The Waking Moon

Chapter Three

The boy was about my age. He was lying face up in the middle of the road, his arms sprawled out to the sides. The snow kept falling in big flakes and everything was completely silent. It was a narrow, residential street lined with maple trees and ranch houses whose windows were either dark or flickering with the blue light of TV screens.

The boy’s bicycle, an old three speed with a chipped brown frame, had flown onto the sidewalk. The front tire was bent into a right angle and the back tire was still spinning around and around. His jeans were torn open at the hip where he must have skidded along the ground. As I got closer, I could see a glimpse of his underwear through the hole.

I kneeled down in the snow beside the boy, my body shivering out of control. He was wearing a dark blue down jacket that was ripped open at the shoulder, and black gloves. One of his tennis shoes was missing and his sock looked shockingly white. His eyes were half closed but his eyeballs flickered around. His lips were moving but no sound was coming out. I looked back at our car. The tail end had crunched into an old Toyota pickup parked along the curb. Mom had gotten out and was holding onto the door, puking into the street.

“Hey, are you okay?” My voice sounded strange and high-pitched, like a little kid. “We’ll call an ambulance, okay?”

I touched the boy’s hand and watched his face. He had perfect skin that was unblemished, except for a small gash on his cheekbone. Snowflakes were collecting in his thick, black eyebrows, and the little hairs that crisscrossed over the bridge of his nose. I couldn’t stop looking at his face. He was the most beautiful boy I’d ever seen.

“Is he okay, Paulie?” Mom called from the car, her voice a loud whisper. She held onto the open door for dear life, afraid to go any farther. “Paulie?”

“Call 911, mom!” I yelled. “Hurry!” I noticed a guy looking out his front window at us, and then a woman came and stood next to him.

Suddenly, the boy started to shiver. I didn’t know what to do, so I put his gloved hand to my mouth and breathed on it. His hands were big and trembled so much it was like they were vibrating inside. I could smell his musky cologne. Snow kept landing in his hair and eyebrows, turning them white like an old man.

Then he opened his eyes and looked right at me. They were dark brown and deep set, with long lashes. He seemed lucid and normal now, as if the shock of the accident had worn off. I sighed with relief.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey.” I tried to smile, but my lips were trembling from the cold. “Are you okay?”

The boy smiled weakly, his eyes never leaving mine. He gazed at me in a way no one ever had before. Like he was marveling at something beautiful. After a moment, he wriggled out of the glove.

“Hold my hand,” he whispered.

He reached toward me with his bare hand. His fingers were wide and strong, with round calluses on the tip of every finger. A guitar player, I thought. Breathlessly, I wrapped both of my hands around his, and our frozen skin felt strange pressed together. His teeth started to chatter.

“Don’t let go,” he said.

I had never really held a boy’s hand before, much less one who looked like a model lying in the snow for a photo shoot. My stomach fluttered and I found myself holding my breath. It was hard to know how badly he was hurt. I had a feeling he was just shaken up, that his leg was probably broken, but he’d be okay. But he was clearly frightened, and probably would’ve held the hand of a disintegrating leper if they’d arrived at his side instead of me. Soon he’d be back with his people, I thought—the beautiful people—and forget all about this moment. And me. I ran my fingers shyly over his knuckles, trying to memorize the feel of his skin.

I glanced at my mom. She was leaning against the car and talking to someone on her cell phone. Her voice was hysterical.

“It’s going to be okay,” I whispered. “Someone will come soon.”

The boy closed his eyes and smiled. His fingers twitched and then slid through my own, and he gripped my hand like a boyfriend does. Firm. Possessive. So this is how it feels, I thought. His fingers were like ice, so I slipped our entwined hands under my shirt and pressed them hard to my stomach. The boy sighed and, in spite of the gasp of cold, I felt a wave of warmth rush through me.

His face was growing pale. I leaned forward to brush out the snow that was collecting in his hair, and that’s when I saw the hole in his head. The bone was just gone, cracked wide open, and oozing black jelly into the snow. My mind reeled for a moment as if I were being tossed about on violent waves. But I held his hand as tight as I could, and acted as if everything were fine.

The boy didn't speak again. But he continued to smile as if he were in love and falling asleep to some beautiful dream.