The Fleet Master Memoir

I hear my voice as an echo.

“Hey, Mom! I’m here.”

She’s swiping the screen, but I can’t see her. Not yet.

The static stops.

“Leo? Honey? Why is this not working?”

That’s Mom, hissing at her monitor. Her safety lens is still on. My dad used it last, for sure. He always covers the camera. Doesn’t like the machine to watch his face while he’s on Pinterest.

“Let me call you back.”

I let her.

Since she retired, they are always on vacation. Rule number one while on holiday: you keep in touch. Every two to three days. Beach photos in between. Smiling faces. Distorted smiles pulling the bathing suit out of the butt. Blisters in the sun. Even more in the rain. It’s just the two of them there, at the lake cottage. And Teddy.

It's our cottage. I can recognize it in my sleep. Every bush between the land and the sand has its own crackle. Then the waves hit the banks below, I hear them pacing towards me. They drag in the same old smell: fish, pine, and barbecue. To feel it, you need to grill it. It’s what my mom always says.

I accept the video-call again.

She sits in the basement. Doesn’t trust the A/C.

“Leo? You there?”

“Yes, Mom. I can see you now.”

“Your senile father left the camera thingy on. As if someone would spy on him watching tutorials.”

“What’s he into now?”

“Designing the perfect raft. He calls it arc.”

“The Arc?” I smile.

“You bet on his beard.” She waves it away and bends, taking a better look at me. “Laugh all you want,” she says. “He’ll make you sand it for him. He just needs to find the perfect epoxy primer.”

“He can order a mixture that combines it all. They have everything online.”

“Don’t tell him that. Let him do his process.”

I wouldn’t dare tell him. That’ll make him ask me to come to the lake and build the boat with him. I’m not Noah. Far from it, and my dad knows that. We used to build things like space shuttles, and rockets, and Lego armies. Until we stopped.

The image wavers on my screen. I see a contour of her wrist. I hear scraping metal, it’s the chair.

“You good? Mom?”

“Us, or him?” She coughs once.

“You, him, Teddy. Everyone.”

“We’re fine. Teddy can’t stop peeing for two days. He sits in the shallow all day long. His ass is always wet. I tell him to take his balls out the water, but he never listens. No one listens to me anymore.”

She chooses a front. It’s always a battle with her. She used similar wording once on my best friend. He couldn’t stop peeing for two days while we built the Hog-twats sandcastle one summer. Alex, honey, change your wet suit, your bottom will speak Greek, and I don’t speak Greek. Neither does the village doctor. We were nine, Teddy was a puppy.

Typical mom. Blaming someone for something that she needs to deal with later. Now it’s the dog for staying in the water too much. This morning I bet it was the weatherman for predicting the sun. I get it. It makes her boob-sweat more bearable.

“Teddy's an animal, Mom. He can’t understand everything you say.”

“I know that sweetie. I live with him. I brush his canines, molars, and premolars once a week.” It’s not true. She exaggerates. “That is why I trained him in telepathy. Besides, he is a Sagittarius, he can read a face. He is practically a Centaur, just no arrow.”

“You’re right. Nothing else, just that.”

“But I get it. Teddy is on vacation, too. Yesterday I found a flea on the floor in the living room. God knows where he brought it from. I bet it’s Dean’s Pomeranian. That boy is like a rug. Like Dean. He has long hair now, you know. He paints in the studio. He says that the arthritis made him a better artist. He’s got a new expo coming up. Not more than three dots per canvas.”

“I remember Dean chasing us away when we ate his peaches.”

“That bastard. He never liked kids. But me and your dad love kids. Especially our own. So? When do you visit?”

“Never”, I want to say, but instead I glance away. She shoots fast, but in that house, I’m the champion in dodging her questions. She can’t read my face on the video frame. I quickly change the subject.

“Hey, is that my fire-truck, mom?”

She turns to look behind. Her grey ponytail is pulled tight. The screen freezes on half her motion. She reminds me of Santa, now. Not a single dark curl left. The real deal, with the hunch and all.

“Oh, look at that,” she says. She’s pixelated. And I tell her that.

“What the fuck is pixelated? How do I turn it off?”

“No, it means I can barely see you. Your connection is bad.”

She’s gone.

Click.

Outside, daylight is subdued. Thor himself turned it to dim.

Thor, Jesus… the weather app? I can ask mom when she calls again. It’s morning at the lake. It doesn’t rain, though.

I’ll wait. I don’t think we ever ended a conversation without saying bye-bye. I catch my reflection in the black screen glass. There is the shadow of that fire-boy on my face. The hum of my A/C annoys me. The smell of burnt metal again, faint but insistent. I glance at the kitchen stove. The moka pot is still there, with the broken safety valve. The red light for heat is off.

*

“I wish I could do that…” I tell Alex at recess, while I lean against the freshly painted magenta wall. “I wanna be him, you know.”

“C’mon dude, he just moves around toys. It’s not like he owns them.”

“So?”

He always says dude.

It’s winter. We are in the school hallway. It felt endless. Reeking of bleach and varnish. Alex said it looked like a tunnel for astronauts. I said I’m cold. The window was cracked open.

“So, what?” he asks.

“So, you don’t need to own toys to play them.”

“Maybe you don’t. I prefer when they are mine.”

We are on our lunch break, occupying the same corner of the hallway every day. Except Wednesdays. And weekends. And holidays. My body is there, inside the school, but my head isn’t. It’s still across the street, glued to the toyshop window.

“We should name him cousin Alex.”

“Cousin Alex is taken, sorry, dude.”

“That’s funny.” I always laugh at his jokes.

Alex’s reflection stood next to mine in the glass. Short hair in the back, long golden mesh across one eye. During summer he dyed it crimson. His mom let him do it. Mine would never. His dimples fold when he grins, like quotation marks. It happens each time when he would get away with something.

I had my sister’s big forehead and my mother’s small nose. She says I'm impatient. It’s called pseudoscience, it lacks empirical evidence. Maybe she is right. I couldn’t take my eyes off the man in the shop. He is arranging the toys with the precision of my dad when he’s at the warehouse. His core task is to pick specific food boxes from the shelves, based on his customer’s orders. He never misplaced an order, they made him chief of the frozen food department. He told me that’s the most demanding task of them all. This is why I go to sports, to be strong like my dad. He is my coach at the little league.

“Dude, it’s funny when grown-ups play with toys”, Alex says to me, putting his hand out not to see himself in the reflection.

“Well… Not as funny as you last night. At the livestream.” I say to him.

The mesh of hair covers his eye completely. He blinks. Like a pirate. Twice.

“You mean the tooth?” he smiles. He makes the empty slot in his mouth show.

“Yeah. Epic! Wasn’t it? An actual hole opened in your body. Real blood, too. We should turn on comments next time.”

“Don’t trust them with your face, Leo.” He sounds just like my mom. His tongue is stuck where the tooth was.

“It’s just a video, cousin.”

“With followers, dude.”

“Ha, follow that!” I nudge him to look out the window. “Look. The toy shop guy is putting out a bike.”

“Oh, yeah! Just like Greg’s!”

“Which Greg?”

“Karate Greg.” He nods and pulls out his shoulders as if it was the universal truth.

“I don’t know. But, check that fire-truck in the corner. It’s huge. I want it. I wish he picked it up.”

“We can go see it after classes. Oh, wait! Leo? Waiiit for it… He picked it up!” Alex gasps. “Dude! You are officially a mind-reader! No! A mind-bender.”

“Been waiting for this since… Like my whole life!” I feel the cold sweat slide down my neck.

“Do it again, sensei Leo. Make him pull the hammer and smash the red helmet on his head! Toy shop by the school? That’s like ammo shop by the bunny zoo.” He gets into his energy mode. I don’t like it.

“If I had Jedi powers,” I tell him, “I’d turn him into a life-size fireman.”

“Negative, sensei. I think this guy is lame. He is sweating under a helmet that tomorrow a kid will wear. Nasty.”

“Just his job…” I wave him off. “We should eat, cuz.” I didn’t like him going into loops. Soon he would start swearing. I don’t like that either. Besides, the guy at the shop is cool. He always says hi when I pass.

“Whatcha got, dude?” Alex asks me and opens his bento box. It’s new. His dad sent it to him as a pre-Christmas gift. He lives in Germany.

“Leftover pizza. Cold, but gold. You?”

“My sister ordered me an avocado sandwich. Again.” Alex takes a small bite, filling only the left side of his cheek.

“I heard my mom say we’re eating Bambi this Christmas at your place.”

“Yeah, dude, your mom is mental.”

“Hey! She told no-one about your channel, Alex.”

“My mom is too, dude. Relax.” His mom and my mom are besties. We’ve been friends since… like forever. Even before his dad divorced her.

“Check that out!” I nibble the crust. “Dragons in Space. Real-size poster.”

“Never seen it.”

“Liar!”

“I don’t need to, Leo. It literally says dragons in space.”

“I can show it to you. Wanna play the game?” I pull out my phone.

“No.”

“You will be the Fleet Master, Alex.”

Alex shrugged, his toga too.

The man in the shop placed a wand in the center of a pine wreath framed with golden bells. I tilted my head until my white collar lined up perfectly with the wand across the street.

When the door opened, the chime sounded like a spell. I remember it differently each time. Sometimes I'm sure it rang clear and long. Sometimes it doesn’t stop at all. Sometimes it’s too far away from me, and as much as I try to hear the chime, I get nothing. Not a sound. Not even a ting.

*

“Leo, you still there, son?” My mom drags me back. I hear the squeak of her chair against the basement tiles.

Her face reappears, slightly blurred.

“You froze for a bit,” I say.

“Ah, the curse of this connection,” she sighs. There’s a light tremor in her wrist when she adjusts the camera. Behind her, a thin shaft of artificial light slices across the shelf. It’s stacked with old toys: plush bears, plastic knights, and the dented fire-truck. “Where were we before the internet destroyed our meetup?”

“You kept it—my truck,” I say.

“Of course. Your father insisted. Said it still works. Wheels, siren, everything.” She turns the chair and grabs the toy. Taps the roof. I hear the dull clink.

“He tried to fix the battery last month,” she adds. “Got sparks.” The last word lit my spine. “You loved this toy. Alexandre gave it to you, for Christmas. Remember? That poor boy. You used to love hanging in this basement. He made you smoke cigarettes.”

“It was mutual, mom. We each stole one from you and Linda, and we both agreed we should try.”

“Yes… and almost burned this place down. Linda is in New Zealand now. She remarried. And I am stuck with this lizard man here. He made me play your old videogames yesterday, you know.”

“Which one? The return of the Mummy? Or The return of the Mom?”

“Ha-ha. You’re funny. How the hell would I know? I was only shooting rays on the X button.”

“Mom,” I say, “does he still…?” I wiggle in my chair as if I was nine. “Was he ever mad at Alex?” I sigh.

Her camera wobbles. She glances up.

“Oh, honey, no. You were just kids, sweetie. You had a dad, and he didn’t.”

“He did. He bought him toys. Paid his college.”

“Yes, but it was your dad who took him to rehearsals, and dentist appointments. You were babies, Leonardo. No one is mad anymore. No one ever was. It was just a prank.”

“That we streamed.”

“Honey, listen, got to go. He’s up, I hear the wheelchair upstairs. Take care and eat your veggies. You look pale. Make some beetroot juice.”

“Will do. Love you mom.”

“Oh, Dragons in Space! That was the game. Your dad was the Fleet Master. Bye, honey.”

The image freezes. Her face caught mid-smile.

For a second, the light reflects off the fire-truck’s windshield.

Still the ultimate Christmas gift.