I've Never Lived on the Moon

Chapter 4: By the Light of the Dawn

Chesterington claimed to value its women more than its men. If this was true, women like Wayland's wife, Emily, would have been given compensation for him being gone. They lived in fear of being drafted too. There were few protections in place during the war. When I met Emily I got a better understanding of what happened when women were left behind. They had to fight to keep their farms and any land they owned. Without the men there to help with work, they called on other women for help. It was successful and businesses thrived. Most businesses in Chesterington were run by women anyway. Leaving it up to them was doing the country better. I began to understand why the men always got shipped off instead. We were inferior, barely necessary. When Wayland returned home, Emily hardly needed him at all. Her friends had come to assist with repairing storm damage and Wayland's job was to go get more supplies. They tried to put him to work but he was injured too badly. Emily admitted she had a great time without him, but that didn't stop her from missing him. As we walked uptown, I wondered about their marriage. Wayland was smitten. Every time Emily spoke or smiled at him, he melted into a puddle. She walked out in front of us and led us like dogs on a leash. She was gorgeous. Her amber hair was curled and bounced against her red polka dot dress. She wore the shoes Wayland picked up the other day. They matched her dress. After telling me and Celestine how she got along without Wayland, she announced that she was running for mayor of Oxbury. It was part of a phenomenon sweeping all of Southchester. With any luck women would be in charge of all four directions by November. They were likely to win. Women were sick of rich men being in power to save their own asses. Men returning were feeling the same. I never voted for a man. It went against my morals.

Uptown Oxbury was heaven for bricks. Every wall of every building, the street, and sidewalks were all made of some kind of brick. Some were red, lots were orange. Many others were made of different stones, which made them tan or brown. A person could go around town recording all the colours and shapes. I was amazed we didn't have to do that in school for a "fun" project. A lot of buildings were painted. Most were black or dark purple. The variety store had been red until the owner decided to paint it nauseating green. It was a truly hideous colour. It no longer matched the buildings on either side. This part of the village centered around a park. Over the years it became more like a community garden. It was for the adults rather than children. There was no equipment for kids to climb all over. Still, it was a great place to get fresh air. We had plenty of that on our farms, so it was better for socialisation and fresh air without the scent of cows. Emily packed a picnic and was now scoping out a place in the grass. She wasn't the only one who thought of such a thing. I noticed as we walked that Oxbury was still missing a great number of its men. I wondered if it would ever recover. I saw women walking without their husbands. Older men and young boys were there, with the occasional hardworking farm owner sprinkled in. A whole grouping of guys my age was just gone. Oxbury wasn't hit as hard as some other places with a bigger population. Guys around me had entitlement to their farms. I sat in the grass and watched everyone. In spite of the war not getting better yet, people were running and chasing each other. They laughed and cried out with joy. Children were singing mocking songs at each other. They rolled down the hill one after the other and landed on the street in a pile. Once upon a time I used to do that too. We would throw ourselves down face first into the dirt and see what happened. Back then the ride down the hill was much steeper and thrilling. These days I would be down the hill in a couple seconds flat. Where was the fun in that?

The picnic was a small feast. Each of us got a sandwich, cold soda, bowl of potato salad, carrot sticks, a bag of sweets, and a mint. Emily carried the blanket, a quilt of a thousand colours stitched together by all the generations of her family. I felt strange sitting on such an intricate piece of history. She spread it out over the grass without a single worry about dirt or grass stains. Once all of us had our food, she explained why she chose the quilt. The women in her family came together every week and added a little bit onto it for years. It was the last thing her great grandmother ever sewed. To honour her, the quilt was taken outside in the summertime. It had seen starry nights and bright sunny days. And now to honour the others that were gone, Emily liked to have a yearly picnic uptown. We were dining with her ancestors. Wayland already knew this but listened to her story. What he didn't know was how she'd still taken part in the annual dance without him while he was away. But she didn't admit to that yet. We were able to eat in peace. Bugs were still minimal. I heard them buzzing but they didn't fly in my face. Celestine squinted at the bright sun and gripped his sandwich with both hands. He liked them cut into triangles, which he took upon himself with a fork this time. The chime from the clocktower rang out loud and told us it was noon. The dance didn't start for another 5 hours. There were ways to kill time until then. I asked myself what we could do with that time. Everyone but Celestine had seen Oxbury a million times. If he was going to live with me in this place, he might as well get used to it.