prom date called a little while later to make sure we knew when we were meeting. We chatted for a while, and then hung up. I wrapped up the math homework by nine, made something to eat and then watched a little TV. Before I went to bed, I poked my head into the garage and said, “Mom? I’m going to sleep!” She didn’t answer, but there was always a 50-50 chance there.

So I went to bed.

The next day I got up, ate, went to school. Came home, fussed over the prom dress and my hair, and my date arrived at five. Zach was adorable in his rented tux, and he told me I looked pretty, which was all I really wanted to hear. I went back to the garage before we left to tell her I was leaving, and there was still no answer. I looked in a little more.

The garage was empty. Just her twisted mass of cables and machinery that had occupied the garage for months. I rolled my eyes.

“Everything okay?” Zach asked from behind me.

“Yeah,” I said. “She’s probably out scavenging computer parts or twigs and leaves or something like that.”

He smiled and gave me a hug from behind. “Off building a sub-orbital death ray again?”

I turned around in his arms. “Are you kidding? Geosynchronous – to make sure unscrupulous boyfriends don’t get too fresh.” He smiled and kissed me and I kissed him back.

Prom was great and we stayed out all night. By the time I got home, the sun was rising and I was exhausted. I peeked into the garage, but there was still no sign of her, and my half-asleep brain resolved to do something about this before too long. I slept all day and ordered pizza for dinner. There was still no sign of mom, and that was about when I started to worry. I called the few people she might have been with, but they hadn’t seen her. I called my dad, but he didn’t know where she was.

I went into the garage to see if there was anything that might help. She’d never forbidden me to go into the garage, of course. I’d just never really been interested in taking a look around. Nothing she made was ever useful or even cool, so I pretty much just walled it off in my head as Her Space and let it be.

Now I was finally getting a look at what she’d been doing all this time. The center of the room was occupied by a circular platform, which was surrounded by cables and wires and ducts and other stuff that I couldn’t identify. There were tall racks of electronics nearby, all blinking gently in the dim light, and the place smelled of ozone and motor oil. Near the platform there was an aluminum suitcase with a small display inside. On the display it said: AUGUST 11 2026 10:24 AM.

I stared at it for a moment, and said, “No. Not a chance.” There was no way in hell that my mother had actually built a working time machine. I mean, she was good – she came up with some weird ideas that almost worked all the time, but this? A time machine was more than I was willing to believe.

She didn’t come home, though. Not that night or the next one or the one after that. No phone calls or emails, either. She had her flaky moments, yes, but not like this. After a few days, I had to call the police. They asked all the standard questions – what was she wearing, where did you last see her, all that. My father came over to help with the formalities, and I showed them the garage with the “time machine” in it. The police took notes and said they’d be in touch. I moved in with my father, and that was pretty much it. Mom never came back. The house was foreclosed on, since no one was paying its mortgage anymore. No one would buy it because the place was riddled with mom’s “improvements,” and they couldn’t demolish it because no one had any idea what kind of chemicals and toxins and whatnots would be released if they did. So it languished in the town bureaucracy for ages, gathering dust.

I graduated from high school with honors and went on to college, majoring in anthropology. Zach and I broke up because he wanted to study astrophysics in Colorado, and there was no way I was moving out there. I traveled around the world, observing various non-technological peoples in other countries, and on occasion I wished that my mother’s time machine really had worked. It would be the anthropologist’s dream to go back in time and see how early humans lived, document their evolution over the millennia.

Mom missed out on all the fun of my early twenties. My father loved every minute of it, of course, watching me figure out what to do with my life, making mistakes and becoming a better person, all those things. But he never mentioned my mother. And neither did I. She was gone and, well, that was that.

On that date – August 11, 2026, I went back to the house. It was a horrible-looking place, hidden behind some hedges and trees that people in the neighborhood had planted to make it seem like less of a blight. If they couldn’t get rid of it, they could at least hide it from view. I popped open the door, scaring off some small animals that had nested in the front hall, and picked through the decaying, graffiti’d downstairs to the garage.

Most of the electronics had been stolen years ago. The rest were cold and covered with dust, or smashed and lying on the ground. Local teenagers maybe, or transients. It didn’t matter. The machine was a long time dead, dusty and defaced.

I checked my watch. 10:20 AM. Only a few minutes to go. I thought about what I would say or do if she appeared in front of me. Cry? Scream? Hug her? Punch her? Maybe she didn’t know what would happen when she took her little jaunt into the future. Maybe it never occurred to her what the ramifications would be. Or maybe it did, and she really didn’t care. I dusted off a crate and sat down.

It was hard not to look at my watch while I waited for the moment to come. It was harder still not to berate myself for thinking that she would actually show up, maybe in a flash of light and sound, or that she’d just be there, grinning madly and holding a couple of cold bottles of beer.

When I finally relented and looked down at my watch, it was 10:25. Past time, and she wasn’t there.

Against my will, my heart sank. Part of me had hoped she would be there, even though I was absolutely sure she wouldn’t be. I stood up, dusted off my pants, and took a deep breath. “Thanks, mom,” I said into the empty room, and then I turned and left.

Mom was gone. Wherever she was, I hoped she was happy. I left the decomposing house and went back to my life. Back to my future, which was now well and truly my own.

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  1. December 23, 2011 at 7:39 PM

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