Luna Rising

by Selene Castrovilla

  Ding, ding, ding! One cool fall evening a blue Subaru pulled in. Luna and Billy both came out. During slow periods they worked as a team. The customer was an attractive blonde woman. Billy washed her windows—kind of sloppily and streaky—while Luna pumped.

  A big chatterer, Billy asked the woman, “What’s the weather gonna be like?”

  Luna said, “Billy, what do you think she is, psychic?”

  The woman said, “Well, actually, I am.”

  “Cool!” Luna said. She totally believed in that stuff. “Can you tell me the person I’m destined to be with?” Frank, Frank… Let it be Frank, she thought. Frank was the older guy she’d recently lost her virginity and her heart to. Unfortunately, having gotten what he wanted, he wanted nothing more to do with her.

  Give it up, said Jiminy.

  I did, Luna responded. And now he doesn’t call me. I don’t get it.

  “I see you with a Nick,” said the woman.

  Luna frowned. “Don’t you mean Frank?”

  The tank was full at $18.89. Luna squeezed eleven more cents in. Customers liked even dollar amounts. It made them happy.

  The woman fished out three fives and five singles from her wallet, pushed it into Luna’s palm and said, “The extra buck’s for you. And sorry, but it’s Nick.”

  She turned on her engine and drove away. It was a wonder she gave a tip, since her window was still pretty drippy from Billy’s lousy squeegee handiwork. Luna passed him the buck—she was way more interested in what the woman had said than the dollar bill.

  Billy accepted the money and tucked it into his overalls. He looked at Luna’s thoughtful face and laughed. “You don’t really buy all that psycho stuff, right?”

  “I do,” she admitted. And that was the end of their conversation, because she was busy sifting through her brain.

  Nick¸ Nick… Where was there a Nick? Luna wondered.

  Unfortunately, you thought of one—a high school dropout you met once at a party where everyone except you was stoned! Jiminy admonished her now. I told you not to base your life on a passing remark.

  Luna stared at Jingles’ scattered morsels. She needed to sweep them up. “I should’ve listened to you, Jiminy.”

  Can I quote you on that?

  “On the other hand, then I wouldn’t have had my kids.”

  I hate when people use their kids to feel better about their mistakes, said Jiminy.

  “Maybe there are no mistakes,” Luna mused. “Maybe there are only experiences to learn from.”

  You should write a self-empowerment book. People can’t get enough of them, even though they all say pretty much the same thing.

  “You think so?”

  Sure… or else you could write fortunes for cookies. But first, let’s get your life fixed up. I’ve been waiting for you to take action, Luna.

  Luna checked her clock. “Time to go align my spine. We’ll take it from there.”

  TEN

  Sitting in the well-lighted, window-lined, earth-toned waiting room adorned with healing crystals and plants, Luna leafed through a holistic health magazine. New age meditative music played in the background. Strange how synthesized chords could comfort a soul. The sounds relaxed her, but they also reverberated inside—stirring reflection on her long, strange journey toward Dr. Gold. The road to chiropractic had been paved with decades of failed relationships with so-called healers of the mind.

  Luna had tried them all: social workers to psychiatrists. But no matter how high the degree, they all had their own issues to contend with. She’d searched and searched for just one mental health practitioner who was less fucked-up than her, to no avail.

  Her therapeutic journey had started out as a farce, based on a miscommunication and a lie. In high school, Luna had no friends until she met an older girl named Carrie. One of the first things Carrie told Luna was that she smoked pot and took mescaline. Luna said she didn’t want to smoke pot, but she did enjoy mescaline –because she’d confused it with mesclun salad. Once she realized her mistake, Luna was afraid Carrie wouldn’t want to be friends anymore if she admitted she was square. On a couple of occasions Luna had to fake taking a pill, and then sit there while Carrie tripped out. Carrie’s parents smelled pot on her one day and sent her to a drug and alcohol treatment center. Carrie actually liked the therapy and told Luna about how she was able to talk about her problems with someone who didn’t judge her. Luna wanted someone to talk to! Having no idea what it really felt like to be on mesc, she couldn’t lie comfortably to the counselor about taking it. However, Luna had gotten drunk on occasion. She decided to embellish her experiences with alcohol. It worked! Paula, the counselor, embraced her as a client and complimented her for seeking help on her own. Luna looked forward to discussing her life, but that never happened. Paula spent most of each session recounting her own black-out drinking—and how she’d recovered and become a counselor. When Luna did manage to get an anecdote in, she always had to pretend that she’d been drunk when it happened—changing its tone and focus.

  That didn’t work—but what if she told the truth? When Luna entered college she tried the mental health facility at NYU. Her psychologist had big and bright Mad Hatter eyes. He kept talking about himself and calling her “my friend.” She wasn’t his friend, and she didn’t want to know how he’d womanized until he met his current girlfriend. And he was, like, 50. Wasn’t that a little old to have a ‘girlfriend?’

  She figured she just needed to keep trying, but years went by with no satisfying therapy. Sometimes she got fooled by a good beginning, when she poured everything out. But that high of being purged was short-lived when no solutions to her problems followed.

  Her longest stint ran with a social worker named Charlene, who bore a Bride of Frankenstein grey streak through her hair and wore clumpy mascara and shocking blue eye shadow. She was bossy and steered the sessions the way she wanted, which usually involved some inner child process. Luna stayed with her for about a year, because of proximity (both to Luna’s home, and more importantly, to a little coffee place where Luna always stopped off before her session.) The end came the day Luna recited one of her favorite quotes: “The best way out is always through.”

  Charlene said, “Or, you can go around.”

  Luna realized she’d been going around – and around and around – with Charlene for too long. Probably the coffee infusion had tranquilized her from seeing this sooner.

  After breaking up with Charlene, Luna made one more attempt to seek therapy, from a psychiatrist. He was the most expensive and, it turned out, the most crazy of all her analysts.

  Dr. Zelderman was a stutterer. At $350 an hour, Luna felt she deserved a rebate. Also suffering from haphephobia—the fear of being touched—he’d made her sit clear across the room. She’d practically had to shout to communicate with him. This disturbing doctor rattled Luna to the point that she swore off shrinks, freeing up time to do the chores she’d avoided—like tackling her piled up mail. Flipping through her local Pennysaver, she paused at an ad for a holistic chiropractor.

  Dr. Adam Gold’s advertisement promised relief from chronic pains of all kinds—including stress. Hmmm… She’d heard that chiropractors worked wonders on people.

  Why not give chiropractic a whirl? Luna thought. Especially when there was a coupon for 50% off her first visit.

  A few days later, Luna headed to the chiropractor for her back and her neck.

  She wound up working on her mind, as well.

  Dr. Adam Gold was the perfect therapist.

  The waiting room door swung open. “Thanks, Doc! See you next week!” a middle-aged man with a bouffant the color of black shoe polish said as he stepped out.

  Dr. Gold followed, wearing his eternal smile and exuding his usual calm. “You’re very welcome,” he told his patient. Fiftyish, Dr. Gold wore wire-rimmed glasses and had a penchant for Hawaiian shirts. Today he wore a tan one with the requisite floral bursts.

  “Well, hello Luna!” he greeted her. �
��Ready?”

  “Ready.” Luna followed him into his examining room, which was a perfect yellow—not too harsh or too faded. It had a fresh, natural scent—not overbearingly Febreezy or antiseptic. He’d decorated with gemstones and plants. Hanging above her, on a sign decorated with flowers and stars, were his three rules of the office, which she studied like the Torah every time. So simple, really. Why did she always insist on complicating her life?

  “How are you?” he asked.

  She took a deep breath in and let it out – as per rule number one – and thought. How was she?

  “I see,” he said. “Well, let’s have a look at what’s going on. Seating is now available at your table for one.”

  Luna took off her bulky sweatshirt and laid it on the windowsill with her purse. She climbed onto the brown, cushioned examining table, her body sliding on the smooth leather and her head against crinkly white paper. She gave Dr. Gold her right hand and rested her left one on her stomach area, on the over-sized black cotton t-shirt she’d bought as a souvenir of the London Underground. It said, Mind the gap.

  Dr. Gold checked each part of her body before he began his adjusting. He’d touch an area with his finger, and know whether or not she needed help there. It was a little eerie the first few visits, and had required a leap of faith that she surprised herself by making. Now, she thought of it more like getting a diagnostic tune-up, like mechanics did on cars. She laid back, closed her eyes and did her best to relax in his hands. Even after many visits, this didn’t come easy.

  Here are some of the things Luna had learned about Dr. Gold over the months:

  STATS ON DR. GOLD

  Name: Dr. Adam Gold

  Ethnic background: Hungarian.

  Marital status: Married.

  Body: Medium build, slim.

  Hair: Peppered.

  Favorite physical activity: Yoga.

  Other likes: Meditation, serenity.

  Dislikes: Prejudice.

  Religion: Jewish.

  Favorite writers: Authors who write about balance and all things holistic.

  Favorite dessert: Fruit and yogurt.

  Favorite expression: “Your body can heal itself given the right environment.” (It was on a poster in his waiting room.)

  On her first visit, Luna had asked if that included her heart.

  Dr. Gold said, “Yes.”

  After a little while, Luna opened her eyes. The ceiling lights framed her chiropractor in soft fluorescence. She focused on his general head area, moving from hair to chin to cheek and finally making eye contact.

  “I kicked Nick out,” she told him.

  “Good for you! That’s an amazing step, Luna!” Dr. Gold’s smile broadened. “So, how do you feel?”

  “Ummm… . Glad, and relieved… but also scared.”

  “Fear is an illusion,” Dr. Gold said. “You just have to believe that it’s not real, and poof! It’ll be gone.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “You’re doing a great job taking back your life.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Dr. Gold was working on Luna’s leg, which was propped up on his shoulder. She didn’t like leaning on people—she felt like a burden. But he’d put her leg there, so she had to deal with it. “But something bad happened, too.” She told him. “My dad had a stroke.”

  “I’m sorry. How is he?”

  “They don’t know yet. He’s cursing a lot.”

  “Well, any form of expression is a plus.” He kneaded deeply into her calf and looked at her. “The only thing we can do is deal gracefully with the circumstances life hands us and be in the present.”

  “Gracefully, huh?”

  He gave her a wink. “It’s either that, or descend into madness.”

  “Insanity?”

  “You could say that, but I was referring to pure anger. However, getting mad is a form of insanity because it never solves anything. We attract more of what we concentrate on, so when we are angry we just invite more anger. Only acceptance and living in the moment bring us peace.”

  “You are a thin and Jewish Buddha,” Luna told him.

  Dr. Gold chuckled. Finished with the leg, he instructed Luna to sit up slightly and rest her head in his hands. This was difficult—to trust his hands with her head.

  “Relax,” he said.

  Then he said, “A little more.”

  Then again, “A little more.”

  With her head in one hand, Dr. Gold pressed down on her shoulder with the other. It felt like he was shifting her physiological plane.

  Again, her neck and shoulders tensed up.

  Again, Dr. Gold told her, “Relax.”

  Why were the simplest things the hardest?

  He worked on her in silence for awhile. She stared at rule number one, and said it to herself.

  Breathe.

  Dr. Gold asked her to turn over. He pressed on her back.

  She said, “I just wish my life would be normal.”

  Dr. Gold laughed. “What’s normal?” Crrraaack! He made a loud adjustment. “You’re an extraordinary person, Luna. What others view as normal would never suit you. Just find your balance.”

  “How do I do that?”

  Dr. Gold pointed to the rules. “These are more than a decoration.”

  Luna took a deep breath in and let it out. Again… and again.

  Staring at number three she said, “I really do think my life will work out.”

  “Who says it hasn’t worked out already? It’s all how you look at things, Luna.”

  “That seems kind of quantum-leapy to me,” she said.

  “Not at all. It’s just a question of choosing to be happy, instead of waiting for happiness to choose you.”

  Dr. Gold put his hands on Luna’s neck and instructed her to relax again. Miraculously, she managed to do it this time. Craaack! He adjusted her neck. “That was amazing and horrifying at the same time,” she said.

  “Just like life. It’s all how you see it,” he told her. “No extra charge for the metaphors and similes.” He gave her a wink. “Okay, stand up, and let’s see if you’re centered.”

  Luna rolled herself off the table. She felt right – and light. “It’s amazing how you can shift so much stress out of me,” she told Dr. Gold.

  “You’re the one doing the heavy lifting, Luna,” Dr. Gold said, “I can only release what you allow me to.”

  She stood facing the window with her feet spread apart. “Where do you feel your weight?” he asked, even though he didn’t have to. She knew the drill.

  Still, it was hard to be sure where her weight truly lay. She swayed a few moments and did a toe to heel roll with both feet. “Weight’s in the center of my feet,” she finally determined.

  “Good! You’re all set!” He gave her another pat on her shoulder.

  Now all she had to do was figure out how to stay centered once she left the room.

  Luna rushed home to take advantage of the small amount of time she had before heading to pick up the kids. She was all set to work on marketing when she thought of NWaN. If she let a day go by without looking at it, she’d be allowing distance in. It was only a pipe dream—she had no idea how to get a women’s novel published even if she did manage to finish it. But what good was life without a dream to chase? And so she opened the document where she’d left off—at a kiss. Her character Serena’s first kiss since her divorce. Only a few paragraphs, but the scene had been a killer to write.

  Reading it over, Luna was struck by the simple and genuine happiness in the moment. She was pleased that her writing had such an effect on her, but also bummed by how empty her life felt. She hadn’t kissed in so long that it felt like she’d never been kissed. How had she even written about a kiss, and so convincingly?

  Suddenly, urgently, she needed to rediscover the sensation of a kiss. She felt awakened after a hibernation. How strange, to be roused by her own words.

  Ding-ding-ding! Luna’s cell phone
alarm went off. Time to go, and she’d written nothing new. But that was okay, as long as she’d immersed herself in Serena’s world. Boy, had she.

  It was time to start living life again, like Serena. Could she find someone to kiss? Where? How? The task seemed momentous! Maybe Sunny would know. If not, at least she’d have something humorous to say.

  ELEVEN

  The kids sprang inside the house clutching new paintings for Luna’s walls. Both boys complained that they were hungry, so Luna settled them on the couch with a SpongeBob episode and called Nick. It went to voicemail. “The kids want dinner soon,” Luna told him. “Call me back.” She gave the kids a bowl of fruit to split, and decided that if Nick didn’t call back within the hour she’d feed them.

  In the meantime, she called Sunny and shared her kissing melancholy.

  Sunny said, “So come out with Phil and me tonight. We’re going to a bar. You can get drunk and make out with someone. Easy peasy.”

  “I didn’t realize you were still seeing Phil. You never mention him.”

  “Yeah, well, you know Phil. There’s not much to mention.”

  It was true. Sunny was dating a twenty-five-year-old who worked with her at the library. Luna called him “The Coconut.” Not only due to his haircut, which somehow brought coconuts to mind, but also because he had the personality to match.

  The Coconut was a stunning mediocrity, pretty much incapable of social interaction. It was exhausting holding up both ends of a conversation, so Luna avoided speaking with him.

  Here are some of the things Sunny had told Luna about The Coconut:

  STATS ON THE COCONUT:

  Name: Phil Findley

  Ethnic Background: English.

  Marital Status: Single

  Children: None

  Body: As skinny as his predecessor, Sal.

  Hair: Brown, close-cropped with blunt bangs.

  Occupation: Library clerk.