Moon Beaming

by L.R. McGary

Anyone can catch a crescent moon. Crescents are young and fearless, or too old and tired to flee. All you need to do is find an old lake on a still, cloudless night when the crescent’s reflection shimmers on the water like a handful of silver, and reach out and grasp it. The crescent may wiggle as it solidifies under your fingers, but in a few moments it will fall still, a beautiful and steady light for you to use. Wisps of moonlight will leak from the corners like smoke until there is nothing left, but even the most clumsily snatched crescents will shine through the night. The most carefully caught crescents will last the month, and, for most, that suffices. After all, at the end of the month there will be a new one to catch as the old fades.

Kasha herself caught crescents as a child, when her brother taught her. She has always loved the gentle stillness of the moon that shines down on her the same no matter what hubbub has filled her days. Kasha wanted – wants – to bring that light into her room, but the crescents aren’t right, only slivers of the moon’s full beauty.

Half-moons are harder to capture, spry and wary of snatching hands. To catch a half, you must roll up your trousers and wade into the old lake so only your skin touches the reflecting water. You must anticipate where the half will shine on the lake’s still surface, and dip just your fingertips around that spot. Then you must wait as the half rises and its reflection swims between your hands. Slowly, you must coax your fingers around the hesitant half, as you would touch a sleeping child. It will buck and flop like a fish, but you must be gentle yet firm, wait and soothe that skittish light until it solidifies, and only then lift it from the water.

Kasha’s father is one of the few who bother to gather half-moons. Halves lose light more slowly than crescents and can last a full year before fading away to nothing, but they are less valuable. Crescents leak faster if sold or bartered away, but halves will fade overnight if separated from their tamer.

Kasha took one half-moon when her father taught her, tricked and coaxed it into her hands. She kept it in her room for the full year it shone for her, and after that she never caught another moon, crescent or half. The half was almost worse than the crescents with how far it still was from right, how close it should have been. Kasha wanted the moon, entire, not some part of it caught to be useful.

No one has ever caught a full moon. She is strong and wise, fully and perfectly herself, and no reflection can trap her essence.

When Kasha’s half-moon faded, she started to sing to the moon in the sky. Her songs swelled as the moon waxed, and faded away as she waned. Kasha knows each crater in that light, so that it is obvious to her when it is the day before the moon is full, or the day after she is full, or that one perfect moment when she is completely herself. Fulfilled.

Kasha waits for those beautiful moments, when she can almost hear the moon singing back. They are far too few – once a month can never be enough. So Kasha decides she will try not to catch the full moon but to woo her, so she may never fade away again.

On a cloudless, still night, when the moon will be perfectly full, Kasha goes to the old lake. She strips on the shore before the moon has risen, and swims out to the center. As the moon slowly bathes her in light, Kasha sings every moon song, letting her longing rise up as she looks steadfast at the moon, never once glancing at her reflection. When Kasha is finished, the moon has reached her zenith. From sky to ground and back, the two beam at one another.

Kasha floats for long moments, gathering courage. Then, with a deep breath, she sinks beneath the water and waits for her ripples to still. Looking up, there is no reflection to see, only the moon’s familiar light filtering straight down to her.

When the water is still as glass, Kasha floats up into that light. She pauses just beneath the surface, gazes up at the moon through her reflection, and kisses her.

For just a moment, the moon is real against Kasha’s lips. Craters shift softly. Light thrums against her.

Then the moment breaks, and Kasha is above the water again, gasping in the light of the faraway moon.

She floats in the old lake until the moon sets, caressing her reflection on the water.

Next month she will return for this moon, her full Moon. Perhaps one day her Moon will stay with her through the month. Until then, she will be dreaming of another kiss.

L. R. McGary grew up reading and loving science fiction and fantasy, and has known she wanted to write her own since her first novel attempt in eighth grade. In her spare time, she hikes, kayaks, plays with the family dog, makes ceramics, and occasionally gardens. She holds a BFA in Writing from Pratt Institute, in Brooklyn, New York.