Light of The Moon

The moonlight caressed her face, outlining the sharp perk of her nose and the curve of her eyes, brushing the freckles that were splattered across her cheeks. The wind ran through her tousled hair as it made its way into the already cold attic. Momentarily, she looked like the fifteen-year-old that I had last seen leaning on the windowsill, telling me she was going to California.

“There are better acting gigs there, you know.” She had said, her eyes sparkling. “More opportunities. Definitely better to be an aspiring actor in San Francisco than in Alabama.”

It was also better to be gay in San Francisco than Alabama, but I didn’t tell her that at the moment. There was no need to bring up my murky problems when she had finally managed a bright success.

I stood in the shadow, letting the reality of the situation sink in.

She’s here, like she promised.

I’m here, like I promised.

We’re here. Together. And we’re alright.

I stepped out of the shade, and her eyes caught onto me immediately. She examined me like I did her, and I wrapped my bare arms around myself. Back at the warm house, not bringing a jacket had seemed like a good idea. It was not.

Relief flitted across her features. “You’re okay.”

I nodded, unsure of what to say. It had been so long — almost ten years since we had last seen each other. Ten years since we had last huddled at the window, crying to each other and nursing our wounds. The window was our secret. It was the only place we could go where we could be ourselves safely. Quietly, but safely.

“You are too.” I mumbled awkwardly. It was as if my lips had forgotten how to form words. As if her presence glued my mouth shut.

“I am. I am.” she repeated, like she needed to convince herself. Then she smiled, and it was the smile that I had known since I was nine.

The silence stretched out before us like an open plain, pulling her farther away from me than she had been in San Francisco. We gazed at each other in the moon's light, not wanting the silence to grow longer but too nervous to cross the plain.

“Rosie.” The unspoken words between us seemed to fade as my voice split the quiet air. Her eyes widened in recognition of my old nickname for her, and a slight blush tinted her cheeks. I held out my hand. My fingers unfurled to her as an invitation.

She bit her lip, nervously accepting my offer and slipping her small hand into my open palm. I pulled it to my side and laced my other hand to her back, pulling her into an embrace. It brought back memories, and dispelled whatever worries I had about sneaking into an old, unoccupied house's attic.

With a tune playing in our heads and a rhythm in our hearts, we danced together. We spun, twirled, and frolicked across the wooden floor. The sound of our snow boots against the mahogany bounced off the walls and only added to our fictitious music.

Rosie laughed when we stopped and laid her head onto my shoulder. “I always loved dancing with you. I missed it.” 

I smiled. “I missed this too.”

She traced my now prominent collarbone with her finger, and a look of sadness befell her face. “You haven’t been eating, have you?” she mumbled into my chest.

“I couldn’t bring myself to.” I admitted softly, running my fingers through her hair. 

“Why not?” She asked.

I didn’t answer. There were too many reasons, and I knew they would all sound stupid if I said them out loud, where the walls would steal my voice and vibrate it through the room. Where everything would be said and done, and every single thought I’ve had since she became a star would be out in the open. 

So instead I asked her a question.

“How was San Francisco?”

Rosie laughed and buried her nose into the crevice where my neck smoothed to my shoulder. “Delightful, at first,” she said. “Really. I got an acting gig just a few days after I arrived. I remember I went through that audition… thinking of you.”

Her laughs faded away into obscurity. “I think that was what kept me alive, you know. Thinking of you. I felt like I had nothing to live for after… after…”

I propped her chin up on my hand and pressed my thumb to her mouth, hushing her. I already knew; scandals had plagued her after she turned twenty, five years ago. Her friends in the industry either turned their backs on her or encouraged the rumors for the benefit of their own fame. In the end, it cost Rosie her career.

“I lived for this, you know.” Rosie said, grinning. “Meeting you again. I remembered our promise. I told you I would.”

I smiled. “Yeah. You did. You did.”

Silences seemed to distinguish this night. I didn’t mind them; perhaps it was because my life was a study in loud arguments and belligerent people. Awkward silences, such as this one, would not end in a fistfight.

Even though they were pretty uncomfortable to be in.

She gestured to the still open window. “Do you wanna sit on the roof?”

I chuckled, remembering the first time she had asked. When we were ten, and her parents had let us explore the attic together. This time around though, I was the one who guided her, showing her which tiles to step on and what to hold on to for balance. 

“You’re familiar with this,” she said, a hint of surprise in her voice.

“I’ve been here a few times since you left.” I tried to play it off like I came here for fun. That I came around once or twice a year, and only if I remembered. That I didn’t yearn to come here every day after she had gone, that I didn’t spend hours at a time up on this roof with a packet of gum and a computer. “Guess I’m familiar with the terrain.”

We sat and cast our eyes onto the landscape. The full moon shone in the sky and glinted in our eyes. Before us was the forest, and beyond that was the city, glimmering in the night.

It was just like the first time we had come up here — or the second since the first time she had tripped and twisted her ankle. We were together, quiet but understanding of each other. I wanted peace; she wanted peace. She found it within me, and I found it in the attic of her parents’ old house. I found it when I sat next to the pretty but lonely girl in the cafeteria, who had acted in a Pringles commercial that aired a few days prior. When I lent my crush a pencil in honors science class and abruptly asked her for her name. When I got the number of an aspiring actor who would eventually go on to leave me behind and consequently break my heart.

We huddled close to each other for warmth, and I wrapped my scarf around her neck. She rested her chin on my shoulder and watched the woods. I listened to the crickets’ steady hum as I held her hand. It was as if I was floating amongst the clouds, lost in my own quiet world.

“Avery?” Rosie’s voice broke the hum and brought me back to reality.

“Yeah?” I asked, letting go of her hand. Her eyes were watching me with a burning, almost voracious interest. Stars shone within the bright blue of her iris and caught slivers of the moon. Her hand rose to brush a strand of hair away from my eyes.

“Rosie?” I asked, almost inaudible.

Suddenly, my face was in her palm and her lips were on mine. 

And we kissed, softly, in the light of the moon.