Death's Doorstep

Laughter filled Mark's ears, drowning out pained cries and begging prayers. The laughter was innocent and familiar, calming him, and forcing him to forget who was crying, and what they were crying for. He wiped tears off of his own face as he looked around, seeing his childhood bedroom. Superhero posters lined the walls and his bed was perfectly made under his flat blue blankets. Cartoons played on his TV and Lego blocks littered his carpeted floor. He hadn’t been home in years, and his mom told him that she’d repurposed his old room, so he didn't understand why it looked how it did when he was young. On his nightstand next to a photo of Mark's father holding him as a baby, sat a colorful spiderman watch. He’d lost that watch years ago. He went to pick it up when he heard a knock at the front door.

“Mom?” He called out, hoping his mother would go and answer. No response, and another knock. He turned to his bedroom door and walked out. His room was at the end of the hall. He stepped into the hall and froze as he saw himself, but much younger, run past him, holding a new Lego creation. He remembered when he built that, even though he now couldn’t remember what it was supposed to be. His younger self laughed the same laugh that he had heard only moments ago and his mother stepped around the corner. Sweat dripped off of her head and steam wafted into the hall from behind her. She had been in the kitchen, likely making dinner. She looked much younger, maybe even the age that Mark is now. She dropped to her son’s height as he reached her, showing off his new creation.

There came a knock at the door and all three people looked toward the living room. Mark’s mother stood, looking at him- the real him- and said;

“It’s for you,” before taking the young boy's hand and walking back around the corner. Mark took a couple steps and heard yelling from the room he was passing. It was his mother’s bedroom. He crept closer and put his ear to the door, hearing his mother yell and curse.

“You know better! You go to school to learn, not to have fun!” She lectured. Mark had to hold back a laugh. He’d gotten that lecture many times before. He slowly opened the door to see himself, a young teenager, maybe twelve, standing with his hands behind his back, staring at the ground.

“Look at me!” His mother ordered and both Mark and his younger self looked up. Mark noticed for the first time, time had started to take effect on his mother. She now had more wrinkles and her eyes seemed to droop. Her bedroom was as clean as always, except for her closet, which sat open with clothes and shoes spilling out of it.

“Mom, it wasn’t me,” His younger self protested, “Ms. Jones just targets me.” He tried to clear his name. Mark remembered Ms. Jones. She was a tall, dark skinned woman. She was a little older, so she didn’t take as much back talk as the other teachers. This made the students want to push her buttons even more.

“You expect me to believe Ms. Jones just doesn’t like you?” His mother was clearly skeptical. So was Mark, with his adulthood reframing the situation.

“She doesn’t like anyone. She just said that it was me talking in class for no reason.” The young Mark tried to justify his behavior. Mark could hardly believe he was so stupid as a kid. Ms. Jones may have been sharp, but that’s because none of the students liked her, not the other way around.

“Give me your phone and go to your room.” His mother ordered. Young Mark complied. He handed her the phone and turned around with his head lowered. As he reached the doorway, he looked up at the older Mark and shook his head, before walking through him and pulling his mothers door closed in his face. He faded away as he walked up the hallway.

Mark’s attention was pulled to the front door as he heard another knock. He walked toward the living room, looking at the old photos on the walls. Photos of him as a child, and photos of his mom and his dad. He stopped and looked at a picture of his father for a few seconds. He wore an Army uniform and saluted into the camera, the country’s flag sitting behind him. Mark's fingers traced a cross over his body before he kissed them and lay them on the photo. Before moving on, he rendered a salute. He kept looking at the photos until he came across the bathroom door and heard loud laughter from inside. The door was wide open as he looked in to see himself, an older teen wearing a red and black tuxedo. His phone sat on the sink, propped up against a bottle of hand soap. He saw the face of J, his best friend, looking back from the phone screen.

“Bro I’m telling you, she’s gonna let me smash. Do you see what I have on?” Mark said, turning side to side to better show his tux.

“Nobody wants a man in a rented suit, Marky Mark.” J laughed, teasing his friend.

“Yeah ok. Better than a man who’s haircut looks like it was done by a monkey on acid.” Mark clapped back. J burst out laughing and Mark followed suit.

“You think just ‘cuz you got a fade you don’t still look stupid? The suit is nice, but your face ruins the whole look. I don’t need a haircut and a suit that I can’t afford to pull.” J tried to defend himself. It didn’t work. The two boys went back and forth, even making the adult Mark laugh a couple times, remembering the relationship he and J had before Mark moved away. After that, they hardly spoke. No hard feelings between them, Mark was just always busy. He wished he could speak to J one more time, but couldn’t remember why he wouldn’t be able to. He was pulled from his thoughts by a knock at the door.

Mark finally left the hallway. He stood in the entrance to the living room, looking around and taking it in. The couch was black and leather. Mark could’ve sworn that his mom had gotten rid of this couch the last time she rearranged the living room, right before he left. The old box TV sat turned off. Mark laughed at the relic that his mother refused to get rid of. He looked at the table against the wall on the far side of the living room. There sat another photo of Mark’s dad with a folded flag and a jar of ashes. Mark remembered his mom crying, sitting in front of the table, and cleaning it constantly. Then, he heard her voice come from the kitchen. He walked over to it and looked in.

“Stealing, Mark? Really? You’re eighteen years old! You’re lucky that they didn’t press charges!” She lectured. Mark was now towering over his mother. He still looked small next to the woman who yelled at him as his head and shoulders hung low. Mark remembered this day vividly.

“Ma, I’m sorry. Me and the bros were just being stupid.” He said. He and J had been caught stealing from Wal-Mart. It wasn’t enough for criminal charges, but his mother still took it very seriously. It wasn’t their first time doing it, but it was their first time getting caught. Mark knew the heartbreaking line that came next.

“I raised you better than this! What would your father think?” Tears rolled down his mothers cheeks and Mark’s heart sank. He didn’t even want to continue listening to the conversation. His younger self stood a little straighter and Mark remembered the anger he felt in that moment.

“I don’t know what he’d think! I never got to meet him, Mom. You always bring up this man - this ghost. I’ll never know what he thinks of me. I’ll never disappoint him and I’ll never make him proud. He’s gone, Mom.” He almost yelled back. Mark wanted to punch the younger him in the face. His mother just stood, silent, staring at her son. Her face was broken.

“He’s still watching over us.” She said quietly. Tears fell from Mark’s face.

Another knock. Mark looked toward the door and back to the kitchen. It was empty. He moved toward the door and as he passed the couch, the TV cut on. He looked to see a movie playing and heard a giggle from the couch. Mark looked down at the couch and saw himself sitting there. This was only weeks before he left. A girl was sat cuddling him, his arm wrapped around her body and her head lay on his chest. They shared a blanket and whispered to one another as the movie played. Mark laughed at the fact that even then, at twenty years old, he wasn’t allowed to bring girls into his bedroom.

“Do you really have to go?” The girl asked him.

“I do. I already signed the contract. It’ll be ok, we can get married and I can take you with me to travel the world.” Mark scoffed. Young kids in the Army always pull that card and it almost never works out. He knew this relationship wouldn’t make it 3 months after he left. Mark finally remembered why he left as another knock came at the door.

“Coming!” Mark called as he got closer to the door. He first peeked out the window, a habit from his younger years. In front of the house he saw himself, tall and proud, wearing his Army uniform. He hugged his mom, who cried. J pat him on the back. He was surrounded by family and friends. The girl from the couch was nowhere to be found. So much for them getting married.

“Mom, don’t worry, I’ll be ok. It’ll just be a couple years overseas. I probably won’t even get deployed.” Mark knew he was lying. He chose this unit because he knew they deployed often. He’d even been ready to sign up for a deployment. That’s where he was before he was back in his old home. Screams echoed in his ears, this time he could hear gunshots ring out behind them. Mark stepped away from the window, looking down to see that he was still in uniform, but this one was covered in blood. Was it his own?

Another knock at the door. Mark stood in front of it and his hand began to shake. A tear rolled down his cheek and he wiped it, as everything started to make sense. He knew what was on the other side of the door. There came another knock and Mark took a deep breath before opening the door.

Mark was not prepared for who he saw. A man just slightly taller than Mark was, wearing the same uniform as Mark did. His hair was neat and well kept, only slightly shorter than Mark’s but the same black. He held a folded flag. It was almost like Mark was staring in a mirror.

“Dad?” Mark asked, recognizing the pictures from all over the house. Although Mark’s father smiled, his eyes were pouring with tears. Marks followed suit. Mark’s father rendered a salute and Mark followed.

“It’s time to go, son,” Mark’s father said, reaching a hand out to his son, “I’m so proud of you.” Mark looked behind his father to see a blinding white light. Behind him, the house stood still. He could still hear laughter and the voice of his mother, and himself, and even J coming from inside the home.

“Can I stay just a little longer?” Mark asked, his voice cracking. His father nodded.

“As long as you want. I’ll always be here.” His father replied. Mark grabbed his father’s hand and pulled him into the home as the door closed behind them.