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Goodbye Mr. Moon

May 11, 2015

He leaves today at 3pm.

I took him to Lake Martin yesterday morning. We canoed around, looking for alligators, taking photos and laughing.

It was wonderful being out there with him. I was in the back and tried to steer us through the cypress trees. Mostly I steered us directly into them. He laughed and teased me. We watched alligators swim around, chasing them before they gracefully ducked into the water.

In the quiet of the lake, Mr. Moon was unusually talkative. He talked about his family and growing up. He said he wanted to be a farmer when he retired, on some small piece of land in his hometown. He talked about speaking and thinking in English and accused me of ruining his confidence by correcting his pronunciations. “Oooh, pre-vail…” he said mockingly.

We had been watching Friends when he asked, “What does prev-el mean?”

“Prev-el? I’m not sure.”

“He just said that word, prev….el.”

“Spell it,” I offered

“P, r, e, v,….”

“Ooh, Pre-Vail?” I corrected. “It means to succeed, to overcome and accomplish something.”

Since then I had been using it in sentences as often as possible.

He loved to tease me. For some reason I find it endearing. I think I know why. There’s nothing like someone new in your life who lives life so dramatically different than the only thing you ever knew before……to heal the wounds that the past left behind.

For all his moodiness and fatalist pessimism, Mr. Moon is funny and light and likes to enjoy people and life. More so, I think than even he realizes. I loved being with him. More than anyone in a long time.

We had breakfast after our row in the lake and I took him home to pack and clean up his apartment.

Later that afternoon, he came over and we exchanged borrowed things. He gave me the empty bottle of Bouza I had given him on his birthday and some Mardi Gras beads to save for him in case he came back. He returned my copy of The Four Agreements, which he didn’t read and my luggage scale. He also gave me a beautiful, leather travel purse that his mother gave him. “So you don’t lose your passport next time.”

I was touched by the gift. We found a card in it with a prayer. He tried to take it, saying it would get me in trouble but I managed to replace it in its hiding place.

We talked for a little while. He said he might come back. He said I should forget him.

I told him that was impossible and wished him good luck and happiness.

I gave him a story I wrote. An attempt to put into words what he had meant to me. I made it into a little booklet with a picture of us from Avery Island. It’s the one he took of our shadows on the moss in the water from the observation stand where the birds gather.

“Wish me good things,” he often said to me.

“I always do,” was always my response. He told me that he believed that if people who love you make wishes for you they will come true. So I typed up all my wishes for him into a pattern on a square piece of paper and folded it into a crane for good luck. As he left I gave him the little package with the crane, the story and a St. Christopher medal in it.

He stood in the doorway and I held him for as long as he would let me.

“Thank you,” he said, “for everything. Especially your friendship.”

As he walked away I said, “Be safe.”

“I will.”

“Be happy!”

“Eeehhh,” he said mockingly.

“Be Good!”

“I am good.”

I walked back inside and let out the requisite tears.

Just like Z before him, I can love him safely from far away. I can write up my sweet little love story of unrequited desire and keep it in a little box on a shelf of impossible, untested, unreal relationships that enter my heart then fade off like mist in the sun.

I can convince myself that he could’ve been the one. That we would’ve worked together. That I could’ve loved him the way I believed he deserved to be loved. And that he would’ve been right for me, accepting me for who I am while encouraging me to be my best.

And now I get to wallow in my grief and wonder if anyone will come into my life, love me just as I am, be good for me and stay.

Goodbye Mr. Moon, I love you. 

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2 Comments
  1. Awwwww. Call if you need to vent. Love you!

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