- Vol. 08
- Chapter 10
Clair De Lune
I must hurry, the sky’s deepening. She’ll be making her debut soon. Log off the computer. Power down, power down. Forget the execrable teaching evaluations, the papers I’ve half-graded in purple, blue, anything but that ghastly red. Forget the discussions of metrics and tenures, the door that stays shut all the time.
Try to walk faster.
There she is, rising across the expanse of campus with its cold square 60s buildings with precise rectangular windows. There she is round and beautiful.
It smells of pot and stale feet and pizza, probably from the food court at the student union. That’s no matter. There she is, rising between the naked labyrinthine branches of winter, rising over the pink and purple clouds that wash the sky.
There she is. Clair De Lune.
Clair De Lune. The love of my nights. My steady friend through increasingly empty apartments, bloated debts, and dispersed friends. My friend, whether full, crescent, or half.
And tonight, she’s full. A pale wintery white, as if she’s cried, but tried to cover up those tears. How I know that feeling. I wish I looked that good after spilling so much.
So much light. Eyes on her, that beautiful Clair De Lune, my weary feet settle into a contented clickety-clack into the concrete jungles. Yes, even the parking lot takes on an ethereal quality, sleek lines and all. The odd bursts of laughter in the distance are mere blips. She shimmers over the library roof, the English building, the long sidewalks that lead out to the west entrance to campus.
Clair De Lune
I stop before my beaten down golden Corolla, still covered in Bernie bumper stickers and scratches. Then I reach to the sky and whisper a thank you, my words cracked. I keep my arms outstretched, invite her to come down to Earth. Come join me, a little closer. Let me feel the soft spots, the hard contours, all of you. I haven’t felt a thing in months.
She shimmers so bright, I hardly notice the shadows gathering. But all too soon, she drifts through a cloud and I wait in the chill of evening, wait for her to come back to me. The clouds drift and she shines, the light a little diminished, but not dead.