Finton Moon

by Gerard Collins

  A few days after he’d mailed the letters, Alicia called and asked him to meet her at the old schoolhouse.

  “What’s up?” he asked. But she wouldn’t drop a hint. Twenty minutes later, they sat on the step together, side by side, staring out at the woods. He wondered if her memories were like his—full of bright, vibrant colours, incomprehensible violence, and a lot of running, with swirling moments of beautiful faces with wide, open eyes.

  “Listen,” she said, “do you have a date for the prom?”

  “I’m not goin’.” He’d made up his mind long ago that it would cost too much for a single night of playing pretend. More importantly, he didn’t have anyone to ask.

  “Would you go with me?”

  “What about Bernard?”

  “Oh, he still stalks me. But I’m not goin’ to the prom with someone like him.”

  “But why me?”

  “Because you’re the best friend I have,” she said.

  Despite his misgivings, there was no good reason, except for Bernard Crowley, to disappoint Alicia. He told her he would love to go, which was only a slight lie. But as the days went on, it felt much like Confirmation, an emotionally useful rite of passage, a signal to the brain that it was time to move forward.

  At school, he took part in two official prom rehearsals, in which he practised walking into the gymnasium with Alicia, holding her hand. He actually enjoyed that part, as well as sharing some laughs with his classmates. Skeet and Dolly practised together, while Mary’s prom date was an older boy, Pete Lundrigan, who’d graduated the year before, and so she practised walking in with one of the teachers. Bernard, apparently, had declared that if Alicia wouldn’t go to the prom with him, he wouldn’t go at all.

  In early June, Finton bought a brown, polyester suit at the mall for forty dollars. On the fourth of June, he bought a corsage at the flower shop. On the fifth of June, Skeet and Dolly picked him up in Skeet’s lime green Gremlin, then stopped for Alicia, and they all arrived at the prom together.

  On a sultry June afternoon, there was a church ceremony during which the valedictorian, Mary Connelly, in a long, red strapless dress, praised everyone and thanked their parents, spoke earnestly about having endured and enjoyed their time together, but now it was time to go forth and enjoy all that life had to offer. It was a pretty speech; she meant every word. Finton even felt a little nostalgia to go along with his nerves. That was important to him. Feeling something meant it was right, that he’d gotten something from it, that he’d actually been there.

  The dance began at 7:30 p.m., and the decoration theme was “Dreams,” with fluffy clouds made of cardboard painted white and a wishing well swing where graduates, including Finton and Alicia, posed for the official prom photograph. As the graduating students entered the gymnasium, paired off and holding hands, the song on the sound system was Diana Ross’s “The Theme From Mahogany (Do You Know Where You’re Going To?”). To his surprise, Finton got sucked in by the bittersweet nostalgia. All his life, he’d never felt as if he’d belonged at this school, and now he could almost believe otherwise. These people said such comforting words and played such sweet songs that suggested they’d all experienced the very same things in exactly the same way.

  He knew it wasn’t true—it had been different for everyone. But the high school committee had done its best to represent the student body and, in a way, they had achieved their mission. None of them really knew where they were going to, what doors would open or close, or what life would offer. But they had each survived high school in their own private, yet inescapably public, way.

  Once the hoopla was over, it was a dance like any other, except it was far better than Finton’s previous experience. No one grabbed the front of his shirt, and he didn’t accidentally strike anyone’s nose and make it bleed.

  Alicia was beguiling in her simple, green dress and he danced with her most of the night, to fast songs and slow. “Go Your Own Way,” “More Than a Feeling,” “Tonight’s the Night,” “Turn the Page,” and “Blinded by the Light.” He danced with Dolly to a couple of fast tunes.

  When the first few notes of “The First Cut is the Deepest” played, Finton instinctively looked for Mary. They had barely looked at each other all night, and he couldn’t help but feel that, if there would ever be a perfect moment to dance with her, this would be it. He knew where she was, for he’d kept one eye on her all along. Her boyfriend, Pete Lundrigan, was leading her by the hand towards the dance area, so he rushed. “Mary!” he said breathlessly. “Would you like to dance?” Deep down, he suspected she would turn him down. But she smiled brightly and offered her hand. “I’d just about given up on you,” she said.

  “Nice dress,” he said.

  “Thanks. You look nice too.”

  “Thanks,” he said. He suddenly couldn’t think of anything else to say. “Oh, I really liked your speech today. Very nice.”

  She smiled and thanked him again. “You seem nervous,” she said.

  “I’m just having a good time. No nerves for me tonight. One of the best nights of my life.”

  “Alicia seems to be enjoying herself too.”

  “You think so?” He glanced towards his prom date, who was standing by herself near the punch table, sipping her drink from a plastic glass.

  “Yes—and she looks amazing.”

  “I’ll tell her you said that.” The song was ending way too fast, and he hadn’t come close to saying all he wanted to say to her. “I’m glad you’re feeling better,” he said.

  “Honestly, Finton, I never thought I’d be here tonight.”

  “You look amazing. I mean, I know I said that, but you really do. You seem really happy now with Pete too—and I’m glad. I’m just glad for you.”

  “Thank you,” she said, smiling sweetly. She laid her head on his shoulder to finish the song, and Finton thought life could get no better, nor sadder, all at once. After that, they barely spoke to each other. There wasn’t much more to be said, for it had all been said a long time ago. The emotions of a deeper discussion would have been crippling, so he just kept dancing—the loud music and constant motion being the best method of keeping the darkness at bay.

  His head was still buzzing when he and Alicia, as pre-arranged, left before the last song. Everyone else had plans for private parties after the prom. Some guys had procured ill-gotten booze, and more than a few carried rubbers in their wallets. A few girls, according to Alicia, were planning to lose their virginity that night. He assumed she’d lost hers to Bernard, who didn’t seem to be the patient type. Finton couldn’t help thinking about his own lost innocence to Morgan Battenhatch when he was just twelve. Maybe it was better that way—satisfying his primal needs early, getting them out of the way quickly so they wouldn’t land him in trouble. Maybe he owed Morgan gratitude, after all.

  They walked home, not holding hands, but laughing wildly and touching each other occasionally when the moment called, or allowed, for it. The moon was waxing, nearly full, and, when it wasn’t hiding behind a cloud, it shone upon the ocean and afforded meagre light upon the road where they tread. On rare occasions, a car passed by, headlights blinding them as the two graduates clung to each other to keep from falling.

  With some light from the moon, the mood was playful. Prompted by the memory of a song the DJ had played, they sang a few bars of “Only Sixteen” by Dr. Hook, and giggled when they grew conscious of their mutual giddiness.

  “You’re good for me,” he said. “I feel like I can be myself with you.”

  Her eyes glistened when she stopped and stood in front of him, impeding his progress. He laid both her hands on his shoulders. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me. I mean… that anyone’s ever said to me.”

  “I could kiss you,” he said.

  “That would be nice,” she said with a smile.

  He leaned in and touched his lips to hers, and then they both laughed.

  “It was nice,” he said.

  “I thoug
ht so.”

  She slipped her hand into his. “We should get going.”

  His head was spinning, his rational side telling him that his feelings were just the product of a successful prom and a romantic walk in the moonlight with a beautiful girl. The kiss alone wreaked havoc with his hormones. But, of course, he was already in love with her, and so it would break both their hearts when he had to leave.

  Alicia said something about her plans for the summer—she’d found work at the fish plant, starting next week—but Finton wasn’t listening. He was fearfully watching the car, with its lights on high beam, slowing down as it came towards them.

  “What’s this jackass trying to prove?” He pulled Alicia away from the road, towards the gaping maw to their left—a treacherous plunge that could cause serious injury. The pitch darkness made it impossible to determine the drop off point, and so they halted breathlessly, clinging to each other, and stood completely still while they waited for the danger to pass. But the car accelerated and veered straight for them.

  “It’s Bernard,” she said. At the last possible moment, she pushed Finton to the ground and fell on top of him. Alicia yelped as the car zoomed past, blaring its horn.

  “Did he hit you?” Finton shouted above the roar of the engine.

  “Yes,” was the only part of her response he heard.

  A few yards away, the driver tried to guide the car back onto the pavement, but just as Finton was imagining the worst possible outcome, the vehicle skidded off the pavement, with screeching tires, crashed into a guard rail and flipped. It rolled over once more as it tumbled down the embankment, filling the air with ghastly noises: crunching metal and a heart-stopping scream. On last impact, its headlights went dark; the whole world fell still, except for the whirring of spinning tires.

  As they stared at the black space where they’d last seen the car, neither Finton nor Alicia were sure of what they’d just seen. “Did that just happen?” Alicia asked.

  Stirring themselves at last, though it had only been a few seconds, together they lumbered towards the wreckage. Alicia had looped her arm around Finton’s neck, and she was hobbling slightly. “I’ve got to get down there,” said Finton, although he couldn’t see the edge where the shoulder ended and drop off began. “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “I think so.” Alicia lifted her hands and, in the feeble glow of moonlight just emerging from behind a cloud, he saw that her palms were coated in blood.

  “You’re bleeding,” he said.

  “Just go—he might be seriously hurt.”

  “Or dead.”

  “Don’t even think it.” Alicia’s voice quavered. Although he argued that she should stay on the roadside to wave down a car, she insisted on going with him. “If anyone passes, they’ll see us in their headlights,” she said.

  More and more, it felt as if they were delaying the inevitable and so carefully, together, they maneuvered towards the railing, figuring a guide post would provide them with something to grasp and, therefore, their best chance of scaling the steep hill. But they quickly realized that, even below the railing, there was no solid ground, only loose rocks and gravel.

  “It’s too dangerous,” Finton said. “I’ll go on my own.”

  “You’ll kill yourself,” Alicia said.

  As they gazed into the darkness at the bottom of the hill, the returning moonlight produced a glint of metal that revealed the wreck’s location. There was, at first, no sign of Bernard, but as the light grew stronger, Finton realized he’d been staring right at him—an anonymous mass just a few feet from the upturned car. “That’s him,” he said, pointing. “It is Bernard.”

  “Oh, God.” The strain in Alicia’s voice was agonizing.

  “I’m going down.” He spread his arms wide and bent his body slightly. Then he dipped the toe of his shoe, searching for earth but finding air. He tilted himself forward like a downhill skier at the top of a mountain. “Leap of faith,” he said in a trembling voice. “If I don’t land safely, I’ll call out, and you’ll have to flag someone down.”

  With a deep breath, he let himself fall. He focused on the car, assessing the distance, as his feet struggled to keep in contact with the shifting gravel. The scuffing noise and the pressure on his soles were his main reassurance that he was standing upright. Stomach in his throat, heart thumping madly, Finton hurtled downward in a seemingly endless dive.

  Suddenly, his feet couldn’t feel the ground. He felt the twinge of a twisted ankle, the crunch of a jammed toe, the wrench of a knee. And yet he kept plummeting until he reached the car and collapsed a few feet away from Bernard Crowley’s lifeless body.

  His first thought, upon realizing he’d safely landed, was whether it was truly possible for an overturned car to ignite and explode. The thought was interrupted by much grating and squeaking, as well as the unnerving sound of tires slowly spinning. A few seconds later, the tires fell silent, and the only sounds remaining were the distant roar of pounding surf, and the odd pops and pings of metal cooling.

  “Are you there?” Alicia shouted.

  “Yes!” he called back. “I’m here!”

  “Is he alive?”

  “Good question,” he said aloud, but only to himself. Thankfully, the moonlight was now at its peak, although it would soon duck behind another cloud.

  He scrambled to where Bernard lay sprawled, face down, a few feet from the car, recognizable by his denim jacket. The image of another face, from several years past, an unburied ghost, flickered before Finton’s eyes. He could swear he saw Sawyer Moon, face down in the foxhole.

  “Please, God,” he muttered as he rolled the body. “You can do this,” he said. “You’ve done it before.”

  But that was a long time ago, yish it was.

  “I can do this,” he said. “I can.”

  Why go saving the likes o’ him? Won’t get no medals or thanks for that.Yer new girlfriend’s better off without ’im—’n you’d be better off too.

  Finton struggled for breath. He didn’t know but the car would blow at any second. It continued to make strange noises—pings and cracks, the disconcerting grinding of metal against metal. Helping his enemy wasn’t really a choice, for, in reality, Finton knew it was his instinct and calling. He tapped Bernard’s face and yelled. “Wake up!”

  But the eyes didn’t open. No limbs twitched. No breath seemed to come from Bernard’s lungs. Finton had seen dead before, and this was it.

  But then, he’d also solved death before, though never quite like this, and never with any sense of reluctance. The worry and doubt, he knew, were natural.

  “Bernard Crowley—you arsehole—open your goddamn eyes!” He slapped Bernard’s cheek, then, seeing no results, took hold of Bernard’s face and shook it. The smell of alcohol almost made Finton puke. For a moment he thought the eyes might open, but seconds passed, and finally he gave up.

  “Goddamn you!” he said as repositioned himself. “Goddamn.”

  Scanning the body, he spied a gaping wound above Bernard’s left eye. Finton quickly placed one hand on the injury, trying to ignore the blood beneath his fingers. The other hand he placed on Bernard’s chest, above his heart.

  Then he prayed out loud. “Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done. On earth as it is in heaven.”

  He heard Alicia call out to him: “What’s going on? What are you doing?”

  He was vaguely aware that another car had stopped beside the guardrail, headlights on. Alicia called out his name, her voice fading.

  “Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee…” He felt as if he were leaving his own body. He soared upward, toting the gruesome cargo into the blue-black sky. “Now and at the hour of our death… Amen.”

  After what seemed a long time, he stopped praying and opened his eyes. The earth was receding. Below, he saw the Darwin Day fairgrounds and just beyond them, a small car pulled over by a guard rail, headlights on, Alicia standing beside a youth. He kne
w the young man. Couldn’t see his face, but knew it just the same. Skeet Stuckey. And that was Dolly standing with them.

  Shockingly fast, he jetted upward and found himself bedazzled by bright, stars of varying hues. A long-tailed comet dashed through the sky, instantly followed by two more.

  There, just below, was his Planet of Solitude. Breathing deeply, he allowed himself to descend, the weight of his load growing heavier. All around him, the planets were clustered, blazing brightly in myriad, deep colours.

  Beneath him, the white apple tree had come into view as he descended towards the planet’s grassy surface. And then he touched down. Quickly, he scurried—somehow walking-floating—to the tree and lay beneath it.

  Immediately, he heard a voice say, This is what you brought?

  Yes, he said. I hope it’s not too late.

  This one’s not fit for your concern.

  Maybe not...but who am I to say?

  It’s your gift to give. It’s always your say.

  Then I say, he lives.

  Silence greeted his proclamation, and Finton looked down at the face of Bernard Crowley, lying in his lap.

  The dark eyes opened and looked up at him. “Am I dead?” he asked.

  “Yes,” said Finton. “You are.”

  “Good.” Bernard spoke softly as if all the meanness had drained out of him.

  “It was your own fault,” Finton said. “I should leave you here.”

  Bernard’s eyes flickered—sadness, perhaps, and some regret and resignation.

  “But I won’t,” Finton finished. “Now open your eyes.”

  Bernard’s lids flickered open, and Finton knew he was back in Darwin. His hands ached. His arms practically screamed with pain. But Bernard was stirring. He still had that ugly gash, and he was covered in scratches, cuts, and blood. But he was alive.

  For better or worse.