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"And what is flesh but moon?"
-Henry Miller
 live said it was a magical night, so Jeannie told him that she was
magic and could fly to the moon. Clive didn't think she was serious, and
since Jeannie so desperately wanted to prove to him that she was a serious
kind of girl, she flew to the moon, and, since she was hungry when she got
there, she swallowed it whole. The weight of the moon inside her size six
frame sent her careening back to earth at nearly the speed of sound, which
is why there's still that giant crater out in the park. Anyway, Clive was so
impressed that Jeannie made good on her promise that he stayed with her even
though she had ballooned to moon size, become a freak, an impossibility, a
fat chick. I guess I was happy for them and there is something romantic
about a girl who would go to such lengths to get attention, but there's also
something desperate about it, and the truth is that I too (if I must be
honest) wanted Clive in the worst way and I can't imagine that a girl who
swallowed the moon would look all that great, say, in a two piece, or naked
for that matter, so I sensed an opportunity, and went for it. Armed with a
miniskirt and a flashlight, I came upon the happy couple, lying together
inside the giant crater that Jeannie had made when she fell from the sky.
Gingerly, I walked across the great expanse of her, feeling the rocky,
craggy terrain lurking just below the lining of her gargantuan stomach. I didn't
think she'd feel my footsteps any more than the moon itself had felt Neil
Armstrong's. I reached the other side of her circumference and found, wedged
inside a tiny sliver of crater, Clive. I shook him awake. He was surprised
to see me. Before he could speak I cut him off with a kiss. He grew more
bold in the darkness, and he grabbed my hand and lifted me out of the
crater. We hid behind a tree. I felt a shiver which only made it more
exhilarating, and I made up my mind to enjoy this now and damn the
consequences. I shut off the flashlight. I felt liberated and I think he did
too. Our shrieks careened wildly off the basin and echoed into the
inky-black void of the moonless sky. We laughed like we'd just played a
grand joke on darkness itself, until we saw the faintest hint of
illumination slowly crawling across our bodies. We looked up and the
darkness was slowly eclipsed by a darting white light. The light grew
bright and round, and soon we saw it as it was: a big, pockmarked oval with
visible arms, legs, head and neck. The moon spotlighted us: we were caught.
And from millions of miles away, Jeannie's huge green moon-eyes shot us a
vengeful look. We watched her crater-marked lips opening and closing. We
couldn't hear what she was saying, because moons can't talk. But I knew how
she felt. I tried to explain to her. "You always got the good ones. You
always drew them to your gaze. I was jealous. I felt this: it is my turn
now. Maybe I was wrong. Look at you: even now the sky lights up your lovely
face." But before I could even speak Jeannie started crying. She cried, and
the moon-rain poured down on us, washing our sins away. And I stared blankly
at Clive's wet naked body as he stared at mine, and then I looked up into
the sky and I mouthed a silent "I'm sorry" and looked away, and I haven't
been able to look the moon in the eye ever since.
Matt Leibel lives and works in San Francisco and has new work forthcoming
in Metropole, 3AM Magazine, and Word Riot.
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