To the Moon, With Love

I miss the Sao Paulo cafe. I miss the simple ambiance and coterie of warm comments as I would glide in off the dusty streets to within its walls. It made this shy little girl of a carbon extractor feel like someone important. I miss the nostalgic feeling from a time when things were normal. When every day was not a race against time to come up with some new technology to purify the water or pump more oxygen into the atmosphere.

It was like stepping into a time porthole and we were allowed to be a little foolish and not think work needed to be done. We made the world work, but our only fear was that our number wouldn’t be next. To go to “the mines” we called it.

There were many days I spent in that joyful establishment, but one sticks out like lightning in a darkened sky. The year was 2138 when I strolled in to the typical parade of friendly jibes.

“Uh oh, Capone is in the house!”

“Gonna break a few skulls today?”

They nicknamed me ironically after the infamous 20th century criminal because of the tepid way I would ask for money after doing odd jobs around the coffee house. A fixed pipe here. An unclogged toilet there. I was their veritable plumber. I knew we all struggled so didn’t push too hard, but they always paid eventually.

“Very funny guys. I just came to see if maybe you had some leftover cash for the job I did the other day.”

“I tell you what," Derock the barista said. "I’ll pay you tomorrow, your next coffee is on the house.”

“The way you make your coffee," I joked, "that sounds like a threat.”

That got a big laugh from the regulars. Silly old Billix looking dapper at the door, floppy-haired Caeryssa the smooth essence of an old-time jazz singer by the archway, but one person didn’t laugh. He seemed to be observing. A stranger in the corner.

Dear Nayla,

Do you hate me right now? Do you hate me for what I did? I can only defend myself by saying at the time it seemed like the right choice.

Mikael

Sitting in my regular spot, I held my coffee and put on headphones so I could listen to Coltrain from the old age while I devised another way to make money for rent. It seemed like a pointless existence -- paycheck to paycheck, barely getting by on odd jobs, but I rather liked it. It made every day an adventure. 

My thoughts were somewhere between carpentry and carbonic waste disposal when a distinctive voice pierced through the rhythm of the sax to speak from behind me. 

“What are you listening to?”

I turned to see a man with piercing eyes, a strong chin, and just enough stubble putting him somewhere between distinguished and tired.

“Coltrain,” I said. “It helps me think.”

We exchanged names. His name was Mikael, I got a laugh from telling him I was Nayla and not Capone.

“What were those guys saying about you collecting money like you’re a mob boss?” he laughed.

“I collect money like an idiot. I do odd jobs around here. Fix the pipes. Unclog the toilet... Most plumbers don’t give IOUs.”

“Well, apparently you’re not like most plumbers.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“No, no, no,” he said. “I think you’re a good one. One with a heart.”

“Well, my brother would prefer I not be one at all,” I mourn to the table.

“Well, brothers are nice, but we shouldn’t always go by what they think. If my brother had his way I’d be a farmer and not a writer.”

“Oh, you write?” I was kind of intrigued.

“Don’t be so anxious. There’s not much money for words these days.”

“I just find it interesting. That’s all.”

Then he said what we both were thinking.

“Hey, you wanna get a drink some time?”

“We’re drinking now,” I hedged.

“I mean like --”

“I know what you mean.”

I looked at his eager expression. It kind of hurt to say the words.

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

“I leave for the moon tomorrow.”

Dear Mikael,

I feel like you’ve banished me to a hopeless place. It is dark here in truth and spirit and every four walls I encounter feel like they are closing in. 

And, yes, I do hate you.

Nayla.

Every year, like clockwork, someone would be sent to the moon. They’d tell us it’s for the greater good or some nonsense like that. But “greater good” never meant good, did it?

So, I found myself looking across at this stranger. Wanting to jump at this opportunity, but not wanting to get too attached. I thought knowing I was this year’s “chosen one” would wither him, but it rather strengthened his resolve.

“Well, we’d better make the best of this moment, right?”

“Are you looking for a one night stand?”

“I just want to get to know you better.”

“Better? You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know plenty about you already.”

“OK, let’s do a test. I’ll ask some questions about myself, You answer them. Let’s start with something easy... What do I do for a living?”

“You’re a plumber part mob boss who roughs people up when they don’t pay. I’m pretty sure those brass knuckles in your toolbox weren’t standard issue.”

He was funny. I moved on to the next question. I thought and then came up with a good one the guys always miss.

“OK, um,” I shut my eyelids tightly, “What color are my eyes?”

He was silent for a long time, so I figured he was stumped, but I realized he was just thinking of the perfect way to say it.

“Brown,” he finally said, “They kind of brighten on the upper corner and then fade into this reddish tinge on the lower corner. Like going into a sunset.”

I opened my eyes.

“I’m impressed, though I’m pretty sure half of that was BS.”

I thought again and asked, “What’s my taste in music?”

“That’s easy. Jazz.”

“EhhhRRR!” I made a buzzer sound. “I like jazz and grunge rock and Darioux Zane and classical and little Taylor Swift every now and again.”

“My next guess was eclectic.”

“What is my superpower?”

“Your kindness. That’s why you’re here with me. That’s why you give IOUs to customers. Your heart -- you think it was just your good looks -- no, your heart was the first thing I noticed about you.”

I lowered my eyes, suppressing a blush, but he noticed.

“And there’s your weakness.”

“What?”

“You don’t know your worth.”

“Well, ask my family and you’ll get the same answer but for a different reason. They don’t think I’m worth very much these days.”

“Don’t be silly. Why would you think that?”

“I told you I have a brother.”

“Yes.”

“Well, he’s the one sending me to the moon.”

Dear Nayla,

It’s beautiful here. I wish you were by my side. And while I am responsible for your situation, I do not agree that things are altogether hopeless. Can’t your brother help? Can’t you figure something out? Please, Nayla, do not be mad at me.

Mikael.

“I plan to hide,” I told him.

“But where?”

“I haven’t figured that out yet. If not, I have another plan.”

“What if you hid with me? I could hide you in my basement. We could say you died in an accident --”

I was shaking my head already.

“My brother.”

“I thought you said he didn’t care.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Well, the rocket leaves tomorrow and I’m your only hope.”

And that is the moment when I had a decision to make. I looked him in the eyes and trusted and he trusted me -- or so I thought.

Dear Mikael,

If ‘hopelessness’ has a pictorial meaning, it sits outside my window. The barren deserts and lengthy midnights seem like god hammering it home that the end is nigh. Forget about me, my dear. Find another preoccupation. Long-distance relationships don’t last. The longer the distance, the shorter the relationship, and I can think of no distance greater than death.

Nayla.

“You never told me about yourself,” I said as I lay on the couch, cuddled against him, watching ancient movies.

“Me, well, I’m a bit of a loser. I just go on day to day, existing. But I have got something other people don’t have. Something the rest of the world tries to steal, but I won’t let them.”

“What’s that?”

“Hope,” he said. “Hope that whatever the Overseers are working on, we’re going to see beautiful sunsets again. Roses sprouting from the ground. And we won’t have to spend our existence fighting for our lives. And I won’t have to stay up nights knowing that people like you are struggling.”

I smiled sadly into his shoulder, “Sounds like a silly child’s dream.”

“Everyone knows you at that Cafe. Why do you go there?”

“I don’t know. It just reminds me of being normal even though I don’t know what normal is.”

“There was a time when people only liked modern, free verse poetry. Because it was real and raw with no easy fixes. But I like romantic poetry. It reminds me of a time when cynicism wasn’t so natural. When people could trust the world and not feel like they’d get crushed under the weight of heartbreak and bad men. Give IOUs to coffee shops… I never knew the sun could walk into a place until I met you.”

With that, I nuzzled myself into his arms, like an invisible shield of protection had surrounded me. The entire galactic force, the emperor’s army could not find me. I was too deep in ecstasy.

Dear Nayla,

You have not contacted me in five months. Are you OK? Are you still mad? Please, Nayla. Respond.

Mikael

The counsel could never have known that I ran into a scruffy-faced writer and on a whim went home and made love with him. The council would not have expected. 

Most people, after all, see being sent to the moon as an honor -- a birthright. Similar to being knighted during medieval times. But I knew there was something behind the facade of splendor. That they were hiding something on the dark side of the moon.

So, we heard of no rocket launches for a week, and there were no armed men coming to get me. I worried, some days, as I did work around the house, being reduced to an early 20th-century housewife while Mikael went out finding work.

I’d think about my brother. How he put his neck on the line for me. How disappointed the council was. I thought about that and had to go see.

“I can’t do this anymore,” I told Mikael. “I can’t hide. My brother will get punished if I do not go.”

“You’re not going to turn yourself in.”

“Of course not, I’m going to speak to him.”

“You can’t do that! They’ll instantly put you in that rocket and take you away.”

“What did you say about hope, Mikael?”

He lowered his head like a scolded child realizing his own words had come back to haunt him.

“I’m going to talk to him and return right away. Trust me,” I said.

Dear Nayla,

Will you respond? This is my 20th transmission with no response.

You remember what I said about the sun? How you made me believe it could walk through a door? It’s true, Nayla. The sun is with you. We have made progress here. The sun shines brightly, but it cannot match your warmth and never will. 

Please shine on me once more.

Mikael.

Dressed in a hood and cloak, I stood by the lonely tree that my brother would go to sit by at lunch. When he was young, he learned something that put fear in him, and from that day he fought his way up through the ranks to become part of the council. He was so tenacious and so heartless at that. As I sat next to him, he already knew.

“What are you doing here,” he said casually eating his berries and grain. 

“I don’t want to go.”

“Nayla, you have to go.”

“Do I? There has to be an option.”

“Nayla, you cannot live through dark of night forever. You have to go or --”

“Or what?”

“I don’t know. No one has ever been silly enough as you to reject such high an honor.”

“If I’m so silly why’d you pick me.”

“I mean silly as inquisitive. I mean silly as marching to your own drummer.”

“They don’t sound silly to me.”

“They are sometimes.”

“Seriously. What will happen to me if I don’t go?”

“You could be arrested. Put in prison, made an example. It could be painful.”

I heard the hurt in his voice. It released a silence between us. Then, no arguments left, I just said the one thing worth saying.

“I’m in love, Braedon.”

Silence again. More pain.

“I think you want to say I’m happy for you Nayla,” I finally found the nerve to say.

“I’m happy for you Nayla, but this is not the time.”

“Tell them I was sick and then go on to the next person. Give me one year and I’ll go.”

Braedon was many things, but he was not sloppy. He was a meticulous person who kept his word and fought to keep it. So it was more than a small success to see him muster, “I’ll see what I can do…”

I stood, hugged him, and kissed him on the cheek. As I hurriedly retreated up the sidewalk he paused me with a warning.

“But I cannot promise it will end well for you.”

I did not care because I was going to stay and I had Mikael. I rushed home to tell him the good news. But on the way home, the word was already spreading that they had found the lost “chosen one” and she was set to take off tomorrow. 

What did this mean? Had someone ratted me out? I trusted that Braedon would fix it by tomorrow and picked up the pace in heading home.

I burst through the door of Mikael’s modest cabin instantly ready to tell him the news.

“Mikael! No more hiding! They’re going to let me stay! They’re going to let me --”

But he wasn’t there. He was gone. Then thoughts began to invade me. Was he the one who ratted me out? Did he make a deal? I looked at the poor condition of his home. What would he do to enact his hope?

I waited all day. All night, clinging to his pillow in place of him, hoping he would return. 

The good news is the soldiers never came. The bad news is neither did Mikael.

My brother was good to his word. He came up with a story that the fugitive had turned herself in. He did this to maintain the authority of the council and their decisions. So that people did not start to believe it was an option. Another person went in my place. The next on their list.

They say the rocketship was extra heavy as it left the atmosphere. That it barely made it to its destination given that added weight. Once the stowaway was there, there was nothing they could do. Earth only had enough material for one rocket a year and the moon had none.

A week later, I received my first transmission from that stowaway and we exchanged transmissions over the course of a year. 

I never saw him again.

Dear Mikael,

The earth is dying now. The population is dwindling. I am sick and hungry. I guess my brother saw long ago that the moon was our only hope and he was only trying to save me from this earthly existence. 

I was never mad at you. I was mad at the world. At fate. And I did not want to give you hope that we would be together again. 

But hope is not a goal, is it? It is a Romance. A balm to soothe your pain.

You have been my hope, Mikael. You have kept me warm in colder times even from far away. I hope you write about me and share our hope with this new world.

Love Always,

Nayla.