The bulging moon sits like a giant Buddha belly, low in the sky, magnified by the
polluted atmosphere and bright lights of suburbia. From my view on the ground,
the branches of a weeping willow tree scratch across the moon’s surface, creating
open gashes, unhealed scars. The pond below me is completely still but for an
occasional ripple initiated by the soft autumn breeze.
I decide to memorize this image, to take a mental snapshot. My head rests on the
roots of a willow tree, turned left to face the moon. Blurry blades of grass invade
my peripheral. I shift until the moon is centered among the descending willow
branches, like bony fingers scraping across light. Satisfied, I let my arms flop
to the ground, palms up, summoning.
I burn the image into my mind. I take in the contrast of the bright bulbous moon
against the dark blue canvas, the eerie shadows cast by willow tree, the backwards
reflection of my friend in the pond. He is colorblind; I ask him to describe what he
sees. He is always seeing things so differently from me.
I am in love. But I haven’t admitted it yet.
It’s his birthday.…