The girl, standing barefoot by the water edge, was staring at the clear blue water of the Pacific Ocean with rapture in her eyes. She was holding half of a French bread in her hands. Once in a while, she would throw bits and pieces of it on the water. A flock of seagulls would then dive for the food in a riot. Their squawks only matched the girl’s mirthful laughter. Now and then, the cool late afternoon breeze would blow from the sea to play with the long black hair she left hanging down her back.As the gentle wind touched her face, turning her fair cheeks into crimson, she closed her eyes and smiled. She muttered a little prayer of thanks for everything. For the endless stretch of golden brown sand and tide pools of salt water the color of liquid sapphire. For the miraculous wonder of the setting sun veiling the blue-black horizons with splashes of pink, orange and violet clouds. Even for the unruly seagulls whose noise only added to the beauty of the world at sunset. Everything looked beautiful at sunset and the girl couldn’t ask for anything more.
She opened her eyes. It was still light even if the vividness of a mere five minutes ago was mellowed by the sun that was lowering at the western part of the ocean. She was sorry the sun was setting too soon. She looked around. She was the only person at the beach. The old American couple who was having a picnic several yards from her already left. She mentally chided herself as she remembered. Of course they already left! They even gave her their leftover French bread that she fed to the seagulls. She wasn’t worried about being alone, though. Her grandparents’ rented cottage was practically a stone’s throw away; she could find her way back there even in the dark.
She didn’t want to go back to the cottage. Not yet. There should be a full hour left before it got totally dark. An hour would be long enough. She would sit on top of the boulder she noticed earlier facing the East. From there she could watch the Moon rise. She took her time walking toward the boulder; now and then glancing behind to check out the trail her footsteps made from the water edge. She rolled her pants up to her knees before she climbed the boulder. She was able to get to the top without much effort. Apparently, its several years of exposure to high tides resulted in numerous notches all the way to its top, most of which large enough to support her feet.
The rock was massive—it was approximately six feet tall and could hold about three people. That is, her and two other children her size on its top. It was oddly shaped like a dome, and it sort of reminded her of the paperweight on top of his father’s office table; the one filled with water and swirling snow when she shook it—the one a miniature of St. Peter’s Cathedral on it. She smiled to herself then started to sing a popular song by the Carpenters’, the one she often heard her Mommy sing. Really, being on top of this boulder made her feel as if she was on top of the world.
She started softly at first. When she got to the chorus, she belted out the lyrics in her loudest voice. She didn’t feel silly at all. In fact, she was exhilarated. She didn’t mind singing out loud because there was nobody else around to hear and think her crazy. Besides, she was young; she was merely a child. Hadn't she heard her grandmother say that a person should make the most out of his or her younger years, do what he or she wanted to do and never let anything or anyone hold him or her back? Well, knowing how wise her grandmother was, that was precisely what she would do. She would have fun and dance and sing until she got hoarse.
She stopped singing. Did she just hear something—somebody—singing with her? Or did she just imagine it? She looked around. She looked over to the direction the water edge. Except for her, the beach was deserted. She threw a glance toward the cottage area; it was too far for anybody to hear and join her in her little “show.” She got down on her knees, never minding scraping them against the spiked surface of the rock in the process, to inspect all the nooks around. Nothing; no one was there.
The girl shrugged. Maybe it was just the waves that crashed against the rocky beach, or the distant squawks of the seagulls nesting for the day. Most probably it was just her overactive imagination. Or maybe, just maybe, she was just hearing herself think. His writer-uncle Tito Dik, mother’s youngest brother, once told her that people sometimes could do that. Especially when everything was silent except for the sound of nature—the crashing of the waves against the rocks; the whispers of the wind blowing through the leaves of the trees; the unique symphony of crickets and night birds at dusk.
She resumed her concert. Only this time, she was standing on tiptoe, her arms waving in wild gestures. She was in her own element. Nothing was holding her back. She forgot that she was waiting for the rising of the Full Moon. She was Karen Carpenter. She was singing on top of her rock and she was on top of the world.
It’s the love that I found—ever since you’ve been around…, the girl sang.
—Girl, you put me at the top of the world, a boyish voice joined in.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, the owner of the voice she thought she just imagined singing with her was standing beside her on top of her rock. He was smiling down at her—he was a head taller. His face was a mere silhouette against the fading light.
She looked up, squinting hard so she could to see his face clearly. She couldn’t speak even if there was a lot to be said about his unwanted presence. This was her rock; she found it first. She scraped her arms and skinned her knees just so she could climb it. It was her Moonrise he was about to see from its top.
The boy could read her mind. This rock is large for the two us. We could sit side by side and watch the Moonrise together. We could share this rock, couldn’t we? the boy said. Without much ceremony, he sat down at one of the larger notches and made himself comfortable. He motioned for the girl to sit down beside him. She sat as far from him as possible. This is my rock and I would sit where I want to sit, she thought.
Out of the corner of her eyes, she studied the boy’s profile. He had a prominent forehead; thick straight eyebrows; nice pointed nose—straight and with no bump at the bridge; full, dented lips. Quite good-looking, she decided. She tried very hard not to look at her intruder and couldn’t quite succeed. His eyes, thick lashed and beautiful, looked serious. He wore a serious expression on his face, which she couldn’t quite understand. It was too serious for a boy his age—he must be twelve, at least. She wondered if there was something bad that happened to him.
There’s your Moonrise, the boy raised one arm to point at the full Moon that seem to emerge from the now golden ocean. But it was not the Moon that caught the girl’s attention. It was the small steady light of Planet Venus that took her breath away. True, the Evening Star looked insignificant beside the tawny glow of the Goddess Luna’s round domain. But then, the Moon only borrowed her light from the Sun. Venus’s light was all her own. The Moon changed all the time. The Evening Star never would. Sometimes you couldn’t even see the Moon. Venus was always there for her; it would always be with her. She thought she left Venus back home and yet she was here, faithfully guarding her as always.
You’re looking at my Star, said the boy as she stared at the girl. Tiny wisps of her hair were blowing against the early evening breeze. In the dark, he couldn’t see quite clearly but she could see that she was pleasant to look at. She had a high forehead and a pretty nose. Her puckered lips looked well with her saucy chin. He also noticed her eyes; it was hard not to. She had what his grandfather called laughing eyes. Yes, it was a pair of laughing eyes, all right. Because even if she was obviously annoyed with his intrusion of her rock, they still displayed a kind of brightness that reminded of sunny days and hopeful dreams.
It was odd. He did not know who the girl was; it was only today that he first saw her. But he felt as if he knew her forever. It felt natural for him to sing Top of the World with the girl, sit beside her to watch the full Moon rising, talk to her, just be with her. He understood what she wanted to say without uttering a single word, just by looking at her eyes. He even was willing to let her claim the rock. The rock that was standing at the part of the beach his parents owned. The rock from where he himself sat waiting for the rising of the Evening Star long before the girl discovered it.
The girl did not speak. She could not speak. She was lost in her own thoughts.
The boy dusted the grains of sand off the bottom of his shorts. Then he started to get up, thinking that she that she was still angry and that she could never get her to speak to him at all. He was surprised when the girl laid a hand on his arm and said, It isn’t my Moonrise; God gave it for all of us to enjoy. He sat again and smiled, Then that isn’t my Star; it is our Evening Star.
The Moon was climbing steadily up the evening sky. Venus shone from where the girl first saw her. Everything was quiet, except for the sound of crashing waves and the unique symphony of the crickets. The boy and the girl sat beside each other, both lost in their own thoughts. They did not dare speak, for fear of breaking the wonderful spell of the moment. As far as each was concerned it was only the two of them in the world. That is, the two of them with the full Moon shining overhead like a beacon; the two of them and the faithful guidance of the Evening Star.
You know what? said the girl, This isn’t my Rock. I am not that selfish. The boy looked down at her questioningly. I’m only borrowing this from you. You see, something tells me that you’ve known this rock long before I discovered it. To tell you the truth, I’ve seen this only a few hours, she continued. On the girl’s lips was the beginning of a smile.
This isn’t my Rock, either. So you can play around and watch as much Moonrise from up here as you’d like, the boy offered generously.
The girl did not answer. Instead, she held out her hand to the boy for a handshake. And then she smiled. The boy smiled back and tightened his grip of the girl’s hand and said,
This isn’t your Rock. It’s not mine, either. So that makes it—-
Our Rock, said the girl. This will be our Rock.
The Moon was already overhead. The boy and the girl knew that it was time to go back to their respective homes. As much as they did not want to leave their rock, they must. They had to or their parents would be worried sick. The boy nimbly jumped from the top of the rock to the sandy ground.
The girl followed suit.
They were going home in opposite directions. They parted without saying goodbye. They walked on but not without looking behind one last time. Somehow each of them knew that they would not be seeing each other for a long, long time. It may even be the last time they would see each other.
At precisely the same instant, they looked over their shoulders.
Their eyes met. Right then and there, they knew; they knew in their hearts that they would meet again someday.
(c)1998 by Rilla Ford, Lovestories.Com
