Talk to the Moon

The Moon was talking to her, smirking with that “I know things” look. Round-faced, eyes shut, big mouth, the Moon felt like sharing some secrets. The central London sky was burdening on the city with its grey weight of un-rained clouds. 
 
You will soon be there.
Where?

There.
But that is not an answer.

You aren’t meant to know.
So what are you trying to tell me?

I am reading your future.
Is it bright?

It is, indeed.
Am I going to be happy?

You are happy.
I am not.

Yes, you are and you’d be able to realize it, if only you could stop thinking about it.
I can try.

You have to. Otherwise you won’t make it there.
…I am growing anxious.

You shouldn’t.
How?

Breathe.
 
A pause in the dialogue was filled with her heavy sighs of attempted relief. She tried her best to stop wondering. To prevent her brain from spinning for a few seconds. Resting in the calmness of that instant, with the Moon – her friend – whispering kind words of possible future miracles.
 
I did it. I gave up my anxiety.
No answer.

Hey Moon, are you there?
No answer.
 
But the thoughts came back in their evil march. That wasn’t a night to sleep.
 
She closed the window and remained there, on her undone bed, legs crossed and lost stare at the outer world. Those endlessly-longed places, the gentle touch of chilly air on her cheeks, the crystal feature of the Moon; she left everything she cared about out of the window, but couldn’t nor wouldn’t rest.
 
Her stream of consciousness lasted an entire night. The stars, the Moon and her home planet, Earth, were moving together in the day and night dance, and she couldn’t nor wouldn’t close her eyes, letting her thoughts run free. She held tight to every drop of certainty she had and waited for the first ray of rationality to raise along with the Sun.
 
The next morning, she felt exhaustingly uncharged. Every particle of her body was aching and she deliberately chose to remain in bed. Eventually, her eyes couldn’t stand the light and decided to close. The following hours hosted the deepest sleep she could ever recall.
 
Around noon the phone abruptly rang. She managed to find her mobile on the night bed, covered by crumpled newspapers and paper tissues.
 
Hello?
…

Yes, it’s me.
…

Oh, yes. Hi, how do you do?
…

Yes, I did apply, actually.
…

Well, you know. My plan was to give a hand. But I am quite flexible.
…

Really? That would be perfect!
…

When would it start?
…

…
Sorry, yes I am here. It’s just that… You know, I am quite surprised.

…
No, no! I am still keen. Absolutely.

…
I guess I need to check flights, then, ah?

…
That sounds perfect! Let me do that and I will get back to you within today.

…
Yes, you too. Talk later. Bye…. Yes, thank you. Bye.
 
 
A few months passed by. She is staring at the crystal-clear sky of a midsummer night in north India. Her hands are dry and hurt a bit from cooking food for the kids participating in the summer camp. The air is chillier than usual and her cheeks painted in bright pink. She smiles and then the Moon takes the microphone.
 
I told you.
I know! You were right.

How do you feel?
I am gloriously happy, I’d say.

I can see. And how are the kids?
They are wonderful. I am trying to help out, you know.

You are.
Do you think so?

We both know. Don’t we?
Yes, we do. Thank you.

What for?
For being here, all the time.

I will always be.
 
That night goes fast. She spends it on top of the hill, contemplating the dance of stars, the Moon and her home, Earth. Around five in the morning, the first ray of sun shows up, along with the desire to prepare breakfast. The kids will wake up soon and everything has to be ready for their day at school.
 
While strolling down the hill, she can’t help humming softly.
 
When you don’t know what to do, look at the sky and talk to the Moon… na na na…