It was the summer of 2010, a drought. Forty days and no rain. Brenda was sweating bullets underneath her dress standing next to the stage at Brews, Coffee, and Books. She had finally worked up the courage to read a piece. She had chosen Midnight Moon.
“Next to the stage, we have a newbie, Brenda Jones. Let’s show her some love.”
Finger snaps filled the room.
Brenda stood in front of the microphone, hands at her sides, eyes on the floor.
“This piece is called, Midnight Moon.
Juxtaposed against the inky midnight
He greeted me with a crescent smile
I waited for his fullness
I waited for his return
I wanted something beautiful
I wanted something whole
Like the full moon.
I mapped its phases
Watched it grow
Until the fullness of
All that is light
Greeted me, hello.”
She looked into the crowd and saw his smile. He stood and raised his hand as a conductor raises his baton and began to snap. A chorus of snaps followed.
She sat down and exhaled. She had finally done it. A shadow fell across her table. She looked up to see him, dark like midnight.