Borrowed Light

Part I It was the discovery that the moon has no wind, no water and no air that changed things for me. That, and the feeling of being inhabited. When I was sixteen, these two discoveries lay side by side in my mind, as separate and solid as stones. In time they connected, until, looking back, I could never see one without the other. I first saw the surface of the moon through a telescope in my garden when I was twelve. That same year I learned that stars were all in the process of dying. I was shocked. My grandmother and I were standing near the azalea bush, our bare feet moist with dew. We were "reading the sky," as she put it. We did that often. In summer it was lovely, the cool grass tickling our toes. Stars sizzled above us. It's amazing how just one crumb of information can change a person's view of the world. I thought stars were incredibly glamorous after that. And tragic. Stars, said Grandma, live only as long as they have fuel. Then they degenerate into white dwarves, or are defeated by gravity and slither into black holes. It's a ghastly end, but, as I told Grandma, at least stars have a life. Their fiery hearts storm with atoms, creating unimaginable heat, turning hydrogen into helium. They make their own light! Now, take the life of a moon. It just follows a planet around, like a dog on a leash. Same old orbit, same old neighborhood. Padding along, it catches light rays like bones thrown by stars. I am a moon. My mother is definitely a moon. My father--he's a hard one to classify. I'd say he's a star, but a distant kind, burning away in another galaxy. You'd need something more than the Hubble telescope to see him properly. No, all my hopes are on Jeremy, my little brother. He has the makings of a star, I swear. He'll make enough light for us all. You might think, to look at me, that I am a star. If you just gave me a passing glance, that is, out of the corner of your eye. Did you know that children can't see well out of the corners of their eyes? They don't develop good peripheral vision until about eight years old. It's something to watch out for, particularly when your little brother is crossing the road. Little kids don't see a thing, believe me. Anyway, if you're over eight, and therefore glancing at me quickly from the corner of your eye, you'll see my long wavy dark hair. You may notice I am very slim (from worry, not weight watching). I have a straight nose with elegant nostrils shaped like bass clefs. My music teacher told me that, when she couldn't think of anything else encouraging to say. People have complimented me on my smile. Tim, my ex-boyfriend, said it was sexy. I work hard at my smile. People often search for kind things to say when they meet me. I think they sense my eagerness to please. Maybe they can even see my tail wag. My mother says that if you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all. My father is often lost for words and spends a lot of time on the other side of the planet. Here in the shadows, lying on my side in bed, I am sixteen again. I watch the line of my body curving out and in like a violin. But if you look properly, you'll see it's only my hip bones that stick out like mad. I really look like a starving cow in a drought. When Jeremy falls asleep with me he slings his leg into that hollow of my waist and snuggles up. I love that. I pretend he's my baby, my little calf. At least I used to. Now I can't bear to think about it. It's late, and I'm tired. My eyes ache. I can't sleep. My skin is tingling with nerves. Outside, it looks so peaceful. The house lies in fields of silence, the neat lawns and careful gardens threaded together with moonlight. It won't last, though. Moonlight changes the world for a while, but it's like a magician who does only illusions, not transformations. When it moves on, the moon leaves nothing behind. The sun would give you a warm spot.[read more]