Over the Moon
by C. Engman
Dad always used to keep the garage’s doors open while he was there. Since his accident, though, we have to keep them shut while “he” works. It made the morning July heat just that much more unbearable. The fan on the ceiling was turning lazily (spinning would be giving it far too much credit) and it was doing nothing to keep the garage cool. Dad fiddled with the radio at his desk, trying to catch any news from Florida about the Apollo mission. The greatest achievement in human history, and I was changing the brake pads of a pastor’s station wagon. Dad didn’t have to look to know what I was doing.
“Maria. You’re speeding through it again. Slow down, you’ll forget something.”
I looked over my work again. I hated changing brake pads, and Dad knew it, because I always forgot something. “Nothing. All good so far.”
“And the pads are on the right direction?”
“Yes, the pads are on the right direction.” I checked them again anyway. “What time is it?”
“Time for you to get a watch!” He laughed at his own joke. I groaned. “It’s a quarter past eleven. You’ve got plenty of time to finish.”
I sighed and slowed down. Dad was right that I rushed too often. I always end up forgetting the frustratingly obvious things, too, which felt even worse than forgetting something easy to miss. Put the brake pads on in the right direction. Put a new oil filter in after taking the old one out. Tighten the lugs. Simple things, but it’s the type of things I forget to look for.
“Dad, are you still alright with going to the bank this afternoon?”
He rolled his swivel chair to the closed window, white-knuckling the desk on the way there.
“You don’t have to. I can do it if today’s not a good day.”
“I know you can.” He picked up his crutch and slowly stood, wincing in pain as he did.
I scrambled out from under the station wagon and put my arm under his shoulder. “Dad, sit back down. I’ll do it. You can double check my work and I’ll be back in ten minutes.”
He saw right through me with eyes that had no bite behind them. “You want to see Emily.”
“I can go help you and also happen to see Emily.”
He chuckled and patted me on the shoulder. “Don’t take all day. Let me write the check and you can get moving.”
The walk to the bank was hot, humid, and terrible, just like any other point in July, but people were still walking around anyway. The drugstore was crowded to the point where people were having their ice cream on the benches outside. A couple of kids locked up their bikes nearby; I recognized one of them who had come into the garage asking if we could fill his bike tires. Crossing the street and hopping over the cracks in the sidewalk the way I had since I was little, I stepped into the bank and immediately the chill of the air-conditioned building washed over me like the waters of Eden. That was the second-best thing about going to the bank. The first reason called in her beautiful songbird’s voice.
“Welcome to Oakes Bank and Trust, how may I help you today?”
Emily Williams, angel on earth, goddess given form, asked to help me. Emily, with her emerald eyes that so thoroughly entranced me. Emily and I had been friends since her family moved into town two houses down the street from ours. We would walk home from school together every day when we were little. We’d talk about neat things and boring things and whatever things crossed our minds. On Fridays we’d walk to Dad’s garage and stay there while he worked. He’d sometimes give us money to go down to the drugstore and get ice cream.
“I just came by to drop off the mortgage payment.”
“Oh, of course. I’ll get that processed for you.” She took the check and started typing away at the powder-blue machine that looked like a typewriter had gone to school to be a calculator. There was a moment of silence before she spoke, still tapping away at the mechanical keys.
“Are you and your dad doing anything for dinner tonight?”
What was this? “Nothing that I know of. We’ll probably just eat dinner in front of the TV tonight.”
She brushed her hair behind her ear while she spoke. “Well, Dad just got a big new TV and Mom’s been dying to have people over and try this new fudge cake thing. She bought a Bundt pan from the Jewish lady down the road and hasn’t gotten around to using it yet. Would you and your dad like to come over for dinner? We can all watch it together.”
Emily Williams had just asked me to come to dinner with her. Emily, the girl I’ve been in love with for years just asked me to dinner. Basically a date. “Oh, yeah, of course, we’d love to. Should we bring something?”
“Oh, just yourselves.” Was she flirting with me? “Here’s your receipt.” Probably not.
“Thank you. For the invitation and this.”
She grinned and my heart melted. “Always happy to help. See you at 6?”
The rest of the day managed to drag agonizingly slowly. The bank had closed at noon, but most businesses hadn’t even opened at all today. Dad didn’t seem to mind that I’d accepted an invitation on his behalf and said he’d manage. People had seen him with a cane before. If he wore his leg bracers no one would know the difference.
“If President Roosevelt could do it and run the country, I can wear them for dinner,” he said. “And besides, Eric and Joanne are understanding people. Surely they’d be alright if I’m a little out of the ordinary.”
I scoffed without thinking.
“What, you think I was implying something about you?”
“Sounded like it.”
“I would never,” he said in that teasing dad tone that annoyed me to no end. “Now hush, they’re starting to land.” He turned the knob on the radio as loud as was comfortable.
The movies about space made it seem like doing anything up there was quick. But around two, we stopped everything to hear them slowly, slowly bring the lander to the surface, and everyone in town, everyone on Earth probably, sat and waited half an hour for the moment of truth. Even the flies that buzzed around all day had gone quiet, waiting for any words to break the sound of static. It almost felt like Armstrong was being dramatic on purpose. But then, at long last, his voice crackled through the speaker.
“The Eagle has landed,” he said, and a cheer was heard throughout town, maybe throughout the world. Even on New Year’s, the celebration is broken up into pieces, but right then, right there, the united cry of excitement was heard at the same moment, and the most momentous piece of history was written in stone. That is, until that evening when they actually got out onto the moon, which apparently was going to take all damn day to do.
By the time we got home and got ready we didn’t have much time to spare, but Dad grabbed a bottle of blueberry wine, despite my reminder of how Emily said we didn’t need to bring anything.
“It’s good manners,” he said.
Good manners weren’t my strong suit. I figured that out in high school, when Angela Morris, the absolute most unbearable person I knew, called me a freak. I fit squarely in the school disciplinary handbook’s definition of an “escalator.” I felt dozens of eyes on me as Angela, resident rich girl and self-proclaimed queen bee stared me down in her stupid pump heels and painted fingernails long and sharp enough to make an alley cat jealous. I despised the sound of her voice. It was like dragging a dozen forks across a mile-wide plate, and yet no one seemed to correct her on this out of fear of a scratched face.
“I said,” she said, putting plenty of unnecessary emphasis on ‘said’, as she always seemed to do, “stay away from me!”
I really should have learned by then not to rile up the most hot-headed person in the county, but it was just too easy. “What, is daddy too busy in bed with his secretary to give you attention?”
Clearly, that was a mistake, because before I could blink, she, with all the grace of a three-legged rhinoceros, had swung at me, her stupid, tacky, hot pink razors she called fingernails grazing my cheek. It stung, but I wasn’t bothered nearly as much by that as the upcoming blow. She had wound up her bag behind her like a hammer-thrower and heaved it right into my reeling face. It felt like I’d gotten hit by a kitten-print train.
I fell to the ground hard; my already scratched up cheek hit the blacktop parking lot, and I felt hot blood rolling down my chin as I tried to stand again. My ears rang as I rose, only for me to fall again as my arm failed to support my weight. I felt dozens of eyes on me as I lay there in pain, everyone either too scared or too unbothered to do anything.
In that moment, I felt like leaping up and wrapping my hands over her throat; I felt like pummeling her in her thoroughly painted face. I imagined my fist crashing into her face time after time. I wanted to scream in her face and fight back after years of putting up with her, and this final very literal blow from her would have justified me. But I couldn’t bring myself to even stand and face her. I just lay there like a dead animal. I couldn’t tell if the wetness on my face was blood or tears.
Eventually she got bored of taunting me and walked off. My captive audience seemed almost afraid to step any closer; a few of them followed Angela away. The sun felt very, very bright, and after an eternity I felt a soft hand in my own as I lay on my side in the parking lot. Emily Williams, angel of light, was coming to my rescue. No matter how quickly she was moving, every step she took was with care. She always acted with both grace and speed, neither of which were qualities I saw in myself. This scene had played out before, Emily reaching down to help me up when I’d gone in over my head. She didn’t give up on me when I learned to roller skate, or when I’d broken my arm sledding in the winter of ’59.
“Why are you smiling so much?” she had asked.
In my mind I’d said something sappy, like “because you’re here.” The words did not form at my mouth.
“Maria, you’re bleeding. You need to get inside.”
I grabbed her hand and squeezed hard. “I bet Angela’s getting expelled.”
She giggled and my heart fluttered. “That would be nice, wouldn’t it?”
She helped me up and walked me to the nurses office, where she stayed in the doorway as the overworked school nurse went through every test she could think of. The class bell rang and after a thousand apologies from her and my assurance I’d be ok, Emily left for class. 30 minutes, an ice pack, two bandages, and an aspirin later, I was back out in the hall with my books under my arm. I’d missed enough of my history class that it felt rude to enter so late.
I sat in a bathroom stall while I flipped through the pages of my history book, hoping to pick up whatever I might have missed. Post-World War One, the rise of fascism in Europe, and suffragettes. Pictures of posters for and against women’s suffrage meticulously crammed into every spare inch of the double-page spread. One piece on the against side caught my eye, though.
Blue text wrote out "Girls are doing all the fellows' jobs now!" Below, art of two well-dressed women on a street corner, one delicately pressing a kiss to the other’s lips. It was a perfectly chaste scene, and something I may have not thought twice about on some other day. I may have chuckled or rolled my eyes, or simply moved on, on some other day. But all my mind flashed to was Emily. I saw her in the face of the woman receiving the kiss. I saw myself in the woman that looked nothing like me. I denied the thought from my mind, but the problem remained a solid fact.
I wanted to kiss Emily Williams. Not as friends or family do, no, I wanted to kiss her in a way that showed just how much I wanted her in my life. Every conversation we’d ever had moved into a new light. Our promise to be best friends forever, and the silly dream of sharing a giant house full of all sorts of things a child wants to fill their house with turned into something much more sincere. Something with a more serious ideal. Something permanent and tangible.
It was a new thought. I despised the idea of being attached at the hip to a man in an unbreakable contract, but as soon as I took the man who even in dreams wasn’t good enough, and replaced him with Emily, the gloom of marriage disappeared. I wanted to see her smiling face every morning. I longed for the gentle brush of her fingers and her laugh that sounded like birdsong. I needed the taste of her lips on mine. I wanted to see the sun reflect off her chestnut hair as we watched the sun set together. I wanted to count every freckle on her shoulders. I wanted to lie next to her as we drifted to sleep together.
Even after the class bell rang and I finally escaped the bathroom, the thoughts remained in my mind. They stayed throughout the day, and followed me home, into my bedroom and across my homework. They invaded my thoughts at dinner and entered my dreams night after night. Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, but I still kept quiet about how truly beautiful I found Emily’s face. I didn’t tell her how enamored I was by her every word and action, because even then I understood every reason I couldn’t.
Eric and Joanne Williams were an American poster couple, honestly. The two of them sang in the church choir and voted at every election no matter how small. Mr. Williams was formerly the youngest mayor in the town’s history, and now he worked as an aide at city hall. Unlike my father, his hair had yet to show any gray, and his bushy mustache and deep laugh that reminded me of Santa Claus going “ho ho ho” felt almost practiced, as if he played the role of Suburbia itself. Mrs. Williams was an avid seamstress, baker, mother, and everything else expected of a housewife, never without some simple ribbon tied into her golden hair. My outward respect for her lifestyle covered over my fear of becoming like her, just complacent in all things, waiting on someone for the rest of my life. She looked happy enough, but I secretly hoped she hid some deep despair. Surely, she was only pretending, surely, she felt just as adrift as the rest of us.
Surely there was more to life than just complacency.
It was far from the first time we’d been invited for dinner, but my nerves still felt high as we made small talk at the dinner table. The television set sat turned on but quiet in the connected living room. Dad stared me in the eye as he very deliberately chose his seat next to Mr. Williams, which meant I ended up next to Emily. He grinned as he made conversation, seeming in no pain at all thanks to the morphine jab he’d taken just before we left.
Mrs. Williams hung her apron on its designated little hook by the pantry as she made her way to the table. “Honey, would you say grace?”
Eric Williams grunted in acceptance, cleared his throat, and bowed his head. He took his wife’s hand, and Dad’s. I reached out for Emily’s. She did the same, and for the first time in what seemed like eternity, we were holding hands again like it was nothing. As if we were still walking home from school hand in hand, she gave my hand a gentle squeeze.
“Heavenly Father, we come before you in prayer this evening to thank you for our lives, to thank you for each other, and that we can be together over this wonderful dinner.”
I squeezed Emily’s hand back and peeked out of the corner of my eye. She was smiling.
“Please keep us safe in our journey through life, and please keep Mr. Armstrong, Mr. Aldrin, and Mr. Collins safe as they take man’s first steps into your beautiful heavens. Give rest to the many souls guiding them on their journey as well.”
She opened one of her eyes just long enough to steal a glance at me in return.
“And Lord, help our Emily to find a good man to settle down with!”
I recoiled at the words. My hand slipped from Emily’s. Joanne had elbowed her husband, and he was just chuckling that “ho ho ho” that suddenly felt so much like a trick. The whole of it, their personality, their hospitality, everything so suddenly felt twisted like the tightening knot in my stomach. I could feel all at once all the guilt manifest itself in my throat, strangling me, reminding me just what kind of person I was.
Mr. Williams cleared his throat and continued, “Let us not be led astray, give us your spirit to guide us and strengthen us.”
Emily found my hand again, and every voice in my mind screaming to stop grew quiet. Her eyes met mine, and her face was full of concern. She rubbed her thumb on my wrist and I’m sure she felt my pulse, which had been skyrocketing, slowly dropping at her touch.
“In the name of your son, blessed Christ Jesus, let your kingdom come. Amen.”
“Amen,” we replied.
“Now, let’s dig in, I’m starving. Em, be a dear and fetch the remote?”
“Sure thing, Dad.” She spoke to her father, but her eyes stayed on me. Her smile could warm the coldest heart. Her hand slipped from mine as she walked into the living room. Dad gently kicked my foot under the table as I watched her go. I didn’t mind.
Dinner disappeared quickly, Joanne Williams’ fudge cake was even more delicious than promised, and the blueberry wine that Dad had insisted on was a good choice. I was going for a third glass when Dad made me hold off. Even though it wasn’t alcoholic enough to be illegal for me, it was probably a smart decision before I got too tipsy and made a fool of myself. It was a little offensive at the time, though.
Mr. Williams called from the living room as we all chatted across the table. “They’re getting out, they’re getting out!”
The five of us gathered around the TV, with Dad on the couch and the rest of us on the floor in front of the set. Without looking, my hand found Emily’s once again. The few minutes seemed to stretch on for lifetimes as we watched the fuzzy figures of bulky spacesuits climb from the spacecraft. The whole world likely felt the agonizing pause. We all held our breath as a voice crackled from the television set.
“That’s one small step for man,”
I could feel the thumps of Emily’s heart through her palm. I’m sure she could feel mine too.
“One giant leap for mankind.”
The cheers of neighbors echoed our own as I pulled Emily into a hug until she was squeezing me harder than I had been. I didn’t want her to stop.
Everyone had another glass of wine as the broadcast continued, we laughed as the astronauts struggled to plant the American flag, and Dad booed when they answered a call from President Nixon on air, which got another laugh out of all of us. Eventually the sun went down, and the moon was a thin crescent in the sky. Emily and I ducked out to see it as Dad excused himself to the bathroom. I could see in his grimace and his slowing movements that the morphine had started wearing off.
The moon really was beautiful. It looked the same as any other crescent moon, but somehow the knowledge that there were human beings up there, wandering around for the first time, made it especially beautiful. We sat together in silence for a while. It was the good kind of silence, the kind that’s because you’re comfortable.
“I’m sorry about dad’s prayer. He won’t stop talking about it. How I need to get out more and find some guy.”
“Is he always like that? Or just around us?”
She snickered. “This is him being subtle about it.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
Her dress caught the faint moonlight in her shrug. “I guess I’ve just gotten used to tuning him out. Mom doesn’t do anything about it. She says he’s right, and I need to start finding someone to ‘protect me.’”
I winced, which made us both laugh. “Do you want that, though? To be married?”
She paused, long enough to where I was beginning to question if she’d answer at all. “It’s complicated.”
“I’m used to complicated.”
“Not like this.”
I didn’t argue. It’s not as if I could say my feelings about marriage were any less complicated. How does one explain love that won’t, can’t, shouldn’t be requited?
She sighed and drew my thoughts back to earth. “There’s…there’s something that I’ve been thinking about lately.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, just…since graduation, I feel so different. Like I’m more…alone.”
“Alone?”
“Well, I mean, not literally,” she hurried, “obviously Mom and Dad are here, but there’s only so far that gets you, you know?”
I thought about it. “Yeah. I do.”
Her face scrunched up in what looked like anxiety. “I guess, what I’m saying is…” She took a deep breath. “I really miss seeing you, Maria. I always get so excited when you come by the bank, and I begged Mom and Dad to let you come over for dinner tonight. I just wish that we could…”
I paused for the end of a sentence that didn’t come. “That we could what?”
“Remember how we used to talk about how we were going to live in a big house together someday and have sleepovers every night?”
More than she could dream. “Of course I do.”
“I still want that. I want to live my life with you.”
“Em, what are you saying?”
“I don’t want to marry some guy like Dad wants.” Her voice grew to a whisper. “I just want you.”
I sat in stunned silence.
“I’m really sorry for bringing this up, I should go back in. I didn’t mean to ruin your night.” Emily started to stand before I grabbed her shoulder.
“Emily,” I said as I looked into her wonderous eyes as I always wished I could. “Emily, I love you. I’ve been in love with you for years, I’ve been dreaming of telling you about how head over heels for you I am, and you just said you feel the same?”
She smiled as tears welled in her eyes, not from grief but joy. Her arms embraced me for the second time that night. “I do.”