The Guest From Mars

We All Know One

We threw a party at the house. Friends arrived. Rooms were filled. Glasses clinked. Music set a base. Conversations added a rolling crescendo.

Then Mark arrived.

The Planet Mars. (NASA)

He stepped in, looked around, and his shoulders dropped. He let out a sigh. "You've changed the place," he said. "I would have kept the old wallpaper."

I nodded. "We thought a fresh coat would brighten things up."

He shrugged. "Perhaps. But it had character."

We moved to the living room. Mark took the central chair, the one with the high back. He began to talk about his day, his week, his month. Others tried to chime in, but he spoke over them. "At my last party," he said, "we had a live band. It really elevated the atmosphere."

Someone mentioned the music playing now. "Yes," Mark said, "but live music has soul."

In the kitchen, he turned his attention to the food. There was a myriad to choose from. Mark did what he does. He saw what he didn’t like.

Then he spoke about it.

"Finger sandwiches are passé," he said. "You should try artisanal cheeses. That's what people enjoy these days."

I offered him a drink. "Whiskey?"

He examined the bottle. "This brand? I prefer the twelve-year-old from the Highlands. It's smoother."

I had some. I didn’t fetch it.

He kept checking his watch. "I have another engagement later," he said. "A gathering downtown. Very exclusive. I had to come here first."

"You're welcome to head over," I said.

He waved his hand. "I must stay a bit longer. There are things we need to discuss."

There weren’t, but I knew what he meant. He had things to say. Or he would.

Back in the living room, he steered every conversation. If someone mentioned a book, he had read a better one. If a film was praised, he found its flaws. The room grew quieter. People drifted; away from Mark's voice. Away from Mark.

He found me, cornered me, near the stairs. "The layout of your home is interesting," he said. "But have you considered an open floor plan? It would make parties flow better."

"Perhaps.” “But, we like it this way," I said.

He smiled thinly. "Of course. To each their own."

Time passed. It seemed like hours. Mark lingered. Guests glanced at him, then at me. I could see the weariness in their eyes. The energy was fading.

Finally, Mark stood up. "Well, I must be going. Places to be."

"Safe travels," I said with a smile.

He shook my hand firmly. "Next time, let me help you plan. There's much we could improve."

"I'll keep that in mind."

The door closed behind him. There was a moment of silence. Then, as if a weight had lifted, the room sprang back to life. Laughter returned, louder than before. Someone turned up the music. Dancing broke out.

"Glad you could all make it," I said.

Sarah clinked her glass against mine. "It's a wonderful party."

We moved to the backyard. The stars were out, and the night was cool. Energizing. Stories were shared. Old and new. The hours slipped by. The drink blurred times passage.

In the quiet moments, I thought about Mark—his constant critiques, his need to dominate. But now, without him, everything felt right. The party was as it should be—full of warmth and ease.

Tom joined me by the fence. "Quite the evening," he said.

"It is now," I replied.

He laughed. "Mark can be... intense."

I nodded. "He means well, I suppose. I think, in the end, he’s just insecure despite all he has. My sense of charity demands compassion. But…" my voice trailed off as Tom caught my thought.

"Maybe. But it's nice to enjoy the night without the commentary."

We watched as friends smiled and laughed in the glow of a small fire. They were happy and untroubled.

"Funny how things improve," Tom said, "once certain elements are gone."

"Yes," I said. "It's like clearing a cloud from the night sky. You can see the stars, even Mars.” We laughed, and I remembered. “I read it’s visible this morning just before dawn. Low in the sky. I might stay up."

The party went on until the early hours. When the last guest left, the house was quiet but filled with good memories. I sat on the porch, waiting for dawn. I missed Mars. I was not bothered. A fresh day had begun.

Inside, the rooms held the evidence of life - of laughter and song. A mess. There was a sense of peace. A rightness. If there is ever such a thing. I thought about future gatherings. How they might unfold. Without interference. Without unnecessary weight.

I stood up and stretched. It was a new day. The sun peeked over the horizon. Its light filled the world.

I knew the party had been a success. Not because of grand gestures or perfect plans, but because of the people who shared it. The bad. How it accentuated the good.

In the end, all it took was the absence of one to reveal the true spirit of the many. And that was enough. I had enough.