#16 – Family

Marco

Making excuses is part of the job when you're an Animorph. You have to bail on a lot of obligations when most of your life is reacting to what the Yeerks are trying to pull. Disappointing people gets to be a habit…and not one I enjoy.

On the same note, it's a constant balancing act. We have to fight the Yeerks, but we also have to keep it secret. Can't have one without the other. And it was because of that fact that I was debarking off of an airplane in central Texas one Friday morning.

My dad's sister was dying of terminal cancer. It was almost her time to go. My dad had flown out earlier in the week; I was able to put off my own trip, but only for a few days. My dad was not going to let me get away with not seeing my aunt before she died…and I didn't want to, anyway. I'm pretty ruthless when I have to be, but I have feelings. I love my family.

Anyway, my uncle was picking me up from the airport. I knew it was going to be him; my dad said that he didn't stay in the house much anymore, anyway. He said he couldn't stand just sitting around, waiting for his wife to die. She didn't want him to remember her the way she was now, hooked up to machines and fussed over by hospice nurses. I guess that's understandable.

I spotted him as soon as I left the gate; he was pretty hard to miss. He stood about 6'5" and was fairly lean for his height. He was dressed in a snazzy three-piece which looked like Brioni or Armani to my layman's eye; Uncle Rick (always Rick, never Richard) wore a suit at all times. If he was awake, he was dressed for success.

I've always looked up to Rick, even though I didn't know him all that well. He'd met my Aunt Patty in college. She liked to joke that their first date was Ramen noodles and boxed wine in a sleazy dorm room; I don't know if that's true, but I do know that they were struggling college students together. After they graduated, Rick took a crappy job in a mailroom in some Silicon Valley office building. He worked night shift at a diner by the house. He took correspondence courses for his master's degree, working on his schoolwork in between making omelets and sorting business mail. Every cent he had to spare went to my Aunt Patty, to keep up the tiny apartment they shared.

Eventually, somebody in the office building (which was owned by a little company called Intel) recognized his intelligence and his ambition and gave him a foot in a door. He didn't waste it. Two years after leaving the mail room, he was Manager of Overseas Accounts. A year after that, he was Director of Public Relations. Two years after that, he was Chief Financial Officer…for the entire corporation. He took stock options instead of Christmas bonuses – turned out to be a pretty good move. Him and my Aunt Patty weren't starving anymore. They ain't eating Ramen, I'll put it that way.

"Marco!" Rick waved, smiling. How can a guy whose wife only has a day or two left to live smile like that? I wondered, but I grinned and waved back. I expected him to give me a business-like handshake, but he folded me into a hug. "Good to see you, kiddo. It's been too long."

"Yeah," I said. "Sorry it's…you know…under these circumstances."

He looked at me seriously. "I hope that's out of your system. Your Aunt Patty didn't bring you out here to be sad for her – she just wants to spend a little time with you before she goes." His face tried to twist up, but he smoothed it out. "If you even mention her dying, she's probably going to pop you one. She's trying to pretend like it's not happening…and I hope you'll oblige her."

"Sure," I said. "I won't even mention it."

He grinned again as we walked toward baggage claim. Wow, he's good, I thought. If not for my insane talent of reading people, I would have never guess that the man was miserable underneath that smile. "It's time you learned a basic fact of life – adults don't know jack. They're just as silly and stupid as kids sometimes. But hey, if it's what your aunt wants…"

"I'm with that," I told him. "I get it. I'll just be my typical, lovable self around her, and she won't even think about it."

He laughed loudly. It was a pleasant laugh that made you want to laugh along, and I thought that laugh probably had something to do with his success. "Cool."

We waited for my bag to come around the carosel. When I got it and we exited the airport, I halfway expected a limo to pick us up. No flashy displays of wealth from Rick, though; we walked down the breezeway into the parking garage, where the rest of the mere mortals were parked. We stopped when we reached a pearl Mercedes sedan; nice, luxurious, but nondescript all the same. I was a little disappointed. I'd been hoping Ferrari.

Rick didn't miss the look on my face. "Disappointed?" he asked as he clicked the keyless entry and got behind the wheel.

"No way."

"This is an E-class. It might not look obnoxiously fast, but it is."

"Hey, you don't have to justify your good taste to me," I told him. He laughed and wah-wahed the gas as we left the garage, so I could feel the power of the engine.

"That's a big ten-four," I grinned, and he laughed again. We stopped at a red light, and he looked at me in the weirdest way…like he was looking for something. After a moment, he grunted.

"Guess she was right."

"Huh?"

"Patty. She asked me to…educate you."

"On what?" I asked a little nervously. This conversation had taken a turn toward Bizarro-land.

"Your Aunt is under the impression that you're going to be in a position of power one day. Her intuition has always been scary-good…and after spending a few minutes with you, I'm thinking maybe she's right."

"It's no secret that I definitely wouldn't mind being filthy rich," I allowed.

Rick abruptly changed the direction of the conversation…or so it seemed, at first. "So you must be glad your dad's back to the grind. Back to his old job and all that."

"Oh, yeah," I said, surprised. "It took him a while. I wouldn't have blamed him if it took him a bit longer, either." I had that odd double-feeling I got now when I talked about my mom – relief that she wasn't actually dead, and anger that she was a slave of my enemies.

"Your dad has always been a good man. A hard worker. Brilliant mind." He paused to reach under his sun visor and put on his shades. "Do you know what the difference between me and your father is?"

"About three million a year before taxes?"

He laughed pretty hard at that one. "I was going to say luck. I got lucky. Your dad is as hard of a worker as I am. He's actually a good deal smarter. A lot of times in this world, luck is all it comes down to. But in a way, you can make your own luck, too."

I was intrigued – I felt like I was getting an inside look at the mind of a multi-millionaire, and I wanted to make the most of it. "What do you mean?"

"I think everybody gets at least one big break in their life. Most people don't recognize it for what it is, when it comes. Everybody's got a point in their life they look back at and say, "Oh, if only I'd done that differently, I'd be set." I just so happened to take advantage of my opportunity when I got it." He looked at me. "I have the feeling that you will, too."

"I sure hope so. I want an E-class, too."

"It's not all about money, though. Toys are great – trust me, I know. I have one of everything. But if you have enough money and influence, you can change things. When you make a positive difference…that's what gets me to sleep at night. Not the jet-skis or the Gulfstream or the time share in Jamaica."

I nodded along, but I was really thinking about how awesome this guy's life must be. He said, "Let's just assume for the sake of argument that you're going to do it. That you're going to make the most of the hand you're dealt in life and you climb to the top. There's a few things you should know about it. Lessons you can learn from me now, instead of learning them the hard way like I did."

"Okay," I said.

"First of all – and this is the most important one – never forget where you come from. When you're looking down on the world from your sixtieth story office, never forget that. Think about it every day. Think about the times your dad was drunk, basically unemployed, and struggling just to make rent. Remember how bad things can be so you never lose sight of how good things are for you."

I swallowed hard. Why the hell would anyone want to think about that? But I took the advice to heart. "All right. Next?"

"No matter how tempting it is and how much you care about the person, never do something for them when they have the power to do it for themselves. Do you know what I'm talking about?"

"I think so," I said, but I wasn't sure. Rick caught it.

"Why do you think I never sent a check in that bad time for you and your father? I knew damn good and well you two were on the verge of being on the street – trust me, I heard it from my wife every day. Why do you think I didn't pay your rent for you? I spend more on business lunches in a week than your dad was paying for rent on that apartment for a year. So why didn't I help?"

I had often wondered that myself, back when it was happening. "I don't know." I tried not to sound angry.

"Because if I had, you two would still be in that apartment, Marco. You'd still be killing roaches while your dad was drinking or mopping floors. He had the power to help the two of you, he just wasn't doing it. As hard as it is, sometimes you have to watch and let people hit rock bottom before they can climb their way out. If you bail them out, they'll never figure it out. Understand?"

It made sense. It was hard and cold, but in a way it was more caring than writing a check. "Yes, I do. That's…deep, Uncle Rick."

"It's just common sense, when you get right down to it. But keep it in mind; you'll do more good with tough love than with soft love, in the long run."

"All right," I agreed. "I can see that. What about the next one?"

He thought about how to phrase it for a second. "This goes hand-in-hand with the first rule. Never treat people like they're worth less than you are."

"But some people are worth less than others."

"Not true," he said. "We're all people. It's only what we do that differentiates us from each other. We're all the same, inside…we all have the same hopes and dreams and feelings. Don't you ever forget that. You know why I take the time to remember the janitor's name who's in charge of cleaning my floor? Because anything can happen. That guy could end up being my boss one day. That guy might come to work with a gun, and because I took the time to ask how he was doing, he might not fill me full of lead."

"That's deep, too," I said, and I meant it.

We were pulling into a gated community, now. The houses looked more like castles. He drove slowly. "Never forget where you come from. Never do something for someone that they can do for themselves. Always treat everyone equally, and well." He took off the shades and studied me seriously. "The last one is important too. It's going to sound cheesy, but it's true. If you lose this one, everything you've done and will do is all for nothing. Always have love in your heart."

I couldn't help it; I laughed out loud. "What?"

He just nodded seriously. "I told you it sounds cheesy. But that's what will make sure you're a good man, always. Keep the love for your family in your heart. Every day. Keep love for what you do in there. If you don't love what you're doing, quit. Find something else to do. Life is too damn short to waste your time doing something you're not passionate about. If you love something enough, you'll hate it, too. But if you feel that way, you can be sure it's really important. So do it, and love it while you do it. Be grateful and have love, and good things will happen, Marco."

If you love something enough, you'll hate it, too. I had never thought of it in those terms…but didn't that apply perfectly to my fight against the Yeerks? My desire to free my mom? My need to keep my friends safe? The aspiration to keep the human race safe from a threat they couldn't see? I had always thought being forced into this war was unfair, ridiculous. But if what this man was saying was true, then should I actually be grateful? Could I even bring myself to feel gratitude?

I looked at his somber face as we pulled into the driveway of his mansion. Gratitude would be stretching it…but I could keep love for my friends, family, and fellow humans in my heart. I thought that I could do that.

I wasn't convinced it would work, but I was willing to give it a try.

Rick turned off the car, took a deep breath, and said, "Game face, Marco. Be yourself, and be in a good mood. Do it for her."

"I will," I promised.

I would keep that love in my heart, and I would see if it worked at getting me through adversity like Rick said it would.

A/N – Maybe I'm flattering myself, but there's a good chance that people will want to know what happened with Marco's aunt. All I can say is that this piece served its purpose – I wanted to kind of explain how Marco's able to deal with sudden fame and wealth at the end of the war. Just keep in mind that there are going to eventually be 100 of these snippets, and I plan on coming back to this topic to explore his interaction with his aunt. Thanks again for reviewing: Chiroptera Jones, Sweetbriar, and all the principles of heroism.