The Moon

When I see the moon I think...

...and the moon sees me. I never learned that song when I was a kid.

...driving to Columbus, Georgia, on a winding back road, with pine trees closing in on me from both sides, not a single streetlamp. But I didn't need any. The moon was so full, so bright, like the earth's own enormous fluorescent flashlight. Midnight, the windows down a crack, the wind exhilarating, the radio serenading me. And me thinking, I will remember this moon. I will remember this moment. Some day, I will write about this moon.

...my inevitable change in mood. I'd rather have the moon be half-full, or half-empty, or just a tiny sliver like a nail-clipping, than its total roundness. As soon as its full, I get loopy. I cry. I always cry, but more so when the moon is full. I'm like Jekyll and Hyde--better yet, Tigger and Eeyore. Bouncy, light-hearted, positively glowing for no apparent reason, and suddenly it's, "Hi, Pooh...oh, fine." And of course I always wonder, What in God's name is wrong with me? Ah, yes, the moon. It's full.

...cheese. Swiss, cheddar. I'm coming around to brie. Monterey Jack. Never much cared for bleu, unless it intended to smother my buffalo wings. I had several stinky cheeses in Paris last summer. Some just smelled awful. One smelled like feet. Tasted like feet, too.

...that incredibly sad movie with Reese Witherspoon, "Man in the Moon" or "Man on the Moon". I always get the two confused. Reese Witherspoon was only like twelve in that movie. I cried. Of course. And then the other, whichever it is, with Jim Carrey. A friend recommended it. Said it was genius. Maybe I was too young--only thirteen or fourteen--didn't get it. Not even remotely funny. Like the Simpsons. Crickets.

...CCR. My old room mate caught me singing along. "I see the bad moon rising..." Which never made much sense to me. I always replaced "bad" with "red" partly because that's what it sounded like the guy was talking about, but mostly because I could relate to a red moon. I spent a night on the beach once, huddled with someone I love on a lifeguard tower. We licked soft-serve ice cream we bought for a dollar, racing to beat it from melting before we'd finished. He had a system, moving in methodic circles around the small tower of cream. My hands were covered in sticky chocolate, like a child's would be. Ice cream shouldn't be eaten methodically I don't think. We finished. We talked. I don't remember about what. I remember something about Howard Stern (is it Howard?) in a grape suit. That may have been a different conversation, same beach. We both noticed it at the same time, a faint red glow far out in the water. A spaceship, I thought. I said it. "A spaceship." He laughed. "No." But, I kept thinking it, a spaceship, watching it grow, rising from the water. The higher it got, the less red it seemed. It took us a while to realize it was the red moon rising.