Chapter V: Message to the Moon

Jaci sat at the dinner table, chin in her hands. MeMa was tossing the salad over by the counter, and Pa was cutting the homemade pizza. She stared at the table before her, not really thinking. She was tired. It had hit her suddenly, weaving it’s traitorous hands through her soul, grasping her heart and pulling. It had seeped into her bones, into her muscles, her whole body aching. Her ribs hurt, the memories of the accident surfacing in her mind.

Her grandmother sat the bowl of salad down in front of her and she absentmindedly began to nibble on a leaf of cabbage. When she had finished, she moved on to another.

MeMa leaned over and pulled the bowl out of her reach. Realizing her salad was gone, Jaci snapped to it and looked at her.

“We haven’t prayed yet,” her grandmother clarified.

Jaci nodded and went back to resting her chin in her hands.

“What’s wrong?” MeMa asked.

Just tired. She answered.

“After we eat, you can go to bed,” MeMa said, pushing the salad back to her. “But you seem to have a lot on your mind.”

Jaci nodded. Kind of.

Her grandmother dropped it, noticing that she wasn’t her usual self. Jaci ate, distracted by the thoughts that she was trying to keep at bay, the thoughts that had been eating away at her for six months.

Jaci helped clean up after dinner before grabbing her notebook, pen, flashlight, and blanket, and heading outside. She jogged up the hill to the weeping cherry tree where she unfolded the blanket and sat down. It wasn’t dark yet so she still had some light to write by. Setting the flashlight down beside her, she began to write.

Why did this happen to me? She began. Why couldn’t it have been someone else? Why did I have to be the one crossing the street right then?

I have nightmares sometimes of the accident. I’ll get hit, I’ll get thrown into the air, I’ll wake up just as the pain begins to hit. But the pain isn’t just in my dream, it’s in reality. I still live with the aftermath– the side effects– of it. My body hurts almost constantly, I get tired more easily, I can’t even express myself the way I used to because my voice is gone.

You know what? During my recovery, a lot of people told me to have faith in God. A lot of people told me it'll all work out according to His plan after Mom left. A lot of people told me to pray, and trust, and all that but not one single person told me that maybe my life was just falling apart. Maybe I was just falling apart. Worthless things do that you know. They fall apart, they die when they finally realize how worthless they are.

Why do you think I’m here? Do you think I’m here to recover and recoup from the accident? No! I’m here because to Dad, I’m a broken mess. A mess that reminds him of the life he once had, the happy life that’s now gone. I just remind him that I will never be able to talk, I just remind him that his wife left him. I just remind him that I’m worthless. That’s why he sent me here. That’s why he’s back in New York, living life like I never existed.

Jaci stopped, collecting herself. This was the most she'd ever poured herself out. She looked down at the words she’d written, sloppily written in a hurry, and then up at the setting sun. She sighed.

I guess the question I want answered is Why? Why me?

She clicked her pen shut and folded her notebook shut before setting them off to the side. Grabbing the corner of the quilt, she brought it in around her, wrapping it tight around her shoulders. She stared up at the sky, the last dying rays of sun lighting it up for what seemed to be a last hurrah.

She smiled.

A couple minutes later, the moon was shining brightly in the sky and Jaci was sprawled out on her back, picking out constellations in the night sky.

Eventually, her eyes grew heavy and her body began to ache from laying on her back. Rolling over, she studied the blades of grass just a few inches from her face. That’s how she fell asleep, rolled over on her side on top of the grassy knob, overlooking the peaceful valley below.

She dreamed while she slept. She dreamed it was raining. She dreamed she was walking down a sidewalk, pulling her hood over her head. She dreamed she was crossing the streets, not able to see anything in front of her or around her. She dreamed she saw the flash of lights as she car barreled into her. She dreamed she was thrown into the air, landing on the slick pavement with a sickening thud. She dreamed she could feel the pain, racing through her body. She dreamed the nightmare again. And she couldn’t wake up.

In her dream, she was laying on the pavement, tears and rain clouding her vision as blood pooled and was washed away by the rain. She wanted to wake up, to stop living in this nightmare, but she couldn’t.

In reality, as she lay on the grassy knob, a tear slipped out of the corner of her eye and down the side of her face, dropping into the grass. In reality, she was alone on the hill but in her dream, she wasn’t alone.

The person jumped out of the car, slightly shaken and looked around. Seeing Jaci on the ground, they jogged over, water splashing up with each step. They didn’t touch her but rather pulled out their phone, dialing 911.

Jaci didn’t want to live this anymore. She wanted to wake up. But she couldn’t.

She heard the person yelling into the phone to be heard above the rain. Sirens wailed in the distance a couple of seconds later and she felt someone put a hand on her arm.

“I’m sorry,” they yelled to be heard. “I called an ambulance.”

She wanted to move, to tell them she was fine, to get up and walk away but she couldn’t. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t talk.

“You’re going to be alright,” they said. How many times had she heard that lie?

Rain ran through her hair, over her face, washing away blood and dirt. The sirens neared and just as the first responders jumped out of the ambulance, she was shaken awake by someone in reality.

She clung to the person, not really caring who it was. They’d saved her in a way. She wrapped her arms around the thicker back, tears soaking through their lightweight T-shirt.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay?” they whispered, soothing her. They ran a hand over her head, combing their fingers through her hair.

She recognized the voice.

It was Thomas.

She wanted to pull away but she couldn’t find enough strength in herself to do so. So she hugged him tighter. For once she wasn’t alone, crying after the nightmare. For once she felt comforted. For once she felt loved.

There was just one moon. That familiar, yellow, solitary moon. The same moon that silently floated over fields of pampas grass, the moon that rose–a gleaming, round saucer–over the calm surface of lakes, that tranquilly beamed down on the rooftops of fast-asleep houses. The same moon that brought the high tide to shore, that softly shone on the fur of animals and enveloped and protected travelers at night. The moon that, as a crescent, shaved slivers from the soul–or, as a new moon, silently bathed the earth in its own loneliness. THAT moon. -Haruki Murakami, 1Q84