August Moon

Who is August Moon? The madness of a sweet dream; A knight in starlight and the adventures of midnight; The echo of a beginning and a ghost of the future; He is who lives in you that is a part of what lives in me; The look of what's beyond the clouds and sea; The snow and the summer and their warmth that touches me; The quirk adorned by everyone; And the one who made me feel the need to write this. He's everything that I love most. Boy of stars and wonders. August Moon. *** Lexis could not keep the ghost of the moon waiting for a due promise. “A whistle under the glare of full moon; a promise and a gift await,” Lexis read her grandmother’s note for the umpteenth as she inclined close to the railing of her balcony; there was no more chance for a failure. She put her pendant between her lips and blew one long breath. She jumped at the sound it made. Rather than an anticipated whistle, it was a howl close to a weakly-blown horn—no, she was sure it was a whiny squawk—a whale cry? The wind took this as an opportunity to snatch the note from her hand. It soared to the sky until it dissolved behind the clouds, where the full moon had now gone. Before she could reach the note, the sky sounded once more, at the same time when the pendant rested back on her chest. She took a look at the whale tail pendant. It ended its purpose of being a whistle, looking more ordinary and flat; it would take her some time to get used to the absence of its usual thickness. Then came a rumble above, spreading across the gloomy night in an urge of a sudden downpour. Did she mishear the thunder as a whale cry? For a second, she intended to wait. A storm or rain could promise something, her grandmother always told her. Although it could be a little too literal for the current situation, she could toss a coin to bid a bit of hope. However, not even a second after deciding, the still night faded into a percussive rhythm of rainfall, drumming the roof of every house. It only took Lexis a few touches of raindrops before she stepped back into her room and slid the glass door close—of course, she could always wait inside. She watched the raindrops pat against the glass. Something was charming about how they slid and glittered under the balcony light. As if compensation for the stars that hid behind the clouds. She pressed her fingers against the glass. She could almost feel every single one of them. Meanwhile, moonlight seeped through a small opening in the bleeding sky to her window. A flower glistened to its form and descended, light as a feather. It sat at the edge of her bedside table beside a framed picture of her and her grandmother. On the photograph, words in faded permanent marker said: The moonlight will always find its way to you. -Gramma The nutty and sweet scent tore her eyes from the unexpected entertainment of rain. She turned. She caught sight of a flower she did not remember putting on the bedside table. It did not look like the flowers she picked from the old kind lady downtown. She walked to her bed and sat to pick it up. Every week, she faced plenty of their kinds. From outdoor to indoor flowers, even the seasonal ones—a name mentioned, and her mind would be able to recall at least one image of it. But now, it was a white cosmos. Did Mrs. Remi add this with my carnations? She brought the flower close to study. “When have I last seen one of you?” She inhaled the scent of it. “A chocolate cosmos?” She could always tell the difference between white and chocolate cosmos. Though this one looked similar to the former, the scent gave it away. However, she could not remember it smelling a lot like a real bar of chocolate and it existing in the color of alabaster. Even its texture was peculiar—smooth and dry as a sheet of cheap watercolor paper. Another rumble sounded outside. Lexis turned to see that her balcony was illuminated with bright light, as though a spotlight shone there. The downpour had stopped, but its trace still painted the glass. With the flower still in her hand, she slid the door open. A figure of a person sitting on the railing came into sight, a white satin shirt hugging their frame. She looked up to see the moon peeking from the c***k of clouds. Was the moon always this bright? Her hand absentmindedly touched the pendant of her necklace. The person turned around at the sound of her bare feet splattering a small puddle on her balcony. It was the first time Lexis saw his face. It felt like a dream. Lexis recalled the voice of her grandmother. He stepped from the railings until his feet gently touched the ground. Lexis took a step and then another. He was standing before me and was tall—a little too tall for my sake. She looked from his face to his hands courtly placed in front of him. His hair billowed like it was underwater and glistened in silver-white. Gold was not the same to me since. She halted when he was within arm's reach, her hand carefully outstretched. She stopped before she could nearly touch him, but he took her hand and placed it on his cheek; it was warm. His skin was as white as the alabaster and felt just like one. “Just like Gramma’s figurines,” she whispered. When her eyes finally met his closely, she gulped. She never told about his eyes. As if it was so she could see them herself. They were light and warm but not as harsh as the yellow sun; thousands of stars seemed to belong to each one of them. Either that or his eyes collected them. The man born in the light of the moon. “You’re the ghost of the moon,” she whispered and slowly removed her hand from his face. His eyes lingered on her hand. “You’re real.” “If I did not appear, therefore, I am not?" He smiled. "If you see things with only your eyes, you will not see the real things made hidden." Lexis could not utter a reply but blink. Is he a poet? However, some moments were made fleeting. The moon had gone again with its bright light, leaving her balcony dim-lit by the old fluorescent light. The ghost of the moon started to ascend, his figure fading away. “August Moon,” he smiled. “Remember my name.” Lexis held his arm as he continued to slip away, so as her hand. Before he was out of reach, she grabbed his hand and put the chocolate cosmos in his palm. He looked at it and smiled. "I believe what is yours should be yours," he kissed the flower and tossed it back at her. When she caught it and looked up, he was gone. Clouds started to clear until stars continued their way of glistening. And the moon crept like an awaited star of the opera. She could not believe she felt what her grandmother had probably felt with gold. All because of a ghost. A chirp snapped her from her trance. An origami of white chocolate cosmos was nestling in the warmth of her hand. She gasped. It fluttered its leaves and then softly chirped to its slumber. She smiled. “August Moon.”