The Moon Story

For years I cursed the day you ran away to live with the moon in a townhouse by the water. I never saw it coming. Our life together was like a party, but with more fighting. A brawl at a bar. You said my mood was unstable. You were too constant. But there you went, arm in arm with the moon and all its phases. I know where you live. I see it shining from your bay window on the second floor, reflecting from the water. You sleep alone in the bed while the moon glows from the living room. Your townhouse is a lighthouse, warning me away. But I crashed a long time ago.

Did you hear that? The words I just used? Listen to the cheese. I am as much cheese as that moon of yours. Is it green cheese you want? I will be green cheese.

They say the moon always shows the same face, so half of it always remains unknowable. They say it is a harsh mistress. They say it drives people crazy.

Am I really more horrible than that?

Maybe you are spellbound.

The first six months were the worst. The house was empty. Nobody was sure where the sun had gone. We could only guess that it so missed the moon, the sun couldn't bear to face the day.

Almost everything died. There were greenhouses indoors, with scientific lights, but that didn't change the fact that the whole planet smelled from rotting vegetables.

When the sun came back, so did I. One morning the sun just rose up, bright as ever, like nothing had changed. When I saw it shining through my window, I rose up. If the sun could get over the loss and move on, then I could too.

So I got out of bed and opened the curtains, and what a mess I found. The world looked like an apartment the morning after a party. A party but with more fighting. Death was everywhere.

Trees, grass, crops. Microbes. The weakest of the higher animals. Millions and millions of pale, infirm humans staggered onto their stoops and squinted at the sky. But nobody cheered.

We were all glad the sun was back, but I don't think people trusted it anymore. They used to think it would be there forever. Now that the sun had vanished once, nothing could ever be the same again.

But I knew it would stay around. Your moon broke the sun's heart, but now it's up there every day, healing, trying to earn back our faith. The sun isn't to blame. You are. Both of you. And I thought you were smarter than that.

Reconstruction took a long time, but we pulled through. The first few days, the sun stayed up a little longer than usual. It was obvious how hard we were working, and we appreciated the extra light. I noticed you weren't there to help, but when the sun finally went down, your apartment was dark. No moonlight from your windows that night.

Don't worry. I didn't tell anyone where the moon was staying. Nobody knew you had run off together while everyone else was hard at work, making the planet nice again. Cleaning up your mess.

I've seen you around town a few times now, but you have always been alone. The moon is yours and you never let it out. Are you afraid someone will steal it from you? Or that it might run away? Sometimes I wonder if you have the moon imprisoned up there.

Maybe you're both prisoners.