“Mom! Look! Look at the moon!” She was focused on something else: her glass of Prosecco, the menu, talking about plans for tomorrow with her husband and daughter.
“Mom! Mom, Mom…” His voice softening with disappointment, sinking into the realization: he was alone in his appreciation.
When they walked onto the patio, he immediately stood out in his family’s constellation. He glowed. His golden hair still damp and soiled with sunscreen. His nose, stained red from too much sun and time in the pool. They were visiting from somewhere overcast, I could tell. He had delicate blue eyes, not piercing; liquid blue like the ocean on a calm, partly cloudy day, inviting you to dive in.
I knew him; I was him when I was a girl. Quiet, polite, treading cautiously on the heels of everyone else’s decisions. I noticed him looking around as he sat down. Surveying the landscape, searching for connections, for understanding. His eyes landed on me at one point: alone, eating, writing, sipping an extra dirty martini. I could feel him feeling concerned for me: she’s by herself; she shouldn’t be by herself.
It would be three decades before I learned what he has yet to: I’m not alone. I’m never alone and neither is he. I noticed the moon, too, just like I noticed him when he first walked in: the crescent glow overwhelming the shadows. I wanted to tell him that before I left, but that’s a knowing he’ll learn on his own when it’s time. ~Rebecca
For the boys and girls who feel alone, I see you.