A Visit to Mars

Neurologist Oliver Sacks wrote about animal scientist professor Temple Grandin as an “anthropologist on Mars” and she has referred to herself as an anthropologist from Mars“—-last night, we went to Mars.

Ok, it was Mars 2112 on 51st and Broadway in Manhattan, a “space-themed restarant” that is (according to its website) a “spectacular mingling of fantasy and reality, a 35,000-square-foot, bi-level, multi-dimensional, immersive environment that catapults travelers to a completely new world.” That is: A below-ground restaurant in midtown Manhattan with the usual kidfood and a lot of glowing red lights emanating from the floor via grills and out from behind some clearly synthetic Mars-sort of rock formations on the walls, and a couple of Martians making the rounds (getting their photos taken with kids and teens).

Mars was indeed beyond the orbit of our usual places to visit, at least on a Friday night. We’d been invited to a birthday party for a turning-11-year-old—it’s been awhile since Charlie was last invited to a birthday party and we were eager to go. I suspected the, ahem, “atmosphere of Mars might be on the over-stimluating side, due to noise, lights, the sounds/beeps/etc. emanating from the video arcade. But like I said, it’s been awhile since Charlie was invited to a birthday party and his whole face perked up at the mention of those magic words.

Getting there was extra-arduous as it was pouring rain and traffic was at a standstill on numerous spots on the highway. We made our way in mist and slippery roads to Jersey City and parked the car and, with the birthday girl’s present wrapped in Charlie’s rain coat, made our way to the PATH train. We met up with Jim outside of Radio City Music Hall, amid lies of people all getting distracted looking at the lights (it’s Christmas season for sure, at least in regard to decorations) and the shop windows. It was unseasonably warm and the rain gradually let up.

Mars 2112 turned out to be pretty much as anticipated, certainly in the noise department. Charlie followed Jim in amid the glowing red lights and the staircases amid the Mars-rock walls and past the Cyperport where the video arcades beeped and twinkled. He sat at the end of a long table where some 20 kids were eating White Castle-like sliders and fries and making an incredible amount of noise (not for any particular reason, other than that they were kids at a birthday party in a space-theme eatery). When kids wanted to squeeze past Charlie, he moved over as they directed. He wasn’t so sure about eating those little burgers; his smile was generous when the cake (well-candled) was brought out, and happy singing commenced. When everyone raced off to play video games, Charlie remained at the table, quietly attentive and nibbling at the fries as Jim and I talked to the birthday child’s mother and some friends.

“He reminds me of my brother,” one woman said, her eyes on Charlie who was carefully eating some fries and ketchup. She told me, years ago, her parents had taken her brother to clinics and tried to find out “what” he had; of how he’d been institutionalized when he was younger than Charlie is now; of what happened—-the institution is not there anymore—-there’s a reason; of how he lives now in a group home and how he never talked. Of how, there was so little (as in, flat nothing) for her brother in the 1950s.

And I thought about the journey we’d been on with Charlie and thought, knew, we’ve come a far far way, indeed.

Charlie pulled on his blue hooded sweatshirt as we talked and grabbed his two Leapsters and stood up looking at us, and waiting, quietly, patiently. Waiters cleared off the table, a short Martian danced by, and someone else had a birthday cake delivered. The woman gave Charlie a warm smile as he tugged at Jim’s arm to go and she wished him good-bye, more than kinly.

I’m not sure we’ll be going back to Mars but who needs to, after one visit that was (I have to say it) out of this world, and beyond.