Sunny Moon

Her name was Moon like the sun.

When she was five, or maybe six, it wasn’t something important for her to remember, she almost drowned. Her memories were vague, like they are at that age, but when she recalls it she sees water gushing through her eyes and strong hands grasped around her. She tells people this story, though the story she tells wasn’t based on memory but one that was passed to her by her parents who remembered it more accurately. They had been at the rock pools by the beach and a slight misjudgement has sent her slipping into the choppy waters. She was chasing after a mermaid. It had been her father that had saved her and during those times when a child doesn’t want to love their parent she remembered how he had been willing to jump into the choppy waters to save her. Even if she didn’t want to she had to love him.

When she was ten or maybe eleven a man had come up to her as she walked home from school. He pulled up his car beside her and got out as she kept walking. She remembered the chrysanthemums that had been growing by the side. The conversation was something she couldn’t remember but the fear she did, like a blanket numbing her body. What she also remembered was her mother running towards her. What happened to the man she wasn’t sure, but she thought he had gotten back into his car and left. It had been a lucky day for her mother to decide to meet her halfway. When she was angry she always remembered how her mother had saved her from that man. Even if she didn’t want to she had to love her.

When she was nineteen, and she was sure it was nineteen, she didn’t want to live anymore. When people asked her about interesting things that had happened in her life she told them about almost drowning and when they asked her about dangerous circumstances she told them about the man. But she never told them anything else. She had to love her parents and there was no love in telling about how they screamed and hit and made her cry. Through her tears she recalled the gushing water and the man, and felt the strong hands and saw her mother’s face. She remembered how they saved her and she had to love them.

It was easier for her to die and keep the love than to live and struggle with it. If she had lived maybe when she was thirty-four, or fifty-one they would have told her the truth; that they had named her Moon because she was always needed, never fully appreciated and hated for not doing what was wanted, like the sun. They might have even told her the whole truth; that they had wanted to hold the sun in their hands, to make sure it was always theirs, even if it meant dousing it or covering it in clouds. Sometimes the only way to keep the sun, was to make it believe it was the moon. Unlike the sun the moon depended on something else but it didn’t make any difference now.

Her name was Moon and she had love but none of it mattered anymore.