The moon and you

 

Tonight is one of those nights when I've been thinking about people and places and things. My body wanted to sleep, but my mind wanted to toss and turn.

Since mind and body seem to be inseparable, I finally got up to look out of the window. The moon was full and at about 4 o’clock in the night sky. The bare branches above the back fence were stark black against the bright night. And when I looked down, I saw the moon reflected again off the ice in my little garden pond.

                                                                                     

It’s hardly more than a coincidence that the moon is slipping towards where I saw you standing on your stairway wearing a stocking cap. We had walked around a few blocks after I’d helped you put on your coat against the cold. You’re collar bone was mending but not healed. My hands had fumbled with the star-shaped buttons and your hair was so soft against my hand as I lifted it over your coat collar that the sensation whispers again now out of my memory. Surely it is an illusion, but I glance at my hand to be sure. We had talked and laughed and I had hoped that I wouldn’t cry.

It seems silly, but I really only mean silly in the mysterious sense that my otherwise sensible mind doesn’t quite understand how I could feel what I feel. I had long known that I would miss seeing you when you went abroad - and after that, as well. Life is like that. I’m old enough to know better. Life is just sometimes silly. It’s not as if you are always on my mind. We’ve only known each other for short time and what we know about each other we’ve mostly picked up in fragments in a coffee shop. We both live in quite separate worlds.

Still, I thought about you tonight when I saw the cold shining moon. Your eyes were so warm that night when I saw you standing on the steps. I couldn’t have imagined everything that I saw. And if I was mistaken, I would not want to be awakened.

Now my eyes are open and I am looking out into the night for a memory to hold onto. My one love is sleeping softly in our bed, but I have found many loves over the years, scattered like the stars in the sky. Love, even for ordinary things, such as the garden pond that I built and have sat next to on warm evenings, watching the goldfish swimming among the plants. And places like the Kaw River that I walk to most days, muddy and scarred. These have room in my heart as poets used to say. And there’s a cat, purring on my lap.  And especially, there are so many people so close to my mind, present and gone. Just people, places and things.

And so I also care about you.

That night what I was able to express was that I hoped that you might think of me as more than a friend, that you might think of me as a kind of adopted uncle. You agreed that I might think of you as an uncle might.  As we parted, the light was just behind you and a few feet over your head. Your face was in shadow, but your voice lingered over words of goodbye. There may be some blurring in my memory’s vision, your wool cap must have had a fuzzy edge in the light. The night was too cold for us to stand long.

I would have reached out my mittened hand and touched you, but I think that I assumed that I didn’t know you that well and, anyway, I am awkward about such things. I listened to my head, once again, not my heart.

But these things cannot be divided and so I have gotten out of bed. I see the moon shining warmer than I could have imagined. So maybe I am sillier and less sensical this early in the morning. And I surely will see you again, sometime.

So we’re back to silly again. You have been kind and you have laughed at my silliness. And now I mean to say only that I have said things and have played to see you smile at me. And you may have seen that I cared about you more than a little. It’s just one of those people, places and things coming together at the right time.

Words are sometimes the refuge of cautious old men, playing, when a look isn’t enough. And I have perhaps danced around the edges as I have written words on the page because mere words will never be enough.

But I will put my arms around you the next time and I won’t be surprised to see the moon looking over my shoulder.

Good night or good morning wherever you are. I’m sure to be a little silly when I see you and now and then, again, in between. I don’t much mind – in fact I quite like the way that I feel - when I ‘m thinking about you.

I think that it’s my body wishing you were here, or you meeting me some afternoon for a walk together. Maybe we could find time for a coffee or something. Missing you is something I want to do with you - when you are not actually here with me.  And that will be most of the time. Our paths crossed for a short time and now we will mostly travel in different directions. I will have my memories and the internet and who knows?

And now the moon has slipped down into the branches across the way. I don’t have to crook my neck to see it. My wife might wake up enough to reach out her hand to me when I slide back under the covers. We didn’t have children of our own and now other men’s daughters pull at my heart. Is it silly for the moon to pull at the sea?

Eventually I will go back to sleep, but I think I will sit at my window watching the moon a little longer.