Remember The Moon (3 page)

“That would be great, yeah,” Maya said, smiling.

“Hey, I’m staying at this little pensione on the road between Positano and Amalfi,” I said. “You can walk down to the water from there and swim in a tiny grotto. They also have amazing four-course dinners for next to nothing. Feel like a swim?”

“Are you trying to change the subject?” Her lips turned up in another sly smile.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” I laughed.

The bus deposited us at a stop a short distance from the pensione. We walked along the ocean side of the winding highway, buffeted by the wind of speeding busses that careened along the narrow road. We entered a gap in a long whitewashed wall just a few feet from the edge of the highway. A glazed oval tile adorned with red and blue flowers marked the pensione’s name. We walked down narrow white steps that led into a tiny garden. On the ocean side of the garden, tall, pencil-thin Cyprus guarded the cliff’s edge. A narrow set of steps carved into the rock face hugged the rugged cliff side as they descended crookedly toward the water.

“Oh, wow. That looks steep!” Maya hesitated at the top of the steps, but I knew she would not back down from the challenge.

“C’mon! Let’s check it out!”

We descended the steps, Maya in front. She touched the rock face on her right for balance and held the flimsy rope rail. She avoided looking down to her left. Along the way, carved into the cliff wall, were tiny arch-ceilinged alcoves – shrines, tiled with images of Jesus and filled with candles. She stopped in front of one, caressing Jesus’s shiny tiled face.

“Are these meant to mark the places where people have toppled to their deaths?”

“Wimp.” I laughed. “Keep going. It’ll be worth it, I promise.”

At sea level, poised on a large slab of rock, we stood watching the huge swells crash just a few feet below us into the cliff side along either side of our platform. The true strength of the ocean expressed itself in the loudly pounding swells, the size of oil tankers.

“It sure is humbling, isn’t it?” I said.

“Yes it is,” she whispered. A shiver shot up the back of my neck as Maya took my hand.

“You ready?” I asked as I stripped off my shirt and shoes, wearing just my shorts.

“Oh. God. Won’t those waves smash us against the cliff?”

“You have to wait until the wave is out, then jump in and swim to the grotto before the next wave hits. There’s a ledge you can stand on just inside the entrance. C’mon, you can do it!” I pulled her closer to the edge. She tentatively removed her shorts, revealing sexy red panties that took my breath away. She then slowly unbuttoned her shirt and revealed a matching red bra. The bony child-like figure of my memory had grown womanly curves. Pale, untanned patches of skin created by her obvious habit of tanning in a bikini caused me to turn away to prevent myself from licking a pale coin of flesh between her breasts.

“Ready?” I asked. She took a tentative step closer to the edge of the rock platform and looked into the sea.

“Ready as I’ll ever be...”

“One, two, threeeeee!”

We jumped, holding hands, just as a wave pulled away from the cliff wall. We were pulled away with it but swam toward the grotto’s opening and a new wave pushed us into the cool dankness. Just inside, we scampered onto another outcropping of rock to avoid the full force of the wave as it thundered into the entrance. We sat for a few minutes breathing heavily, our skin goose-pimpling as our eyes adjusted to the dark. On the water’s surface, pools of sunlight reflected onto the ceiling of the grotto, creating an undulating constellation. Long, limestone stalactites blistered down from the ceiling, threatening us with their menacing fangs. From their tips, large droplets of water fell into pools etched into the rocks by their Chinese torture dripping, creating a cacophony of high pitched tones, echoing throughout the cave in a methodic beat.

“Oh, wow!” Tiny flecks of gold reflected off Maya's freckled skin as she looked up at the ceiling. “It’s so magical.” Her voice reverberated off the walls.

“A temple of the sea, so to speak,” I offered.

“It’s very beautiful, but it’s also kind of claustrophobic. I feel as if I’m in some sort of underworld.”

“Maybe this is where you go when you die.” I laughed. “I guess you don’t want to see where some of these passages go, then?” I pointed to one of the tunnels leading off the main chamber.

“You can. But I think I’ll stay right here, thanks.” We sat together in quiet reverence, feeling both cradled and threatened each time a wave entered and then retreated. My heart began beating fast with my desire to pull Maya close and kiss her, each beat surely amplified throughout the chamber.

Maya turned to look at me, her eyes soft, and I leaned over and kissed her gently on the lips. It felt at that moment as if we had known each other a thousand years, a feeling I had never felt with any other girl.

“Wow,” she said as she pulled away, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. “I wonder what would’ve happened if we’d done that ten years ago?”

“I wanted to.”

“You did?”

“Don’t pretend you didn’t know that.”

“OK. I guess I did know. But you were just a kid to me then. A lowly freshman.”

“Yeah.”

We sat in silence for a long time, mesmerized by the iridescent mural of rock deposits painting the walls and ceiling of the grotto. I wanted to stay in this grotto forever, savoring the moment. Maya shivered.

“You ready?” I asked.

She nodded. “How’re we going to do this?”

“Same way we got here. When a wave goes out, swim like crazy back to the rock platform.” Her eyes widened, but she took a deep breath and looked determined.

“Ready?” I asked, as a wave began to move out of the grotto. Maya nodded.

“Now!”

Blinded, I re-emerged into sunlight. I looked around for Maya, who was already scrambling onto the rock. I swam over and hauled myself out, flopping into a puddle beside her prone figure. For a moment it felt as if I hovered a few inches above my own body, with nothing underneath for support, but still able to feel every lump and pucker of warm rock against my back. I closed my eyes against the bright light and clasped my hands behind my neck, trying to re-ground myself, the sun on my face pulsing red to the beat of my heart against the back of my eyelids. When I opened them, the sun seemed to have shifted, emitting a slightly different range of color, as if the Earth had begun spinning in a new direction during our time inside the grotto. Maya lay beside me, eyes closed, still breathing heavily, skin glistening, a large drop of seawater pooled in her navel. I wanted to lean over and suck out the water but remained rooted to the rock, paralyzed by the unusual sensations in my body. After some time, a minute or an hour, Maya wiggled towards me.

“Wow, I feel sort of dizzy, like I’m not quite a part of my body,” Maya said as she reached out for my hand, rolling onto her side, her other palm flat against the rock, steadying herself.

“I thought it was just me,” I said, pulling her into my arms. We held onto each other for a while, as if together we might be more successful reorienting ourselves in this brand new universe. Our eyes connected, transfixed, neither of us able to break the spell. Her eyes took on the indigo-green of the water crashing around us, eyes that seemed to reflect the possibilities of a million lifetimes.

Sometime later, hair still dripping down our backs and our dry clothes now pulled over our wet ones, we sat on the flowered seat cushions of the pensione’s dining room, a vine-canopied rooftop balcony that teetered high above the ocean.

We held hands across the crisp white tablecloth. I didn’t want to let go, certain that without her to ground me I might float away from her forever. Antipasto was followed by homemade spaghetti with a fresh tomato sauce.

“How did you ever find this place?” She took a sip of wine, hair brushed off her face and drying in the light ocean breeze. “It’s so beautiful!” The ocean, draped in silky shades of mauve and tangerine, looked like a perfect Hallmark sunset scene.

“One of my dad’s buddies, actually. Did you ever meet Gay Paul?” Maya shook her head. “He and a bunch of his friends come here. I trust his taste. It’s a little more expensive than staying in a youth hostel, but cheaper than hotels in Amalfi or Positano because Praiano is on the highway between them and is harder to reach. Do you want me to see if they have an extra room for tonight? It would be a nice change from the youth hostel.” Maya gave me a look, but didn’t reply. I hadn’t meant to assume something sexual between us; I simply dreaded the thought of having to say goodbye to her, now that I’d found her again. I worried I may have ruined the magic of the night.

“Sorry,” I added. “I hope you didn’t take my invitation to stay as a come on.”

“Isn’t it?”

“No... Well... Maybe it was.”

“I kind of hoped it was.”

“You were? It’s not too soon since...?”

“Marc? He ran off with a beautiful singer from Texas named Annabelle. I don’t even know where he is.”

“Wow. That’s harsh.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to imply–”

“That I’d just be your boy toy?” She looked horrified for a moment, until I grinned. “Kidding. I’ll be your boy toy anytime.”

“Then do I have to get a separate room?”

I laughed as heat shot to my groin. “Not at all!”

When the shiny gray skin of a white fish slathered in a lemony butter was all that remained on our plates and the tall glass carafe of the local Casavecchia was almost empty and we were feeling the heat of the day and the wine in the pinkness of our cheeks, we dragged our chairs closer together and held hands, sleepily taking in the view. The ocean was black now except for the diminishing highway of blue-white moonlight jetting between us and the giant sphere that rose high into the sky. I wondered what goofy smile was on my face, thinking how unbelievable this trip had suddenly become. What were the chances? Maya Willis of all people? Without Marcus Pellegrino? Suddenly I knew without a doubt that Maya was the woman I would marry.

“You know, this moon reminds me of the moon the night your father died. It was so bright that night. It didn’t seem possible that someone could drown in such bright moonlight.”

“Yeah,” I managed, trying to catch my breath, not allowing my eyes to meet hers. I wanted my father to be far from my thoughts. I didn’t want him ruining this night and yet, with my reunion with Maya came memories of him. I used the edge of my fork to scoop a chunk of almondine chocolate cake into my mouth, not knowing what to say.

“Have you ever heard the myth of Selene, Goddess of the moon?”

I shook my head, this time lifting my gaze to look at her.

“She had a lover. A mortal lover. An incredibly good-looking lover who was a hunter or possibly a king. The important part is that he was really good-looking.” She winked, and again, heat shot from my face to my crotch.

“His name was Endymion, which in Greek means ‘to dive in’, so he is thought to be the personification of sleep or the sunset or something like that. Anyway, poor Selene fell madly in love with him. Blinded with love or maybe lust, she asked Zeus to give Endymion eternal life. She wanted Endymion to stay young forever so he would never leave her. Instead, Zeus granted her wish by giving him eternal sleep. The only way Selene could see him was at night when he slept. He obviously didn’t sleep much though, because they had fifty daughters together.”

“That’s a lot of daughters. How do you know so much about Pompeii and Greek mythology anyway?”

“Classical Studies. An art college pre-requisite. But it fascinated me. I kind of wished I’d taken classics at a regular university rather than art school. I think I would have loved those academic types. Anyway, when I heard the myth, it made me think of your dad. Maybe it was the moon that night. But I liked the idea of him resting in an eternal sleep. What do you think, Jay?”

I stood up and took her hand, pulling her in the direction of my room. I turned and took a last look at the moon over the water. It seemed to be smiling at me.

“I think I will never forget this moon. ”

The moon that night and the cat’s eyes that Maya showed me in Pompeii that day, their iridescence lighting the way, guided a traveler through darkness. Those glinting markings and grooves in the road were all that remained of an existence now lost, routes once traveled, clues that led people to their journey’s end. Each tiny coincidence, each chance meeting, each shared moon is just another reflective clue guiding our journeymen selves to our ultimate destination.

A
s a dead man, I felt more alive than when I was alive. My vision had a peculiar clarity, allowing me the ability to see individual needles on the conifers that balanced on a high, windswept cliff all the way across the Sound, a mile away from where I had crashed. I detected a spectrum of color I had not seen before, minute shades of green, yellow, and brown. I knew I was dead – my drowned body below me bobbed under the water, strapped into the seat, my hands floating up over my head. I hovered over myself, both below the water’s surface and above it at once. I reached out to touch a soft white-crested wave, surprised when the deep indigo wash disintegrated beneath my fingers, a dizzying, disorienting experience. Logic fell away, no longer necessary for comprehending my experiences.

I sensed my father beside me. My father who died when I was fourteen years old. I knew I should follow him, allow him to lead me somewhere, but I didn’t want to go, didn’t trust that this experience wasn’t just part of a dream. He stood smiling, his hands held behind his back, barefoot, still dressed in his Rolling Stones t-shirt and khaki shorts.

It was strange seeing him, the same age as me, his curly dark hair disheveled, the same scar across his forehead from a teenaged bicycle accident, his wedding ring still prominent on his left ring finger. Dead at thirty-nine, I was the same age as my father was when he died. I had always thought of him as being older, the way a kid thinks of his dad, in that nonage sort of way. He looked youthful, boyish, younger than I did, with his dark shaggy hair and long pork chop sideburns in that consummate 70s retro look. The human me would have laughed or cried, given him a hug, or perhaps a punch in the arm for dying on me. But I was not myself. He too seemed different. No high fives, no whoops, no knuckle bumps. His self-possessed, steady calm and that knowing half-smile contrasted with the jumpiness I felt from the sensation of being outside my own body.

My dead body continued to bob lifelessly as a Coast Guard diver made a valiant effort to release me from the car. He floated up to the surface and shook his head. The futility was obvious. I felt a momentary impulse to leap back into the water, swim toward my body and climb back inside its limp form. My being seemed large outside the confines of my body, newly unfurled from its prison. I laughed unexpectedly. I could hardly imagine why I might laugh at the sight of my own dead body, but my weightlessness in the absence of my body had me feeling giddy, on the verge of hysteria – the way a kid might feel being thrown up in the air by an adult – at once exhilarated and terrified.
I’m too young. I still have so much to do! I’m not ready! Let me go back! I will be a better person!

How many times had I cursed my father for dying young? Now I had done something equally stupid and careless, maybe more so.
Maya. Oh Maya. I love you so much! I didn’t mean to leave you. And Calder. Will you ever forgive me for dying on you?

I’m dead. I’m dead. I’m dead. Aren’t I?

Yes, Jay, you are.

My father reassured me of my deadness. With my dad’s confirmation, I felt my panic dissipate, replaced with an excited yet peaceful sensation. I sensed a duality within this new me – the panic of losing my body, and also the exhilaration of being released from it. I experienced a more distant feeling of calmness, that everything was happening as it should. I had no volume, mass, velocity, or any other physical attribute. I did not exist physically in space because a physical location no longer had meaning. I could float while Earth spun on its axis around the Sun, so that my relative position to Earth remained unchanged. My soul, even outside my body, maintained its identity as “Jay”, though I didn’t know how without any brain input. I had no concept of time, felt no pain. I felt sorry for my prone body, now a stranger.

I thought of the things in my life that now would never be – the second kid we had vaguely planned on having, the romantic weekend that Maya had been bugging me about, working out more, climbing Mount Rainier, jamming with Calder. Instead I’d made Maya a single mother to a seven-year-old boy. Only seven. Shit. He still had so much life to live and now he would have to do it without a father. I knew how hard that would be for him. Who would cheer him at his first little league game this summer? Who would kick his butt when he became a grunting teenager, or see him stand at an altar on his wedding day? I’d looked forward to nurturing Calder's musical abilities, his drumming, something I knew Maya had no interest in. The kid had talent and I was determined to help him discover it. How would I do that now? Damn it, I totally blew it. I thought of my mother, who would now be completely alone, her husband and her only son having abandoned her too young. I thought of never being able to taste chocolate ice cream again, or a drippy peach. Feel the sun on my face, the wind in my hair. I acknowledged these facts with a sad desperation, still hovering near my body in case it might come back to life. I imagined a rescuer suddenly diving into the water, hauling my dead weight back to the surface, rolling me up onto the rocky shore, and pumping my chest until I spewed up sea water. Might I suddenly open my eyes and laugh at my own dumb luck for still being alive, claiming to have seen a bright light and a tunnel? A small glimmer of hope for a life I knew could no longer be. I looked over at an actual bright light and a tunnel, and wanted to laugh at the irony of it all. I was gently tugged toward that light, almost against my will. I felt an overwhelming desire to go that I resisted with everything I had. Strange to long for both life and death at the same time.

The diver found my wallet and an officer called our home in Seattle, where Maya was wise enough to leave her cell phone number on the voice mail message. They called the cell phone and left a message. Time passed, and the divers suspended their recovery efforts until the following morning. They decided to haul the entire car onto a barge with a crane, a difficult maneuver that I looked forward to witnessing.

From my post near my body, I longed to be with Maya when she received the news of my death. With that thought I arrived at Maya's sister Bethany’s condo in Whistler. But I could still see my body trapped beneath the waves. I didn’t know how this could be and felt as if I had split myself in two.

I watched as Maya turned on her phone to check messages, saw her listen to the message left by the RCMP, saw the color drain from her face. Bethany walked in and, looking quizzical, mouthed, “What’s wrong?” Maya shook her head and continued to listen to the end of the message, her hands shaking. She dropped her hands, still holding the phone limply.

“That was the Lion’s Bay police. They want me to call. There’s been an accident on the Sea to Sky Highway.”

“An accident? Who?”

“I can only assume it’s Jay, since they’re calling me, but why would he be there? He said he wasn’t coming.”

Maya redialed the number on her phone.

“No,” she whispered in response to what she was told. “No! He didn’t come skiing. It’s not him. You’ve made a mistake. He wanted a quiet weekend. It’s not him. How can you even be sure it’s him?” Bethany had her arm around Maya as she listened with tears streaming down her cheeks. Maya nodded her head without speaking, eyes wide, mouth slack, before she slid slowly down the lemony yellow kitchen wall until her bum reached the floor and she could slide no farther, her knees sticking up, her feet sunk into the goofy pink fluffy slippers her sister had given her for Christmas. The cell phone slipped from her hand onto the floor unnoticed. I longed to hold her in my arms, touch her smooth skin. I wished I could tell her one last time how much I loved her.

Later, I sat with Calder and Maya on Bethany’s guest bed. Maya held a box of tissues on her lap, her shaking hands grasping it from either side, as if it were a shoe box containing a tiny fragile bird like the one that Calder had once rescued, that Maya had desperately yet unsuccessfully tried to nurse back to life with a medicine dropper.

“Calder, there’s been an accident,” Maya said. Calder looked up from his Gameboy.

“What kind of accident?”

“It’s your dad. He’s been in a car accident.”

“Is he in the hospital? Do we have to go see him now?” Calder sounded panicked. Maya could only shake her head through her unending tears, making a sawing noise as she pulled a tissue slowly out of the box, quickly dabbing her chin to catch another falling tear.

“Is he.... Is he... dead?”

Maya cried harder and leaned over to hug him.

“Daddy’s dead?”

Maya nodded, still holding him in an embrace. “I’m so sorry, sweetie,” she whispered.

“Maybe he’s just in space,” Calder said. She smiled faintly at his upturned, hopeful face.

“No, Calder, he’s in heaven. We can’t see him anymore.”
I’m here, I’m right here.

“When he gets back from heaven, can we all go and get ice cream?”

Absolutely! Was it just last night that I had been such an asshole to him?

“Is Daddy still mad at me?”

Oh Calder, No. I’m sorry about last night. Please don’t remember me that way.
Calder cried loudly now.

“He needs to come back! Daddy, come back now!” Calder looked directly at me.

I want to Calder, I really do.

“
I’m so sorry, Cald, he can’t. But he loves... loved you very much.” Calder seemed better able to sense me – perhaps children are naturally more psychic – making the permanence of my death incomprehensible to him. I touched Calder's shoulder lightly, making him shiver, frustrated that I couldn’t take him into my arms. I kissed Maya's cheek, wanting nothing more than to feel its warmth, to look into her eyes one more time. To have her looking back into mine.

I told you you were going to die! You didn’t believe me.
Calder's thought was clear.

You’re right, Buddy. I didn’t really understand. I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you.

Maya and I never discussed our wishes for funeral arrangements. It never occurred to us that one of us could die so soon, despite my own father’s death at a young age. I suppose in my own denial of death, the act of planning my own funeral seemed like a self-fulfilling prophecy. No way
this
Cavor would die young.

My father had been cremated, and his urn sat for years on the ornate mantle that my mother had bought at an antiques fair and stripped of its hideous green paint. I loathed the idea of an open casket – over-rouged cheeks, waxy coral lips, hands folded over the person’s chest, like a macabre wax museum display. Maya, I felt, was of the same mind. Closed casket then, if she went the funeral route. But then what? A funeral home? A church? We never frequented such places. I couldn’t imagine Maya trying to choose a coffin for me, the types of wood, the color of the satin lining. Laughable. No surprise when she opted for cremation. Clean, neat, compact. The cardboard coffin was included in the price.

Days on Earth passed and I floated in a sort of no-man’s land. The tunnel and its light continued to beckon; I continued to resist. I visited my body the moment before the box containing it was hoisted onto the sleek, stainless table, built to slide into a square door where I would be reduced to dust, baked at 1700 degrees Fahrenheit for two hours until I was the consistency of ash with bits of bone mixed in. I watched as the flames engulfed the box, imagined the smell as acrid, one of burning hair and flesh. I wondered why I felt so little emotion at the incineration of my body.

Maya and a group of people stood on the bow of a boat, a yacht really, under a rare, clear March Seattle sky, a jaundiced eyeball of a full moon witnessing it all. The salt breeze pushed a wisp of Maya's hair away from her face and she pulled her long black wool coat tighter around her shoulders. Calder stood next to her, wearing his camouflage snowboarding jacket, whining.

“When can we go? I want to go home. I’m cold.”

“I know sweetie, but I’m going to need your help sprinkling Daddy’s ashes on the water. But let’s go inside now and get warmed up first.”

Inside the large cabin, a group of our friends and family were sitting in white plastic folding chairs that had been lined up in rows across the parquet wood dance floor, under a mirrored disco ball. My mother sat in the front row, knees clenching her hands between them, back slightly hunched, looking straight ahead. Her whole body appeared to be glowing, shoots of coloured light emanating from her torso. Muddy grays, yellows, and blues swirled around her and seemed to morph into warmer shades of pink and orange when I sat beside her. My own light blended with hers in tiny arcs between us. I realized that everyone in the room had similar rings of colour enveloping their forms, something I vaguely understood to be auras. I realized I could now see the vibrations of atoms, electrons, particles of every object in the universe. Even thoughts had auras.

Around the room a broad spectrum of electromagnetic radiation – microwaves, infrared light, and UV light flickered and danced like the flames of a candle near an open window in response to the energy emitted through people’s auras. This light energy seemed concentrated around electrical outlets and light fixtures but also around those who seemed to be grieving most – Maya, Calder, and my mother - because their auras appeared to radiate more energy than everyone else’s.