by Soto, S. M.
Pacing around my bedroom for a while, I find my thoughts returning to the events of tonight. Still stuck on Endymion. I’m damn near wearing a hole in my carpet until I can’t stand it anymore. I need to talk to him again. About anything.
I make an excuse to my mom that I’m heading to my friend, Julia’s, to borrow her notes on an assignment for class. She only lives around the corner, so it’s not a big deal. Mom agrees, without question, because here in Dunsmuir, you don’t have to worry about your child walking around the corner to their friend’s house. Everyone in this town knows everyone and keeps their eyes out for the entire community.
I start down the street at a brisk jog, my gaze darting around, wondering where he could’ve headed next. If he was jogging around the neighborhood, I’d need to turn left on Stone Creek, but he was heading toward his house to finish his jog. Or at the very least, that’s what it seemed like. I opt to turn down Elm Street anyway and head toward his house, just to see if he’s home. Elm Street turns off Sunflower Lane, the road I live on, a few blocks ahead. If he is, I’m sure his window at the top of his two-story will be lit up, much like it usually is when he’s up there.
At fifteen years old, it’s no secret that I’m as unsuspecting as they come. And I’ve never truly known heartbreak until tonight. I jog down Elm Street, closing in on his house, and that’s when I see it.
I see them.
I thought we might actually be getting somewhere after what I thought was a meaningful conversation, where he actually saw me and I was no longer that invisible girl anymore, but I couldn’t have been anymore wrong. He actually didn’t see me at all. I was nothing to him, and chances were I always would be.
The knife plunges in my heart when I hear the moan. I glance at Holly Matthews’ house, who lives a few houses down from Endymion, and blanch at the shadows I can make out on the side of the house. I pause along the sidewalk, and my eyes widen, my chest cracking open when I realize what I’m looking at. There at the side of the house are Endymion and Holly, damn near going at it. I can see her tan, golden skin peeking out from the shadows and his strong, bulky frame as he holds her up against the side of the house. I shouldn’t be all that surprised. Back in high school, Holly and Endymion dated and often couldn’t keep their hands off each other. It’s obvious that hasn’t changed.
A piercing ache settles in my chest, making it hard to breathe. It feels as if someone is taking an ice pick to all my vital organs and jabbing, tearing open my flesh and letting me bleed out.
I can’t believe I actually thought one stupid conversation between us tonight would turn into something more, something I’ve always dreamed of, but of course, that didn’t happen. This isn’t like the grand scenes in the books I read or the swoony moments in my favorite movies. This is real life, and it fucking sucks.
Grappling for the moon chain around my neck, I tighten my fist around the crescent shape and slam my lips together, holding in the sob that threatens to escape. I let my gaze linger for a few seconds longer before I turn on my heels, nursing my broken heart.
The entire walk back home on my fifteenth birthday is spent with hot trails of tears carving their way down my cheeks as I feel sorry for myself. I tell myself it doesn’t change things. I tell myself it just isn’t our time, but the little voice inside my head knows better.
Endymion and I were ill-fated and doomed from the start. I should’ve figured it out sooner, what with all the mythology I read, but I get it now. We are star-crossed lovers, never meant to be. He is the sun, and I am the moon. I’ll always chase him, and he’ll always run.
I wonder if there will ever be a day when he’ll chase the moon?
July 2014—Past
It’s my eighteenth birthday, and I’m off to college in just a few days. As far away a college I can get in order to escape my parents and their bickering. Pasadena is almost a whopping ten hours away, and I couldn’t be more relieved. I got into Caltech and had a grant and a scholarship. It wasn’t a full ride, like my parents had hoped, but they promised they’d figure it out financially. I, of course, planned on finding a part-time job out there, once I was settled, to help with the costs.
I’ve spent years listening, years pretending everything is okay in our home, but it’s not. Couples who love each other don’t act like my parents do. I don’t even know what love looks like. I don’t have anything to go off of, but I know with utmost certainty, their marriage isn’t it. Don’t get me wrong, they have their good days, the days when they’re cordial and they seem to get along well enough. But that’s all it really is. It’s a façade. It’s the surface of their relationship. It’s what they want everyone else in town to see and believe. I’m the only one who truly knows what their relationship is like. I know that Mom, at least five times a day, when my dad isn’t around, tells me to never, ever get married. She always says, offhandedly, that she wishes she wasn’t married. And my dad, well, he’s not really any better. I think a part of him is lonely, and I don’t really blame him, but I do wish I hadn’t heard some of the stuff I did. A few years back, I heard him speaking in hushed tones on the phone one night.
I only know this because I was sneaking back inside from Julia’s house after curfew. It was obvious he was speaking to a woman who wasn’t my mother. I was angry at first, but then the next morning, when my parents’ argument cycle started all over, it definitely made sense. I still don’t know why they don’t just get a divorce. They can’t stand to be in a room together for longer than ten minutes at a time, and I refuse to believe I am the reason they are still pretending to be a happily married couple.
I’m relieved to be headed off to college, and that, I am sure of. I don’t know how my parents will survive with just the two of them once I’m gone, but I hope to God they’ll somehow figure it out.
Without having to worry about impressing anyone in high school, since Endymion graduated years prior, I’ve focused all my attention and energy on academics. My crush on him never wavered, and no other boy my age ever came close. I had a few boyfriends here and there, obviously at my best friend Julia’s pestering, but the most we ever did was hold hands. Which worked out in my favor in the end. If I didn’t have a crush on Endymion and if I was wasting my time dating in high school, I’m positive I wouldn’t have gotten into Caltech. I’d always had a strong interest in science, and since my dad was obsessed with all things engineering, I found myself gravitating toward the subject throughout high school. I was captain of the Academic Pentathlon Club, vice president of the student body, a member of the debate team, and I worked for the student newspaper, too. I made sure I was involved in enough clubs and extracurriculars to be college ready, and after all the studying, it’s finally paid off.
I’m proud of myself for getting into one of the top ten schools in the US, but a small part of me is bummed I won’t be studying anything in literature that has to do with mythology—more precisely, the moon. There is no career in that. Hell, I know this, but it doesn’t make the reality of it any easier. Sometimes in life you have to compromise, letting go of the things you love for the things that make sense. I’ll have a good life with a career in chemical engineering. I enjoy the science aspect of it, so I’m sure, with a little patience, I’ll be fine settling. I’m sure the money won’t be too bad either.
When the arguing between my parents starts up again, this time about an overdraft fee in their shared bank account, I leave the house without a word. It is easier to leave and pretend everything is okay than it is to stay and try to make myself believe love is a real, tangible thing. It isn’t. Love is a destroyer. It destroys everything in its path. I’m only eighteen, and after watching my parents, I know this. After pining after a guy who’s never noticed me, I know this better than anyone. Love is blind. And fucking stupid. It’s an emotion I refuse to waste my time on.
With my hands tucked into my jean pockets, I walk along the sidewalk toward the creek. Sometimes I like to sit out by the creek and stare at the water, listenin
g to the small ripples lap at each other. Here in Dunsmuir, the waterfalls are a tourist favorite, but I prefer the hidden gems not many people know about like the creek. Hidden in the hillside a few blocks away from my house, the creek is beautiful in the winter. It freezes over and inches of snow cover the long blades of grass on the banks. It’s a winter wonderland. It’s beautiful to look up at the mountaintops and see the snow-peaked ridges and the pines covered with white and surrounded by a fine mist.
In the summertime, like tonight, it’s the opposite. A slight breeze is enough to keep the sweat from rolling down my spine. The air smells of fresh grass, and in the creek, the lily pads float, crickets chirp, and the silver glow of the moon highlights the water, reflecting the sky.
With my backside perched in the grass, I lean back on my elbows and stare up at the sky to gaze at the moon. From here, I can make out the divots and dark spots. By the size and shape, I’d say tonight is a waxing gibbous. The waxing gibbous is usually the adjustment and refining period. Just as in many aspects of life, things don’t always work out the way we plan or want them to, and with this phase of the moon, it helps you realize what you need to re-evaluate—so to speak—to give up or to change direction on whatever it was you set as your intention. During the waxing gibbous, you have to give in to change, you have to change course and sacrifice what you want for what you need.
I stare up at the bright silver light and change course on my intentions, no longer resisting the change I’ve been fighting. For so long, I thought my place was here in Dunsmuir. I thought for so long I wanted one boy to love me back, but I see now that it was never meant to happen. It’s time I accept the fact that those desires will never come to fruition. Instead, I think about my desires for the future, in college and with my family. I brush all unbidden thoughts of Endymion aside, promising only to look forward from here on out.
No more looking back.
Out of habit, I reach for my necklace and rub my thumb over the 3D moon. The action is second nature at this point. I can’t remember when my obsession with the moon started. Don’t get me wrong, I love the stars and the like, but the moon—so many things are affected by the moon. The moon has many phases, and each phase means something new for everyone, spiritually and scientifically. It’s beautiful. I love everything about it.
The moon is a wonder. Not only is it the largest and brightest object in the sky, but, just like the stars, it has always inspired awe in many people. From scientists, to the mythologists, to regular people like me, who look up and wonder what the significance is on nights like this. It’s always radiated an air of mystery and magic, love and, obviously, unattainable beauty. It’s been used to measure time. The waxing and waning have made it a symbol of change in cycles around the world. One cycle being the constant alternation of birth and death, creation and destruction. The moon belongs to things that transgress the boundaries of astronomy, astrology, and even religion.
I feel a connection to the moon in the myths and legends. The moon gives me a friend when I feel like I have no one—when I am lonely. On nights when things seem bleak, as if nothing in life will ever go according to plan, staring up at the moon brings me a sense of peace. Because when I stare up at the sky that’s lit up by the stars and silver light, I know I’m not the only one. I know I’m not the only one who feels invisible or lonely.
For all intents and purposes, it feels like I am the moon, and Endymion is the sun. Our non-present love affair was condemned from the beginning. When I was younger, I wondered why my parents named me Selene. My mother always said it was a random choice, a name both she and my father fell in love with. She later changed her story and said it was because my birth was the light in my father’s and her lives. Of course, that always inspired an eye roll because, really?
I always thought it was strange that I was named after a mythical being and so was Endymion. When I was younger, I thought it was fated. I mean, it had to be kismet, right? But as I got older, I realized Endymion and I were a lot like our mythical beings. According to the legends, Selene and Endymion were ill-fated. And in real life, that seems to have transpired.
I startle at the sound of grass crunching behind me, and when I crane my neck to look back, my eyes widen and my breath escapes me in a ragged rush of air.
So much for re-evaluating and giving up on old intentions, right?
Standing there, tall and handsome as ever, illuminated by the glow of the moon is Endymion. I glance behind him toward the street, my brows taking a nosedive when I don’t see his car.
Did he walk here?
I was so lost in thought, I didn’t even hear him coming.
He looks ruggedly handsome dressed in a simple pair of jeans, a black T-shirt, and a pair of black boots. His eyes seem a little unfocused. I can’t tell if it’s the lack of light or if he has a lot on his mind. He points at the spot next to me.
“This spot taken?”
My brows shoot up. “What?”
His mouth quirks into a semblance of a grin. “Can I sit?”
I frown at him, completely taken by surprise.
Is he…is he grinning at me?
After years of going unnoticed. Years of wishing he’d notice me, he chooses tonight of all nights to finally do so?
I’m sure if this was anyone else, they would have washed their hands of Endymion Black by now. They would have moved on and forgotten about these childish notions of love and fate. But they don’t know. They don’t know what it feels like when a guy you’ve loved for years finally shows you a lick of attention. They don’t know what it feels like to have his charming grin aimed right at you and it feels like everything in your world is right again.
They don’t understand the way you lose your breath.
They don’t understand the way you lose all your sense.
People like that will never understand how a girl can love a boy for years, even with a promise of a broken heart.
“Oh, no, sorry.” I shake my head, and when his brows raise in question, I realize what that probably sounded like to him—he can’t sit. “It’s open. You can sit. There’s no one there. I mean, obviously.” The words spill past my lips in a nervous stream of word vomit.
He chuckles. The sound is deep and gravelly as it rolls through me. End lowers himself next to me and blows out a tired breath, as if he hasn’t sat in hours. I fidget in the grass, suddenly feeling like the air is stifling. My skin is overheating with his proximity, and suddenly, my brain is going haywire. Whereas, only seconds before, I felt calm as I stared up at the night sky and was chilled to the bone by the brisk air.
His clean, woodsy scent overpowers the smell of the grass and the creek, infiltrating my senses. Sitting next to him, it’s hard to ignore his overwhelming presence, just how larger than life he is. Out of the corner of my eye, I trek my gaze up and down his broad shoulders, taking in his profile. The height difference between us is evident even while sitting. He’s this big, bulky man.
That’s exactly what he is now.
He isn’t just a boy or a teen anymore. He is all man.
And at twenty-two years old, he is sexier than ever.
We sit in silence, soaking up the sounds of the creek and the nature around us. I can’t help but notice the weird energy radiating off Endymion. In all the times I’ve been near him, he’s always seemed so calm and collected, but right now? He’s the opposite. I may not know much about him, just what I know from afar, but whatever is bothering him is affecting his mood.
I open my mouth, trying to find a way to get him to talk, but he beats me to it.
“Happy Birthday.”
A smile tugs at the corners of my lips. “Thank you, um, Happy Birthday to you, too.”
“Do you spend all your birthdays sitting out here alone by this creek?”
I smile. “I do, actually. What about you? I would think you prefer doing something a little more extravagant on your birthday.”
He shrugs. “I like sitting here with you just fin
e.”
My heart stumbles at his words. It’s not like he’s professing his undying love to me or anything, but hell, tell that to my battered heart that has waited years for this man to show me an ounce of his attention.
Another period of silence lingers between us. Me, thinking about him and the years I may have wasted lusting after him, and him, sitting there, staring off into the distance, stuck in his head.
“You ever feel like life is moving too fast and you can’t catch ahold of anything?”
I glance at him fully, no longer pretending I don’t notice he’s sitting next to me. “All the time. I leave for college soon, and there’s this part of me that is scared to leave everything I’ve ever known behind, but you know what? I’m so tired of dealing with the same crap at home that I need a break. I’m looking forward to leaving this place.”
“I hate this town. I hate the fucking people here. I hate working at the garage with my dad. I never wanted this to be my life. I never thought that this, this is what I had to look forward to.”
I pause, processing his words. The last time I had a conversation with Endymion that lasted longer than a moment, he stressed just how badly he didn’t want to work at the garage with his dad. Sadness blooms in my chest when I realize he was never able to get out of this town. He ended up working at the very place he hated, the very place he wanted to avoid.
