Sarah Of The Moon

by Randy Mixter

She tried to grab it again but he was ready for her. Gripping the sheet with one hand, he tickled her side with the other. She started to laugh and dropped the sheet allowing both of his hands access to her waist.

  Sarah collapsed on the bed, laughing hysterically, while pleading with him to stop. She pounded his chest with her small hands as he brought her closer. They were both laughing now as she lowered onto him. They continued to laugh until he covered her with the sheet and coaxed her lips to his.

  “It’s time for a goodnight kiss,” he said, and soon it was mid-morning.

  “Going up to Haight to pick up an Oracle. Want to tag along?” Chick asked Alex, who was sitting against the porch railing, writing.

  “I’m waiting on Matt. We’re walking up to Fulton to pick up his things,” Alex said. It turned out Matt not only spent the previous night at the house, but also would soon be a permanent resident.

  “Fulton Street.” Chick thought for a minute. “I wonder if the Airplane is in town. Mind some company?”

  “Not a bit,” Alex replied.

  He had decided to wear his Baltimore clothes that morning. They were laid out neatly at the foot of the bed when he returned from his shower. He did not remember pulling them out of his clothes drawer, but thoughts of the night before may have clouded his mind.

  Sarah left for the clinic an hour earlier after swearing revenge for making her late, and he thought it a good day for a short sleeve shirt, old jeans, and tennis shoes. He had come very close to putting on his cut-off jean shorts, but he didn’t want to expose his pale legs in public. Now, with the hot mid-summer San Francisco sun beating down on him, he regretted his decision.

  He concentrated on his writing. His articles on the summer of love were more popular than anyone, himself included, expected.

  Last week Mr. Bestwick himself got on the phone with him, after assurances his nephew was not in the vicinity. Bestwick told him he had received several compliments from his peers concerning the Sunday feature and, more importantly, the weekend readership had spiked. Bestwick was willing to believe, from the feedback he had received, the summer of love articles were a significant factor in the increase of subscriptions. They were, according to Bestwick, a welcome alternative to the Vietnam War coverage and its depressing daily American casualty reports. Keep up the good work, he told him before he announced he had to go and chew out his local news team.

  “You ready, Alex?” Matt asked as he exited the house.

  Alex noted he was wearing a different shirt and pants from yesterday but did not press the issue.

  “Mind if Chick walks with us?”

  Matt looked over at Chick who was lazing on the porch swing, enjoying his first smoke of the day.

  “No problem,” Matt replied.

  They took a left on Waller Street and then a right onto Stanyan. They walked the sidewalk on the Golden Gate Park side of the busy street as they made their way to Fulton Street.

  “I guess I’m going to be staying here full time for the rest of the summer,” Matt said.

  “My father will have a fit when I tell him I quit my job, but I was planning to quit the end of next month to start college anyhow.”

  Chick, who had been quiet for most of the trek, spoke up.

  “It’s Celeste, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” Matt responded.

  “Women.” Chick shook his head from side to side. “Bella is already talking communes. She showed me a paper last night about a co-op in Oregon where you can grow vegetables of all shapes and sizes. Pick ’em, eat ’em, sell ’em. Sounds too much like work to me.”

  “Chick, you surprise me,” Alex said. “I would have never thought you the type to back away from any form of hard labor.”

  “Sarcasm noted,” Chick shot back.

  “Things appear to be going well for you and the princess,” he added.

  “Could not be better.” Alex said. “By the way, she did want me to thank you again for providing our accommodations, small as they might be.”

  Matt snickered at the remark, but Chick just mumbled to himself and continued walking.

  Not far ahead, a female voice screamed.

  “Francine! Francine!” she yelled at the top of her lungs.

  Alex saw a woman chasing a small child across the park grass. The woman was losing ground as the child ran from her. There was no one close to the two of them and the child was about a block away from a busy Stanyan Street, on a straight path for it.

  Alex and Matt both began to run toward the child, but Alex was faster. He had worn tennis shoes that morning.

  “Francine! No!” her mother cried.

  The child was almost to Stanyan. The cars moved by at a fast clip. None saw her.

  Two unoccupied cars lined the curb. Francine ran between them directly into the moving traffic.

  Alex was already in the street, running in the narrow space between the parked cars and the moving ones.

  She darted out between the cars. A Ford Galaxy convertible, the driver late for an appointment, was coming fast. He did not see the child between the parked automobiles until it was too late. She had run into the street.

  Alex grabbed her then, plucked her up while still running. He twisted her away from the oncoming vehicle and braced himself for impact.

  The driver swerved at the last second. The side view mirror grazed Alex’s arm as the Ford screeched to a stop. Several other cars broke quickly behind the vehicle. The sound of squealing tires and horns filled the air, as Alex held the girl between his body and a parked car, waiting for something bad to happen.

  “Francine!” her mother cried as she ran into the street, her face wild with panic. She held her arms out in hope and need.

  Alex handed her the girl. His arm was a little sore from the mirror, and he was seriously out of breath, but otherwise okay.

  All thoughts of retribution passed as she took her child from Alex and squeezed her in her arms. Both mother and child were crying now, realizing how near they had been to tragedy.

  Car doors opened, and cries of “Is everybody alright?” were heard from the street.

  Matt had made it to Alex’s side. “You okay man?” he asked him between panting breaths.

  “I’m okay,” Alex replied.

  The driver of the Ford, a middle-aged man in a suit and tie, approached them.

  “Is everyone alright?” he asked in the frantic voice of a person who knew how a split second could change a life of happiness to one of sorrow.

  Everything is cool,” Alex said, rubbing his arm.

  “Did I hit you?” The man in the suit was wide eyed and running his hands through his thinning hair.

  “I think your side view mirror grazed my arm,” Alex told him.

  “I’m okay though,” he said. “I’m really glad you swerved.”

  “So am I,” the driver of the car said with the utmost sincerity.

  The lack of severe bodily injury or trauma put most of the crowd of spectators back into their cars or onto the sidewalk. The man in the suit was relieved enough to thank Alex for being in the right place at the right time before he too walked to his convertible, thanking God with every step.

  They were all on the sidewalk now, Alex, Matt, Chick, Francine and her mother. The mother put her child on the pavement, gripping her hand tightly. She went to Alex and wrapped her free arm around him, hugging him close. Her head was on his shoulder and he knew she was crying freely. He put his arms around her and held her.

  “It’s alright,” he whispered. “Your daughter is safe now.”

  She lifted her head, her eyes were red and swollen, and tears ran down her cheeks. She studied him, his face, his eyes.

  “You saved her life. That car would have killed her. You saved my child’s life.” Then she kissed him on the cheek. It was a just a short kiss, her lips barely touched his skin, but the heat of it reddened his face.

  “It was nothing,” he said.

  “It was something,” she replied.


  She gazed down at her child, the one true love in her young life.

  “Look at that man,” she said to her daughter. “Don’t you ever forget his face. In all the many years ahead of you, don’t ever forget his face.”

  She picked up Francine and the child wiped the tears from her mother’s cheek. She looked at her daughter and smiled.

  “You see what you’ve given me,” she said, still looking at her daughter but speaking to Alex.

  “I won’t forget you either. For the remainder of my days I’ll remember you.” She did look at him then, and smiled. A smile that said her daughter would grow up to be a woman and her mother would be there to see it.

  “You will always be in my prayers,” Francine’s mother said to Alex as she gripped her daughter in her arms and walked away, in the direction of the park.

  Chick approached him. “I must say, that might have been the most amazing thing I’ve seen sober.” He chuckled as he gripped Alex’s shoulder.

  “How’s your arm?” Matt asked him as they continued their walk.

  “It’s a little sore. It will probably bruise up, but I’ll be fine.”

  “I didn’t think you were going to get there on time. I wouldn’t have.” Matt said.

  “I wouldn’t have either,” Chick added, ignoring the looks of disbelieve from his companions.

  “The only reason I caught her is because I was wearing tennis shoes,” Alex said. “If I would have been wearing my boots or loafers there’s no way I would have gotten there in time.”

  “Thank God you decided to wear them today,” Matt added.

  Alex stopped dead in his tracks. He remembered now, he remembered clearly. It wasn’t his idea to put on the tennis shoes. Sarah had suggested it.

  “Why don’t you wear your sneakers today,” she had said as he was readying for a shower. “You look cute in jeans and sneakers.”

  The clothes. Had she put them out too?

  “It was Sarah’s idea,” he told Matt and Chick. “She suggested I wear them today.”

  “It was an excellent suggestion as it turns out,” Matt said as they resumed walking.

  “She knows these things. She knows the future. Not all of it, just the parts that matter,” Chick added.

  “Chick,” Matt said in an earnest manner. “Why don’t you cut back on the weed and acid, and have a couple of beers instead. It would do you a world of good.”

  Matt laughed at his statement, but Alex was still deep in thought.

  “Sometimes they tell me secrets of the way things will be,” Sarah told him before he went to sleep. He had chalked the remark up to a lonely girl who missed her mother and father. Now he wasn’t so sure. He would need to ask her about that later he thought, as they rounded the park and turned on to Fulton Street.

  THE PANHANDLE

  2402 Fulton Street was the second house in a row of Victorian homes similar in design to the house on Ashbury. In fact, the porch, with its sagging roof and peeling paint, was nearly identical to the house they came from, a cause for concern with Chick.

  “The bastards stole our porch!” he shouted.

  They climbed the short flight of stairs leading to the front door.

  “You guys want to come in while I get my stuff together?” Matt asked the two.

  Chick and Alex waited in a large lobby area with a sofa and a couple of chairs haphazardly bordering the walls. They both sat on the sofa, happy for the opportunity to take a break.

  A young woman with long straight black hair walked out of a room to their right and walked up the steps in front of them. She wore a bra and panties, nothing else.

  Alex eyed her as she casually ignored them both. When she was at the top of the stairs, Alex nudged Chick.

  “Did you see that?” he quietly asked.

  “I saw it,” Chick said as he leaned back into the sofa and closed his eyes.

  “Remember where you are. This is not Baltimore; it’s The Haight-Ashbury. We just happen to live in a house where the women have a higher sense of morality, although I believe Bella gave you a little treat a few mornings ago.”

  Alex was stammering into an apology when Chick held up his hand.

  “Nothing to be ashamed of. Bella is, how shall I put it, a bit of a tease. It’s a personality trait that I hold in high regard.”

  Matt loped down the stairs, a duffel bag in hand.

  “I see you met Serenity. Modesty is not her strong suit.”

  “I guess you missed the Airplane, Chick,” Matt continued. “You would hear them if they were home.”

  “It’s no big deal. I’ve talked to them before, Grace, Marty, Paul, Jorma, all fine people making great music.”

  Chick reluctantly raised himself from the sofa’s cushions.

  “I’m not one for the trappings of the establishment, but this,” he pointed toward the sofa, “is a fine piece of furniture. It would be a good addition to our entranceway.”

  “Don’t get any ideas Chick,” Matt said. “The sofa belongs to the house, not that you would lug it back home anyway.”

  “Skip and Benny would. They owe me.”

  “Forget it Chick,” Matt said as they neared the door. “It belongs to the house.”

  “I wonder if they’d trade some mattresses for it,” Chick murmured as he stole a final glance its way.

  The walk back to the house was uneventful. All three were hungry enough to head for the Panhandle, hoping the Diggers, and their food truck, were around.

  The Diggers were packing up when they arrived. Luckily, Sherry was still on the soup table. Alex assured her the two were his friends and soon all three were eating soup with extra beans.

  After the meal, Chick excused himself and disappeared with two of the Diggers. Matt and Alex were content to laze in the shade of an old oak and talk about days past and present.

  Sherry, who had finished mopping up the makeshift kitchen, walked up to them. “You mind if I join the two best looking guys in the Panhandle?”

  “Not if you put it that way,” Matt said.

  For the next hour or so, Sherry held court while Alex and Matt nodded and submitted one or two word answers. There was noticeable relief when she excused herself to go to a rally at the Golden Gate Park.

  “I forgot to tell you she likes to talk,” Alex said after she was out of earshot.

  “You don’t say,” Matt replied.

  With Sherry gone, the conversation turned to girls.

  “So what’s the deal with you and Celeste?” Alex asked his friend.

  “I like her,” Matt said. “I think she’s cool.”

  Alex pried on. “Have you worked out sleeping arrangements yet?”

  “We decided to sleep in separate rooms for the time being. She’s with the girls. I’m in your old room with Skip, Benny, and Cowboy. Sandman and Cactus Girl share the other room. They said they would hang up a curtain for privacy if we want to join them, and maybe, at some point, we will. Right now, we’re taking it slow. How about you and Sarah?”

  “We took it slow for quite a while.” Alex smiled as he spoke. “She threw out mixed signals at first. I really wasn’t sure how she felt about me. We just hung around together for some time. On Friday evening, she read the latest article I submitted to the paper. When she started reading it, we were good friends. When she finished it, we were lovers. I guess it would have happened eventually, but those pages were a catalyst for everything that followed.”

  “It must have been a hell of an article,” Matt said. “I’d like to read it sometime.”

  “No problem. It’s back at the house.” Alex gathered his thoughts. He wanted so badly to understand Sarah. He wanted to tell his friend that he knew Sarah as well as he had known any woman. He wanted to tell him everything was cool, that he had figured Sarah out. They were a couple with a lifetime to share. She would come with him back to Baltimore. He would find full time work, perhaps at the paper. They would live in an apartment, have children, and grow old together.

  Bu
t Sarah remained a mystery. He knew too little about her. The clues she left for him were scraps meant to keep him hungry. He was in love with a mirage, maybe real, maybe an illusion. Now, on top of everything else, there was a remote possibility she was psychic.

  “Sarah is Sarah. She has her beliefs, and they’re strong. They might be stronger than her feelings for me and that concerns me Matt. I’m worried when the time comes for her to decide, me or her principles, I might lose her.”

  “Chick tells me you are the only guy she’s been with in her two years here. With her looks, that’s a real accomplishment.”

  Alex was set to respond when his arm began to throb, a dull persistent ache determined to dominate his thinking. He rubbed his arm as gently as possible.

  “Chick should have something to soothe the pain a bit,” Matt added.

  “I’m off anything stronger than aspirin.”

  “Sarah?”

  “She doesn’t do drugs. I doubt she ever has. I don’t know how she feels about other people doing them, but I’m not taking the chance. Her respect means more to me than a quick high.”

  “Maybe we could score a couple of six packs of beer on the way back. My Silver Star is usually the only I.D. I need.”

  “You don’t do pot or acid either?” Alex asked.

  “Nope. Had enough pot in ’Nam to last a lifetime, and I have no desire to try acid. I like being in control of my senses. Bad things can happen if you’re not in control. Look at this morning. Would you have been able to save that girl if you were high?”

  “I doubt it.” Alex frowned. A thought was forming in his mind. It was a piece of the puzzle, a clue to the mystery of Sarah, but he couldn’t quite grasp it. His throbbing arm demanded all his attention.

  “Let’s see about those beers,” Alex said as he stood up. “It will be dinner time soon anyhow.”

  TWO OF A KIND

  It turned out Matt did not need to produce his Silver Star. His clean cut appearance was sufficient to purchase two six packs of Miller High Life bottles from Oliver’s Liquors on Haight Street. He added them to the contents of his duffle bag and the two continued back to the house.