The Boys Who Danced With the Moon

by Mark Paul Oleksiw

  I walked across the room to my door. It was almost 4 a.m. I put on a white T-shirt and blue sneakers. The knot in the laces that I had been too lazy to undo stared back at me. I got up in victory. I walked down the hall and the back stairs of the apartment complex to the recycling bins. I took all of Rob’s notes and prep questions and unceremoniously dropped them in. While I walked back to my apartment, I looked up at the full moon. I could feel my lungs fill with air and, for, the first time in years, I closed my eyes in silent prayer, albeit briefly. I went back up to my place to look for my storage key. Years ago, when I moved here, I had put one item away in the common storage area. It was the only thing I kept from my past.

  I raced far into the back of the basement, rifling through other tenants’ boxes upon boxes of old clothes. Finally, I got to the only box I had long ago hidden deep within this cave. It was far enough to forget about it, yet safe enough to be secure from certain disposal. I dusted off the cardboard cover and slowly lifted it off. When I opened the box, it lay right before me: a NASA flight jacket.

  A rush of emotions hit me at once. Looking at it was like peering into another lifetime and another world. The memory came at me hard and fast.

  It was the much-heralded first day of our senior year. I hadn’t thought about what to wear, and settled on a plain blue cotton T-shirt accompanied by a faded pair of blue jeans. My sneakers were well worn and comfortable. The girls would surely start the first day dressed to the hilt.

  I stopped at the mirror that sat perched menacingly on the small oak dresser. Did I dare look? No teenager could resist the temptation. I seemed dull. Different shades of blue and no radio this year. I felt naked. I could barely hear my dad’s voice as he left for work. My mom had long since left, as her shift at the bakery started at 4 a.m.

  “Kiran, I left you something on the table to buy lunch. PLEASE DO NOT FORGET!” He must have called out numerous times; he was at top volume.

  “Sure, thanks, Dad,” I said.

  I hurried down the stairs and found toast. There was some coffee left in the pot. There was enough for a cup. My parents didn’t like me drinking coffee in the morning and didn’t know I had been doing it for the last year. It was half milk that I drank. I emptied out the pot so they would never know how much I guzzled.

  I saw an envelope right next to a carton of milk, so I wouldn’t miss it. Strange. My dad or mom usually left cash for me to buy lunch, but never put it in an envelope. It wasn’t sealed, so I could make out that there was something else inside beside a ten-dollar bill.

  “Kiran, we left you money for lunch. Please go in the closet in front before you leave. A little something for your last year in high school. Your dad chose it. Love, Mom.”

  I frowned and wondered what it was they left for me in the closet. I could only assume the worst. It was some dreaded sweater or shoes they picked out for me. They tried….

  I was floored when I opened the front entrance closet. The lining underneath was almost a bright orange. It had a wool collar, the exterior was made of nylon, and it was water repellent. The color was blue. My eyes were attracted to the patch of the Orion star system and the unmistakable “NASA” lettering over the right breast. On the left side was the mission patch with an eagle and the word “Apollo.” It was the NASA flight jacket my dad had seen me eyeing when I wandered off into some thrift shop months ago.

  I remembered seeing it hanging on the wall. I had gone in looking to buy a bomber jacket to replace the fighter one that was way too big for me, but the price was way beyond what I had saved up. The flight jacket had caught my eye on my way out. While I gently ran my fingers across the patch, he snuck up beside me.

  “Well, you wanted to be an astronaut.”

  “Aw, that was when I was just a kid. Besides, it costs a lot more than I have,” I said as I dismissively waved my fingers at it and walked out the door ahead of my dad.

  Fricken f’ing awesome. Here it was. How cool was that?! I quickly tried it on and discovered it fit perfectly. I realized at this point that I had better hurry up. I quickly grabbed a pen and scribbled on the envelope.

  “Mom and Dad, thanks. It’s great. Thank you so much.”

  My mom sighed when I came home. “Well, thankfully it fits and looks better than the last jacket you had.”

  I let the past wash over me as I eyed the jacket. The only possession remaining from my youth looked as it did years ago. I knew I needed to go back. Something was waiting for me. A foreboding came over me, dressed in the gaudiest of fear. I was startled by the strength of the emotion welling up inside. I didn’t understand. Why after all these years? I had carefully placed locks, chains, and walls around my memories. Someone was prying them open one by one, and it was not me. I couldn’t understand who was trying to get in. I just needed to get out before they opened the last lock and got to me.

  The moon sending its light to shine on the letter was a sigil sent from my past. I needed to find my way back to the source.

  I slowly walked upstairs and quietly down the hall, retreating to my apartment. I didn’t sleep a wink that night and fought my way through waves of panic attacks that lasted briefly only to return when I thought the worst was over.

  By dawn, I had walked the neighborhood for more than an hour to calm myself down. It was also a way of saying goodbye to a place I must surely leave.

  The couch in my living room became my base camp. It was now almost 5:30 a.m. Usually, I left for work by 6:30 a.m. and in Los Angeles traffic got into the office by 7:30. Rob would often come by, and we would carpool.

  I gently tapped on Rob’s door. He should be up already.

  “You’re early.”

  “Yeah. You’re on your own today, Rob.”

  “You good?”

  “Yes. Just taking the day off to prepare for the interview.”

  “Good idea. Get some rest, too. You look like shit.”

  “Thanks. I will.” As he closed the door, I could hear him muttering something to Avery. He quickly reopened the door.

  “Kiran. I totally forgot. Avery reminded me. I’m flying out tonight for a client meeting in San Francisco tomorrow. You’ll have to fend for yourself in the morning.” Typical Rob, short and to the point.

  “No problem.”

  “Good luck with the meeting tomorrow! Call me once the meeting is done. Promise?”

  “Sure, Rob. You’ll be the first to know how it goes.” Sure, Rob. Good luck.

  He closed the door, and I went back to my apartment. The moon had disappeared and its glow was eaten by rising sun.

  I got more done on this day than I had in a lifetime. I prepared notes for Avery about the plants that needed watering. I made sure all the bills were paid and up to date. Most importantly, I made a one-way flight reservation. Rob would not be back for a day or so and, by then, it would be too late to stop me.

  That night Rob came to see me before his flight to wish me luck again. Avery offered to make me a meal. I refused and told them I needed to be alone to get into the right mindset for my meeting.

  When midnight finally came, I packed a laundry bag with every suit and tie I owned, except one set of clothes. I put on a pair of black beach trunks, a white T-shirt, and sandals. I tiptoed out of the apartment, turned a corner, and walked the three blocks to the beach. I found a quiet spot away from any curious night-owl tourists, laundry bag in tow.

  Emptying the contents of clothing onto the sandy beach, I waited for the waves to come close and take these items away for good. When the tide moved closer to the pile, the beauty of the ocean wrapped its mouth around my brain in a sweet embrace. I quickly grabbed the clothes and raced far from the water. I ran down side streets and back alleys until I found a spot in a dark crevice of a street. I threw the clothes out of the bag and left them in the alley. Hopefully, someone could put them to use.

  I returned to the beach, fre
e at last, and waded in, going farther and farther. When I got deep into the water, I could feel the cuddling of waves, first around my thighs and then my waist and then my shoulders. A voice suddenly called from behind me.

  “Son! Do not go out too much farther. If a strong current comes in, you could be in trouble and there are no lifeguards at this hour.”

  I looked back and noticed someone about forty feet away. I could see the outline, sculpted out of the moon’s glow, of an older woman. I walked back toward her and to the shore.

  “Sorry. I was just daydreaming. I mean night dreaming. You’re right; the waves can be dangerous.”

  She had gray hair. Most striking were her hazel-colored eyes. She was about seventy or so and in decent shape for her age, despite the wrinkles. Her glare was scalding.

  “Out here kind of late, aren’t you?” She was squinting at me, seemingly unsure of what she was seeing.

  “I was thinking the same thing,” I said, laughing.

  “Well, I come out here every night. My husband and I used to come here every night once we retired.”

  “Where is he?” Just as the words tumbled out of my mouth, I knew the answer and felt sheepish for asking.

  “He passed away a year ago,” she said stoically.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be. He’s still always with me.”

  My head tilted as I tried to understand. She caught my cue and elaborated.

  “When he was dying, he told me I could always find him in the moonlight, here on the beach, his favorite place.”

  “That’s sweet,” I said with a smile. “It is a peaceful place. The ocean and the sky. I’m out here often. It reassures me, in a way.”

  “And what are you hoping to find out here in the moonlight at this hour? A young man, out here alone.”

  “Nothing.” I paused and instantly knew the pause was far too long. “Really, I like thinking out here.”

  “Young men do not just come out here to the beach and almost drown themselves unless they are looking for something.” She had a confident look in her eyes.

  “No, seriously. I just like coming here to think and relax. I lost myself in the calmness of the water and went out too far.”

  She sighed as if about to scold a petulant child, but then she seemed to think better of it. “It’s getting a little late, and, at my age, you get tired pretty fast.” She stifled a yawn. “Good luck,” she said as she started to walk away.

  “Thanks and have nice night.”

  She looked over her shoulder at me, turned around, and came walking back toward me. She obviously couldn’t hold back the thoughts attempting to escape.

  “I hope you find her.”

  My eyes widened and my heart started beating wildly as I felt a tremor within me, an unleashing of a dormant hungry force.

  “I think you know what I mean. I hope you find her.” She turned and walked back away from the shore, having made very clear what her message was by repeating it.

  I stood watching her, thinking about what she said. I stared at the moon and sky and closed my eyes. “Find her???” I said to myself out loud. A soft droplet trickled down my cheek and then another and then another, and I thought a splash of water must have hit my eyes.

  It hadn’t happened in so long that I couldn’t recognize my own tears. Wading back to shore, I fell briefly asleep outside the reach of the ocean; my face glazed by my eyes’ salty acid. The angels must have carried me back to my apartment that night, for I have no recollection of ever leaving the beach.

  CHAPTER 7

  I awoke in my bed just as the sun rose. It levitated in a beautiful orange aura. It seemed exceptionally bright, even embracing. I took it to mean that my plans had acceptance. My effort to convince myself was indeed valiant. Within an instant, I could see storm clouds forming far off on the horizon. Even though I knew they would never reach the shore, it was unsettling. My subconscious, I believed, summoned them to warn me. My fists clenched with resolve. There would be no turning back today. Running through an elaborate perpetual maze being chased by a tireless adversary had exhausted me of this game. No longer would I be the hunted, although the choice appeared to have been mine all along.

  I got up, grabbed my car keys and wallet and made my way through my apartment complex. The coarse sand crystals irritated my toes, remnants of my late night walk. My clothes were carefully selected. I wore the one remaining suit and tie still in my possession. They were pardoned the preceding night for one final tour of duty. In the briefcase I carried was a change of clothes and a formally crafted letter. My movements were quick and quiet. I was desperate to ensure Avery did not hear me. Within an instant, I was in my car.

  ***

  At 9:05 a.m, I entered the premises of Beckett and Bells LLP and made my way to the infamous corner office of Mr. Mac McCastle. There were snickers and some staring as I walked into his chambers. I had arrived five minutes late. It was fashionably late on a regular day but today was the day of my big meeting so being late was scandalous. I gave a customary nod of acknowledgment to his administrative assistant and swooped in.

  Mr. McCastle was no doubt expecting me. He was finishing a phone call as I walked in and sought refuge in the oversized and uncomfortable chair in front of him. The Mr. McCastle. The man who had fired many colleagues of mine because their flaw was a lack of commitment to the firm. Firm first, family second. He was the judge and juror of my world. He put his cell phone down with zeal to send a message that I had annoyed him. He had a grim look on his face and made it a point to look at his watch.

  “I know this is the West Coast, Wells. Come on, man, five minutes late! You know how much I bill per hour?” He was only half joking.

  It was customary, or so I heard, for him to set the tone immediately during a meeting. There could be no doubt who the predator and the prey were. I surveyed his desk and surroundings. The traditional family photos sat strategically placed, although everyone in the office knew the old man was never home. Probably had never been to any one of his children’s activities. His habitat was the golf course or some other corporate event. He was always looking to bring in new business. He made it to the top ranks knowing people. Actually, knowing the right people. In his wake was a body count requiring scientific notation to track. Rob belonged to the same country club as him. I declined to join, citing a need to focus on my work years ago. With no family waiting at home, there was nothing to come in second anyway. The firm quickly formed that perception which made me valuable.

  Without making an excuse, I just sat vacantly smiling at him as if I had no idea I was even mildly late. My hand smoothed my tie, waiting for his next move. Sure enough, he could not keep silent for too long, and his paw stretched out across his desk and reached for a file at its edge. It was as he lifted out from his seat when I realized the secret to his magic. His chair was propped up inches higher than mine, giving him the advantage of an illusion of grandeur. No matter how he sat in that chair, he would be talking down to me. Capturing a glimpse of his insecurity, I smiled to myself.

  “Are you in a good mood, Wells? You should be. You should be, young man.” He reclined back in his chair, and it was evident he wasn’t interested in having a two-way conversation. He didn’t wait for a response, nor did he even give me the courtesy of the fake expression of interest. Small talk was never time well spent in his world. I worked for him. I was not a client, so the witty repartee of a conversation carried no value.

  He opened the file and laughed as he spoke of my impressive credentials and recapped my professional history going back to my university education. He talked about all the billable hours, the commitment I made regarding travel whenever the firm needed me, and of all my performance reviews. The names of the clients I had worked on and how much money the firm had billed on all of these trickled from his tongue. He then mentioned how Rob had lobbied him a
t the country club for the past year. Rob apparently told him I would do anything for the firm and how committed I was to its success. This betrayal I absorbed in stride because today I would have the final say. The diatribe took a turn just as my patience to sit and listen was waning.

  Mr. McCastle put the file down and stared at me. He then proceeded to tell me point-blank how he opposed my being promoted to partner because I lacked the social and networking skills for such a venerable position. He doubted I would be able to bring in new business. New business was needed to keep the blood flowing in this corporate body. Then, of course, came that moment that was supposed to make him the friendly teddy bear of a leader. He would support my promotion regardless because I was the consummate team player. His exact term was “good soldier.” I grinned when he turned that phrase. The smile was not because it carried substantive meaning to me. Good soldiers tended to get shot first. The irony amused me. The words were my starter’s pistol.

  I began to stare in earnest at the gold business card holder perched near the front of his desk. It was pointed directly at me and to any visitor in this office. As he took a pause to suck seemingly whatever air remained in the room for himself, I slowly leaned over and plucked one of the cards out of the placeholder and began admiring it. My hands cupped it while my fingers caressed it almost seductively. He stared at me, bewildered.

  “Excellent quality paper, sir. Very alluring.” I then muttered to myself in envious disgust and made darn sure he heard. Each syllable was in tune to a stroke of a finger on the card. “Even better than my card. A bit too much better.” I looked up at his befuddled expression and placed the card back in the holder.

  My eyes reached out to him as I asked to leave for a break. I described to him my coffee habit and the need to relieve myself. I shifted my legs at different angles to emphasize the point and unnerve him. I mentioned, as the icing on the cake, my desire to call my girlfriend to tell her the great news as soon as possible. All lies, of course.