The Shell on the Hammock

Every day I lay on the hammock underneath the tree in the backyard, waiting for the sun to set so I can see her again. Within each of her phases, even when I can’t see her, she is love and life. I see her tonight, peeking through the tree branches, as if she’s trying to glance at me. She waves at me and I hear the ocean swiftly moving in the distance.

            I look up at her and her many friends, the stars, and imagine a life with her instead of down on Earth. On this Earth, I am a round-faced little brown girl, the shell in which a constant battle between soul and death—future and destiny, freedom and existence—plays out. With her, my soul doesn’t seek another shell, for it embodies all my thoughts and feelings through a radiant purple light. With her, I let all my worries soak back into the shell while my soul dances through the sky to be with her. I skip over stars like stepping stones, with one hand reaching out towards her and, when I’m finally close enough to reach her, the stepping stones fade and I fall back through the sky, plunging towards the shell in the hammock. 

            Laying back in the hammock, I look at her as she slowly moves through the sky. “Why can’t I live with you?” I ask her in the same way I’ve asked her every night before. She only stares back, full and pale, wide and welcoming, yet never letting me reach her. I let it go, she’s never been really talkative. Instead, I watch her all night, eventually falling asleep with her as she sets in the west and waking up to a bright and empty blue sky.

            Later that day, I return to the backyard when the sky is bruised with pinks, purples, and oranges with deep blue undertones. Her pale silhouette is almost full in the distance. I lay on the hammock as the sky fills with stars and deepens to a dark blue, waiting for her to arrive. When she does arrive, the night repeats itself. A glowing purple light prances and twirls through the sky towards its friend, the Moon. The ocean roars and clashes into the sand with every step I take closer to her. With the last step needed to finally embrace her, I sink back into a pool of flesh and bones, which forces me to embrace reality instead. I’m not sad; I still have hours and days left with her, to grow old with her. For the rest of the night, I talk to her about dreams, fears, and my questions about the life I have now. I watch her until she fades into the neighborhood, distant mountains and trees covering any trace of her—no proof showing she was actually there for those who slept through her performance.

            With nothing else to do for the day, I fall asleep in my bed and sleep until my room is bright and hot with the Sun, reminding me of the life I can’t live with the Moon. I wake up and move around, do my daily routine with no motivation, just muscle memory. I make myself something to eat, dress myself, shower, etc., but I lay in my bed all day wondering why I have this life that lacks fulfillment and happiness. I know I’m supposed to experience more than the Moon and her stars; I should experience sunshine and long summer days, but the Moon calls me towards her without ever letting me go with her. 

            Throughout the day, the fluffy clouds dim the Sun’s light as they pass by and visit. I watch the lighting change in my room every twenty minutes or so and wish I had as many visitors as the Sun. As the day ages, the sky turns grey and the air is humid. The clouds become giant grey shadows covering the Sun, displaying her usual cheerful yellowness as a miserable white light staring at me, and I imagine the conversations they’re having. Are the clouds filled with rage so they’ve decided to rain on her parade? Or are they filled with tears because they are background figures in the Sun’s light? Either way, they don’t pass and I still see them as I walk past my patio towards the hammock.

            I lay on my back, looking straight towards the sky and waiting for it to grow into a deeper blue. However, I don’t get a deep blue. Instead, the cloudy night sky has given me a dark and empty space, impairing me from making out the shapes of different stars and constellations, and keeping me from my dance with her. I look for her everywhere in the pitch black space in front of me and I can’t find her.

            I decide to go back inside and fall asleep before the Sun is awake, which is a learning experience. Before I lay down in my bed, I pull my blinds towards the top of the window frame, exposing the pitch black night sky and a far off yellow street light. If she does decide to visit tonight, her light will shine through my window, symbolizing her arrival.

            I close my eyes, but I’m not really sleeping. I’m waiting for her to visit my window or call me outside to see her fully and continue our dance. She doesn’t stop by all night, not even a quick peek, leaving me with an empty feeling when I see the Sun rise again. With this disappointment, I finally let myself sleep through the day.

            Despite the clouds going away and the Sun taking it’s familiar route through the sky, this day goes by slower and weaker, each activity completely draining me. Rising to my feet, making a bowl of cereal, and brushing my teeth all become struggles, so I sink back into my bed and let the Sun do what she does: Heat up my room.

            The sky is clear and the Sun is setting as I walk to our usual meeting place—the hammock. Tonight, the sky grows blue and the Moon shows herself in her full light, the ocean rumbling behind her. I don’t ask her about yesterday or why she couldn’t visit; instead, I enjoy the time I do have with her, short-lived but sparkling. The stars dance next to her, singing to my soul and bringing her from hiding. I leave the shell behind as I dance through the crowd of stars, slowly getting closer to her. I live this moment: the warm air on my glowing body, the light all around me and the darkness behind us, and the Moon finally embracing me. I’ve reached her, but I can’t stay. For this moment, we dance and sing as her light bounces on my cheeks. Eventually, we say goodbye and I dive back towards Earth and jump into my shell on the hammock.