Page 21 of Lavender Moon

“I’m proud of you,” he mutters as we pull away.

“For what, serving my country?” I raise a sardonic eyebrow.

“For doing something with your life, no matter what it is.”

I give a thoughtful nod as I pull my small carry-on duffel up onto my shoulder, and Alex and I turn, heading for the security check point.

Once aboard the plane, I take the window seat, yearning for that childhood escape I always sought. Watching the ground grow farther away, I’m up higher than I’ve ever been and I concentrate on tuning out my awkward surroundings and just take it in.

When we’ve penetrated the cloud cover and there’s not much else to see, I pull my pencil and notepad out of my duffel, intent on drawing to pass the time. I let myself zone out, just letting my hand draw what it will in strokes and scribbles; light lines and dark ones.

“It just wasn’t the right time, man.” I hear Alex’s voice break through the din of the engines, and it jars me just a little.

“What?” I respond without even looking up.

“You’ve known each other since you were kids, and that’s all you know.”

What in the hell?It sounds like he’s referring to Luna, but I never talked about her much. I kind of liked keeping her to myself.

“Are you on something, man?” I finally look up and furrow my brow at him because he’s not making sense.

He rests his head back against the seat with a smug grin. “Cheyenne’s been throwing some little prissy girl tantrum the whole summer while you’ve been gone,” he explains, “about how you ditched her to go be with your pen pal, Luna, for the summer.”

“Yeah, well, Cheyenne’s a nosey, insecure bitch with a really big mouth,” I spew out, bitterly.

“Yeah, and she’s hung up on you. Couldn’t stand that the big, shit-eating grin you get every summer just before you leave for that camp in Ohio wasn’t for her.”

Again, what the hell?

I cock my head towards him again, willing him to elaborate.

“I’ve known you for six years… you think I didn’t notice?” He pauses, taking in my pensive expression. “Anyway, you’ll see her again. You’ll both be older, and there will be something different between you.” He gives me a smart look before popping his earbuds in, signaling the end of this little heart-to-heart, and I gaze away, turning this over in my head. I always thought Luna was the only friend that cared about me. In my mind she’s still irreplaceable, yet I didn’t realize that Alex was more than just someone to hang with, and that he’s actually been paying attention the last few years. That says a lot. That says that Luna may be the most important person I’ve had in my life, but she’s not my only friend. That said… I have her to thank.

Before her I didn’t care to make friends. I felt better in my own company; safer. But then she pranced into my life so freely like she’d always belonged there, and it gave me a certain confidence – a quiet confidence, but it’s there nonetheless, thanks to her.

Looking down at my notepad, I take in the two dark eyes that dazzle back up at me from the page. Deep set, with up turned brows and thick, dark lashes, they smile up at me without the need for a set of full pink lips.

A sudden twinge has me leaning forward and rifling through the side pocket of my carry-on before I feel my fingers wrap around the ballpoint pen I stashed in there.

After sitting back up, pen in my hand, I click it open. A sharp pain digs through my chest at the recent memory of this morning resurfacing. Luna and I didn’t say goodbye. I didn’t draw a picture on the palm of her hand to look at on her way back home.

If I believed in things like bad juju or curses, I would think this break in tradition has left us both doomed. I don’t, but it still gives me a restless, unsettling feeling. Who knew I was a guy who needed closure?

Not caring how inane this idea sounds to myself, I hold up my left hand and start gliding the pen across my palm. Like I always did with Luna, I take my time, curving the stroke of the pen, drawing what I always knew I would on this last visit while also drawing out the moment. I sweep the pen side-to-side in a repetitive motion, getting the shapes and the shading just right.

My mind barely registers the sound of Alex quietly snoring beside me as I put the finishing touch just below the crescent moon that peeks out from between dark clouds. Just a single word:

Mine.

The next two months are therapeutic in a way I never even dreamed of. The strict routine, no bullshit, hardcore environment leaves no room for daydreaming or dissecting any emotional aspects of my life.

It’s not that I never think about things or people. I think about them plenty. I just don’t have time or space for them to consume me.

When I needed motivation, I thought about Pops and how I wanted to make something of myself for him. When I needed aggressive strength and force, I thought of my sperm donor. Every pull-up, punch, press, jab, kick… I think of that fuckrag. How I would beat him into the ground if I ever saw him again. If given the choice, I’d never have the chance; I’m fine with him being essentially dead to me. Beating the shit out of him would just be my consolation prize if I had to come face-to-face with him.

And of course, I think of Luna. Though she tries to break into my thoughts when I’m training, I save her for my private moments. At night, when I’m drifting off to sleep, she’s my escape. The one thing that keeps me from going into complete tunnel vision. Thoughts of our joint climax in the lake have brought me back there time and again in the rare moments I can lock myself in a bathroom stall to find release. When I’m marching in military step, I imagine the chance encounter I fantasize of us having later on down the road. I drive and push myself to become the man I want to be for if that ever happens.

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