Moonlight Sonata

I knew not what to do. Should I try to impress her? Should I take her to a fancy restaurant and dazzle her with verbal wit and perfectly rehearsed charm? Should I just take her home and walk away before it´s too late? Should I give up and stop caring? My mother once told me that if I didn´t change my behaviour, I would grow up to be boorish and brash and disgusting enough to be one of those men who spit in public. I always wanted to be elegant, haute-couture, respected, revered. I long ago tried to convince myself to stop hating who I really was, to forgive myself, to stop apologizing for who I was, and to always try, at least try, to be true to myself. Should I just get a bottle of wine, skip the glasses, and take her down to the oceanfront to listen to waves and get drunk?

And in that moment, something changed. I had always had strong feelings for her, but something about the warm summer twilight, the watchful eye of the hanging moon, passing the bottle of wine, the front seat of her van, the lullabye of the ocean surf, . . . and her voice, was absolutely intoxicating. Lost in the glistening liquid pools of her teary, beautiful eyes, I was overcome. In my emotion and anxiety I talked too much. I always do. She didn't seem to mind. I knew the night would end all too soon and that I would lose her again, maybe forever. I wanted to hold on to her and never let her go. I restrained myself. We talked, we laughed, we flirted, and then we parted. But when I kissed her goodbye, . . . when her soft lips pressed against mine and I tasted her mouth, . . . it was perfect, and I felt a passion I have not felt in what seems like an eternity.

The baby was born in October, and though I wanted to name her Artemis, it was too obvious and she deserved something more subtle. So I named her after the night wind. The love I have for her, like the gift given me by her mother, will last long past my own mortality. It will be as constant and haunting as the moon, in my heart, and through eternity.