No clouds today. A clear sky, as dark and clear as a clean, black slate. The distant stars look like chalk dust settled on that very slate.
A new start.
The blades of grass tickle my belly as I look at the glowing white body hanging against a black curtain. It is staring back at me. Yes. Yes, I can see its eyes. They are asking a question. A question I can’t quite answer. An answer I don’t quite know.
The grass is still wet; the ground still smelling of the rain that just kissed it. Shania Twain sings ‘You’re Still The One’ again and again in my ears and I try to level with her, swaying my legs, looking at the moon. An ode to the moon. My ode to the moon.
I smile. There is a howl in the distance. Not very far. But not very near. I can see the moon rising above the woods, as if trying to get a clearer view of me. I crawl forward, hiding from it, teasing it, daring it to try again – to rise higher but it takes no heed of my challenge. It stays still.
A smirk on its face, a frown on mine.
I feel fur against my skin. I turn my head sharply, only to find Soccer breathing hotly in my face. I look away and fix my gaze at the moon, now back in sight.
She finally stops singing.
Suddenly there are clouds – clouds hiding the moon from my sight or rather me from his. I crawl again, this time backwards. No use. A giant cloud hides the moon completely. Darkness embraces me. And so does silence, with the exception of sounds of breathing – one panting, the other measured.
My elbows hurt, telling me to relieve my hands of the weight of my face. I succumb. My arms fall forward, my head gives in to gravity. If the moon is peeking from behind the clouds, he is looking at a girl stretched out on a stretch of grassy land with her arms and legs fanning out.
If he doesn’t care enough to peek, it is his loss.
The party will start soon. Mother will be shouting from the kitchen window, asking me to get in.
“Martha? What are you doing in the backyard? Get in and get ready! Your friends will be here any minute, now!”
Its the ‘I told you so.’ moment. Therefore, “I told you so.”
So its my eighteenth birthday today. That’s what all the fuss is about. I know you were wondering what all the fuss was about.
I have a birthday party and a cake to cut and friends to entertain. And most of all, I have myself to dress up. The moon will tell you that that is quite the task. He is, after all, my constant companion. Guess who wished me first, last night, at exactly midnight.
Wrong. My parents did. The moon was hiding behind a back cloud. I assume he was getting ready to meet me. He does look handsome today.
Obviously, you are invited. What? You can’t come? But there will be cake! And dancing! And – You will? Super! Cake always works!
See you then. In exactly three minutes. I won’t meet you at the door, though, my mother will or maybe Soccer will do the honors.
I will be getting ready, remember? Just like the moon is.
Behind that big black cloud.
By the way, I know you couldn’t resist peeking, my beloved Moon.
These words came to me when I read the Daily Prompt: The Full Moon on The Daily Post. Now I know that the story doesn’t really follow the brief but I wanted to give the credit where it was due.
Image Courtesy: Pictures From Her Window