Moon Rise Over Oia

As the late-day light shifts, Isa waits at the rooftop Pelekanos Café, sipping wine from island caves and watching for the professor. The Athenian archaeologist chose the Pelekanos as a meeting spot because, “if you like the moon,” he said on the phone, “this is the best moon rise you will hope to witness.”

   Noticing the professor is late, the writer glances down at her reflection in the glass. How different she looks in this colorful Thira backdrop, far from Los Angeles and the world she knows. In the volcanic heat, her eyes seem bright blue, her skin bronze from the island sun, her cheeks flushed from the jetlag.

  Hearing the hum of voices, Isa looks to the west. She lifts her face to the breeze to take in the range of hues. From the terrace high on the Oia cliff, the colors streaking the sky shift from lilac to dark plum before the sun burns scarlet over the surrounding isles. And in the evening wind, the rows of whitewashed cave dwellings and cliffs start to look like a surreal blend of watercolors.

  Looking out toward the Aegean, Isa shudders and remembers her turbulent flight over this same water just last night. She remembers Lise’s words. “This isn’t you, Isa—you don’t even believe in flying.” Isa tells herself that somehow she’ll overcome her fear of water and planes. She wonders how she will get back onto that small jet in just three days.

  The colors continue to shift and Isa things of how she took the assignment last minute—anything to get away. Then remembers Lise’s warning. “Greece is a long ways away if you don’t know anyone, Isa. What if something happens to you while you’re there?”

  Isa shifts her thoughts to Adam, her fiance, who stood in the door the morning she packed.

  Startled by the hum at the taverna, Isa stands tall on her toes to look past the crowd that’s gathered at the eastern ledge of the open-air bar. As if preparing for a ritual, a local band is opening the evening with an expressive liquid jazz tune. The crowd at the ledge falls silent and stares intently toward the east.

  In a seemingly ancient dance, the early summer moon is beginning her ascent from deep in the endless sea that surrounds the hot white-painted isle. An abundant glowing sphere, the new moon starts to dance regally out of the mysterious Aegean, staring back at the dreamers with a playful, knowing smile. Like a mischievous woman, the moon continues transcending the earth slowly, filling up the sky as she seeks more attention. The altering hues around her reflect on the whitewashed facades, transforming some from pure white to pale yellow, others from melon to bluish pink, the last from orange to deep crimson.

  Just as the moon completes her rise, the tall professor turns in from the cobblestone path with a rhythmic stride. “Delighted to meet you.” He approaches Isa, bowing slightly as he begins, “Christos Nikolopoulos, professor of mythology and archaeology,” then holds out both expressive hands to greet her. “They say Isa means ‘promise.’ More specifically, ‘God’s promise.’”

   “Please don’t remind me,” Isa tries to smile as she reaches for his hand.

   He stares back puzzling with dark eyes as if the language hasn’t translated properly.

  “It’s just that I’ve come from far away to forget my promises.” Isa stares out toward the scattered pattern of isles then turns back to him. “But what about you? I mean, I came to write about your research.”

   Christos continues under the full dancing moon, his dark frame creating a large yet elegant silhouette. “Yes. As for me, I travelled here on my boat and am for the week visiting Akrotiri, our local excavation site. I’m sure you have heard of it, no? Some refer to it as the Greek Pompeii. Next week I sail to Venice for an important project. Such is my life.”