MAN ON THE MOON
In her dream she was flying over the coast of Africa. Not that she had ever been to Africa, but she just knew that the landmass below was, in fact, the southern tip of Africa. That is how dreams usually go. There are no questions or uncertainties—things just are. She then shot up to space and soared around the planets. She was circling Saturn when she first saw him: a man lying on his back on the surface of the moon. He waved to her, smiling. She was reluctant to return the wave. Who was he? What did he want? Even in a dream she knew enough not to encourage strangers. He gestured for her to come closer, but she flew past and circled Jupiter instead.
In the morning she felt rested and refreshed, and for the first time in a long while she was calm. She credited her contentment to a good night’s sleep, which had been hard to come by these past few months as the world was punching its way through a global pandemic. The evening news overflowed with grim stories of death and devastation. Basic necessities were scarce. No one was allowed to leave home unless absolutely necessary. The monotony combined with extreme anxiety had been challenging, to say the least. As you can imagine, her dream had been a welcome change from the nightmares she had been experiencing. As is typical with dreams, she couldn’t quite remember the details; it was just the feeling that stayed with her and the murky image of a mysterious man lying on the surface of the moon.
The next night she was flying over South America. She looked down and deduced that she must be near Chile. Not that she had ever visited or even studied Chile, but this was her dream and she decided the landmass below her outstretched body was Chile—and so it was. She then shot up to space and circled the planets. That is when she saw him again. Just like before, he was lying on his back, his arms folded behind his head. When he saw her, he sat up and waved excitedly.
“Hey!” he called. “You came back!”
She hovered above the moon studying this stranger.
“Please come down and sit with me for a moment. It’s quite a beautiful view from here.”
“Who are you?” she asked.
“A friend,” he replied with a wide smile. “Please come down. I’ve been here for months. I’m dying for some company.”
She hovered a little closer. She was still reluctant to trust him, but then she reminded herself that it was a dream. If things got sticky, she could simply wake up.
“Well,” she said. “Just for a moment.”
“Excellent,” he said. “Sit next to me. We can talk.”
She wasn’t quite ready to be so familiar, so she touched down a few feet away. The surface of the moon was a lovely, creamy yellow-beige. She was surprised to find that it was actually soft and had a bit of give. She hugged her knees and studied the man. He looked to be approximately her age, maybe a year or two older. He was wearing a suit and vest with a thin tie. Peeking above his high-top canvas sneakers she could see colorful socks. From where she sat, it looked as if the pattern was cats and dogs holding umbrellas, but she couldn’t be sure.
“Would you like a cheese sandwich?” he asked, producing a small, rectangular package.
“No, thank you,” she replied.
“They are quite good,” he said. “I made them myself.”
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“I assumed you would know the answer to that question. This is your dream, after all,” he said, taking a bite of sandwich. “Are you sure you don’t want one? You look like you could use a little food.”
“No, thank you,” she said, ignoring his last statement as she stared into space.
She had to admit it was a beautiful view from where they sat. Deep space was an inky blue-black that seemed to swallow dimension. Stars flew past and planets rotated so close she could almost touch them. The colors were saturated, so intense she almost couldn’t look at them for very long. The stars were a brilliant, pure white light.
“How long have you been here?” she asked.
“Oh, I really don’t know. It’s been ages, I can tell you that. I was beginning to lose hope.”
“What do you mean?”
“I think that should be obvious. I’ve been waiting for you.”
“I don’t understand,” she said.
“That’s OK. This is a dream. It doesn’t have to make sense or have any meaning at all. The most important thing is that you are here.”
She smiled in spite of her reluctance to befriend him. She watched as the indigo blue of space turned a light shade of azure. The planets slowed, the stars stood still, and everything faded to the muted colors of morning. And though she wasn’t quite ready to leave the moon, she realized she was waking up.
All that day she couldn’t stop thinking about her dream and the man in the suit. This time she could remember him with perfect clarity, every detail, right down to his colorful socks. And even though the waking world was still on lockdown, still in chaos, it didn’t matter, she didn’t care. That night, she put two oatmeal cookies in the pocket of her pajamas and went to bed early.
Instead of flying over South America or Africa or Europe, she flew directly to the moon.
“Hello!” the man called.
“Hello,” she replied, hovering above.
“Please, come keep me company,” he said. “I have sandwiches again. This time they are egg salad.”
“Well, I can only stay for a minute,” she said.
“Fine, fine,” he said smiling.
She sat down, this time a little closer to the man. He gave her an egg salad sandwich, which she accepted, and she gave him one of her oatmeal cookies.
“Lovely!” he cried with such genuine pleasure that she blushed.
They sat side by side watching the planets and stars and the mysterious blackness of space. She felt aligned, at ease, content—things she had not felt in a long time, if ever.
“I hear that things are not so good on planet Earth,” the man said, interrupting her thoughts.
“No,” she replied, taking a bite of cookie. “Things are bad.”
“I much prefer it here,” he said.
“Don’t you get lonely up here?” she asked.
“Don’t you get lonely down there?”
“I suppose, but I have friends and family down there.”
“And I have you up here.”
“But you are a dream,” she said. “I’ve made you up. You are not real.”
“But what if I am real? What if I am the most real thing in your life? What if I am real and everything else is made up? What then?”
She didn’t know what to say. They sat in silence watching the planets spin by, and stars shooting past, and meteors rocketing all around. Just as the night before, the deep blue of space became muted. The planets slowed, the stars stood still, and everything began to fade.
“I have to go,” she said. “It will be morning soon.”
“You can stay,” he replied. “You don’t have to leave. We could sit side by side and watch the stars forever if you like.”
She thought about this idea. Always living on the moon with the man in the suit. The very idea unnerved her, it was so unknown, so fantastic.
“No,” she said, getting up. “I have family, responsibilities, friends.”
“But do you have anyone like me?” he asked, already beginning to fade himself.
All that next day she considered her dream. She decided not to go back that night. For as much as she looked forward to her visits to the moon and the man in the suit, the very idea of staying forever frightened her. Could she really trust her heart? What if it should all go badly, what then? No, much safer to continue with her life as it had been before her trips to the moon. Before she met the man in the suit. Life on Earth was predictable and at times monotonous, but it was what she knew. It was better to keep it that way.
For the next month she stayed away. She flew over every conceivable part of planet Earth and even touched down in a few places. Every morning she woke feeling empty. Not one of her many trips gave her the same joy as one visit to the moon and the man in the suit. She decided to risk it and go back. She put two oatmeal cookies in the pocket of her pajamas and went to bed before the sun had fully set.
She flew directly to the moon. The man in the suit wasn’t there. She flew all the way around and still could not find him. She touched down on the creamy yellow surface, hugged her knees, and watched the planets and meteors and stars. She had waited too long—he was gone. She cried quiet tears of regret for what she had had and what she had lost.
“You came back,” he said in an almost imperceptible whisper.
The man in the suit was sitting beside her, but he was so faded, so weak, she could barely see him.
“I missed you,” she said. “I missed our visits and the moon.”
“I missed you too,” he said. “It’s a good thing you came when you did. I was almost gone—a forgotten memory.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” she said, handing him an oatmeal cookie.
“It doesn’t have to,” he said, accepting the cookie. “This is a dream; it doesn’t have to make sense or have any meaning at all. The most important thing is that you are here.”
She lay back, put her hands behind her head, and knew she was home.
***
Wood Reede’s fiction has been featured in Quiet Lightening and (mac)ro(mic). Her essay, A Good Idea, will be published in Puerto del Sol in December. She lives in Los Angeles with her husband, son, their opinionated, one-eyed rescue cat, and Watson, their Miniature Schnaupin. www.woodreede.com.
