The Moon Part II. And You.
There was a Full Moon in the middle of this week and it felt good. My favourite way to see the moon is the first few moments of dusk, when the sun is setting and the moon is rising. Day and night held together in one sentence.
On Tuesday night we walked out of a pub hand in hand. It was the first day of Spring and you bought me flowers. I looked up and saw the Full Moon shining pale but determined over the city, which was glittering back the reflected orange light of the sunset. You know I love the moon. A few months back you bought me a necklace that reminded you of the moon and tonight you bought me yellow tulips because they reminded you of me. And as the first days of Spring begin, after a year of icy cold winter, I feel myself warming up to you.
December 31st 2017. New Year’s Eve. The night before the Full Moon. It was frigid. It was so cold that I didn’t want to go out and face the night, but it was New Year and you were going to be there. I hadn’t seen you since I got back from my ill-fated trip to California. What it was about you, I didn’t really know yet but when I hugged you that night it became clearer. At parties I’ve always known where you are in a room. It had always been that way, I just didn’t think too much about what it meant but that night, in the muddle of the New Year crowd, I could feel you out with my eyes closed. Will was there too. We were hanging on by a thread and your edges were sharp.
I’m not a shining example of how to act. Not for that last month anyway. I curl into a ball and grind my teeth at night when I think about some of the ways I handled things then. When the midnight moment came I spent it with Ruth, who above all is my greatest love in all rooms, but also I felt so deeply that I couldn’t kiss my broken down boyfriend in front of you. I didn’t want you to witness a moment that wasn’t real. That, and I’ve always had my own New Year superstitions. I’d rather not be by the side of someone I know deep down wont be around for much longer and on that night, I knew that was Will.
You eyes met mine at midnight. Green on dark green. Muddy waters. We were in trouble.
Later you and I took a Polaroid picture. Smiles and a ridiculous party horn. You still carry the picture in your wallet. You kept it better than you kept me last year. It still looks the same as the night the image appeared from the camera, but I certainly don’t.
The next New Year you were in the room too and again I knew exactly where, but I spent the night avoiding your eyes for fear of how deeply they might cut me. Muddy water is better than bloody water and I had had enough.
But that night, that day, the first few hours of 2018, the three of us shared an Uber home. We all sat together in the back, me in the middle, my broken down boyfriend on one side and you on the other. Our knees touched and neither of us moved them away. What was I doing? What was was this sad sitcom. When I got out of the car, the moon was shining cold, clear and judgemental. Ever the voyeur to my drama.
January 1st 2018. The first Full Moon. The last Full Moon.
A week later, The Moon was waning, slipping just like me. It was my 29th birthday and I had a space themed party. You came dressed as a Moon Man. Of course you did. Whatever that is. At that point I had to admit it to myself and to Will. Within a week it was over for good. He left for England on a moonless night and I cried in our dark house for days, knowing that MY days were numbered. I started gathering boxes.
The Moon shon bright the night we kissed but shouldn’t have. We couldn’t stop it. It hadn’t quite finished setting the next morning when I took a brisk walk by the lake. Little pale moon in a cold blue sky. It has always been there watching and judging and pulling and pushing. It offers no advice, but reflects back what I already know to be true.
A week later and Will and I did a grand switcheroo in England. I arrived as he left. We met at Liverpool Street Station and cried over a Whetherpoons burger and chips. It had come to this. Salty salads and real ale. We only had an hour until he had to go. Toronto to London. London to Toronto. The cities so involved in the making and breaking. It was only right they were both involved at the very end.
There were no Full Moons to greet me in my motherland. A process of waning and waxing for three weeks, just like I needed. When I got back though… well, you already know I moved into my new home under the light of a Full Moon. Somehow it’s always there. Through the big decisions and the landmark moments reminding me there is always something bigger than me.
I remember each of the moons in 2018. The second March moon, the second Blue Moon of the year, was a little light of encouragement after one of the most difficult yet liberating months of my life. I looked to April’s Pink Moon for help on an outdoor step in Orlando, Florida. A hot tight throat and a gin and tonic in my hand. Cheers to you, Moon, your constant ebb and flow reassured me.
I smoked a cigarette on the curb outside my house under May’s Flower Moon. I hated you then, but by June I was drinking beer on your porch and thinking this was it. You came and went like a lunar cycle last year. I expected it of The Moon but each time it came from you I was surprised. I didn’t think I would be able to forgive you.
Phoebe, Caroline and I formed a bond over our love of The Moon. They could feel it too and we’d toast to it and smile. Last night I bought them both a moon stone. A little reminder of our connection and a reminder that there is something else bigger than us out there. One cold winter night Phoebe bought me a deck of tarot cards. A surprise as we sat at a bar drinking cocktails. They have to come to you, so they say. I firmly believe that you should believe what you want, so if I’ve lost you here then that’s cool, but know one of the cards I pull most often is The Moon. It seems as drawn to me as I am it.
I stood defiant in New York City in a yellow coat and black boots two nights before December’s Cold Moon. By this point I was alone but determined, determined that the last moon of the year would be the last that presided over this mess. I was going to sort my shit out. There was no reason not to. The cusp of 2019. The cusp of 30. The entire universe beyond our little satellite was telling me to step up, it was screaming it at me, and so I did.
The Moon shon wild and bright the night I arrived back in England for the second time that year. This time after an unplanned journey through Budapest. What a 24 hours they had been. What a 365 days these has been. We had almost done a full rotation and the circle I had been drawing around my broken heart was almost complete too. I was almost healed. It turns out I had to be rid of the both of you to figure out who I was at the centre of it all. I was beginning to really like me.
You came back and I didn’t want to let you. I held up my hand and said “no”. I had learned my lesson. No more waxing and waning. No more knees touching in cabs. Just me. At my brightest. I didn’t want to forgive you, but one night I took a walk through a snowy park and The Moon was so sneaky looking, like a caricature. A perfect slice. You sent me a message to tell me to look up, so I did and I realized for the first time you were looking up too. Perhaps you also needed to draw your own circle.
So Tuesday night. You and I. Hand in hand. The Moon. Spring winds. A change of tides. Tulips. A new beginning. I think I’m ready now. The next full moon comes on Good Friday. Over to you.