Robbers // H.S.

six

Eclipse - Pink Floyd

August 9, 2021

I've always thought there was something special about the moon.

I envy the moon. It is so beautiful hanging up there among the stars, yet it can never be fully captured on camera.

The fire escape is cold against my legs, and the wind sends goosebumps raising on my arms. There's subtle coos from the birds, and crickets chirping. I don't know how long I've been out here, but I can't seem to bring myself inside despite the chill.

I used to spend my nights alone, utop the roof, but when new tenants moved in down the hall, they seemed to claim it as their territory, smoking weed up there every night. I catch a whiff of the pungent smell every now and then.

I really should have brought a blanket out here.

I keep my eyes up at the sky. There's a dust of clouds, but the luminescence from the moon still breaks through. I try connecting the stars, assigning made up astrological signs to the clusters I've made.

It helps clear my head. There's always something brewing up there, banging against the sides of my skull ready to break out. Sometimes it confines me to my bed, others I am strong enough to rid my brain of any thoughts.

I wish I was up there, on the moon.

It would be so peaceful.

Silent.

Limitless.

When I was younger, maybe eight or nine, on full moon nights or when there was some sort of eclipse, my father would bring Kitty and I from our beds and out to the backyard. There would be blankets and pillows in the grass, dew already forming a thin layer on the ground.

He would tell us to be quiet, not to wake mother. We would tiptoe through the house, and being so young, Kitty and I felt cool for breaking the rules.

If mother found out about her kids being awake so late and into the early morning, she would have chastised all three of us.

Kitty would sit on the corner of the blanket with her stuffed monkey, George, while telling him outrageous stories that she conjured up in that little head of hers about aliens and space.

Father and I would be laying on our backs, staring at the sky. He would trace the constellations with his finger, naming each one. He knew them like the back of his hand. I'd rest my head on his shoulder while my eyes followed the outlines.

After a few times of being outside on nights like that, I told him about my dreams of being on the moon. Hearing a young child talk about wanting to go to space, it made sense that he assumed I just wanted to be an astronaut.

In reality, I just wanted to leave earth.

He'd call me his 'Moon Child'. It was only between us two, though. Mother didn't like the theories built around astrology, so he would only say it when he would come say goodnight.

"Sleep tight, my Moon Child." he'd say.

For my last birthday with him, he got me a book all about the moon and stars. When I pulled the wrapping off, my face lit up with excitement. I jumped up and ran into his arms.

Mother was not happy.

The next day, she took me to the bookstore to return it. Got me a story book about fairies instead. Said something about how girls my age should be reading about love and fantasy instead of 'astrology bullshit'.