Shifting Moon

We didn't lived in a farm. . . Far from it! It was more like some kind of pet sanctuary. We lived in a small community, where a couple of hills roamed here and there. Well, actually, we had two homes, one in Maine, and another in Kentucky. In the summer we lived in Kentucky, in the fall we went to Maine until summer again. I think it's odd, because normal parents would do it the other way around– live in Maine in the summer and the rest of the year in Kentucky. But Mom was not a normal mom, and Dad far from your typical dad.

In any given case I loved both homes very much. And although we had no other living relatives, we had many friends that visited us here and then. Mom, specially, had many friends– but most of them could not talk. She befriended babies like that, so easy, so naturally. She also befriended any animal that crossed her path, no matter their size or their stink ( once she actually brought a skunk into our Kentucky house. Dad laughed and laughed for days, while I tried to hold my breath every time I passed by the basement, which unconventionally enough the door was next to the kitchen).

Dad, on the other hand, was a bit more normal. He had a few guy friends, most of them farmers or construction workers. Dad tends to confide in mostly everyone he meets, so I suppose the strangers don't like the hostility and prefer Dad's charisma. But Dad is also a great ladies' charmer. As I said, he's not ugly, but rather good-looking, if not gorgeous. If he only worked out. . .

Mom was very pretty. She also smelt good. I remember her hair, blonde and glinting in the sun. When it was night, her hair looked soft, silky, angelic. It was wild, I must admit that, going down gracefully. It was very long too, down to her back. She could sit on it if she wished too, and often she did, mainly to make a point of it to my friends. She smelt like freshly picked gardenias. . . She was young, slim, and pretty. But perhaps her eyes were the attention-catchers. They were large and silver, full of life, energy, and most of all, love. You looked into those eyes, and you just fell in love with Mom. She was full of compassion, and she was so different from all of the other stiff moms. My mom always played with me, or helped me with my homework. She also told me stories at night of dragons and pixies and other made-up creatures. She told me she once crept into Dad's dormitory. . . through a friend of hers and Dad's. . . An elf!

I must admit that secretly I envied Mom. How she was, how she looked, the way she talked. I thought I was just normal, just ordinary. Of course I am. . . ordinary brown hair, ordinary height, and ordinary weight, with an ordinary personality and ordinary clothes. One of the few things I like about myself is the fact that my eyes are a light-blue color, so pretty and so sky-like. Also, I like my hairstyle. . . Two long braids. I know it's not a big thing, but comfort is a main reason I wear such hair-do. And it has its sentimental value too.

I remember once I told Mom how I felt about not being as pretty as she was. Mom laughed the minute I told her. I felt bad and ashamed of myself– it must be a silly thing to feel like that about your own Mom.

"Isa, sweety, I'm not gorgeous! Why, when I was at my old school, people used to make fun of my hair, of my eyes, of my 'oddities' as they liked to call them!" Mom said all of this in a laugh, bending in half and choking on her laughter. It was very contagious, and soon I was cracking up with her too.

"Oddities? Mom, you're the best! You're pretty, and you're so lovable! I can't believe such idiots would make you feel bad!" I was at this confession. I had always thought Mom was very popular during her school years.

Mom looked at me, stopped laughing, and hugged me. She kissed my nose and smiled down at me.

"Oh, but they did not find me in such way. . . Nope, far from it! They used to hide my stuff from me, my text-books, my pencils, my pets. . . Everything would be gone before I woke up! Often did I tried to look for them on my own, but in the end I gave up and asked people for help. Few accepted, and those few later on became my best friends. One such person was your father," as Mom told me this story I sat on her bed, and breathed in her smell and Dad's smell.

"You see, your Dad helped me a lot. I was a maiden in distress in our last year, and he came to the rescue. I knew than he was the one, so I held onto him like glue. His previous sweetheart was not thrilled with the idea, but before you knew it, Harry and I had became a couple! And soon, we married, and had a wonderful little girl. She was very beautiful since the beginning, but we did noticed she lacked confidence. So she came to me one day for help, because she thought she was ugly. . . . And I helped her become more beautiful, because the real beauty is within."

Mom tugged me from the bed and placed me in front of her mirror. It was a large mirror, and looked like an antique. There were words written on the top of the mirror, but I could barely pronounce them, let alone understand what they meant. It was a beautiful mirror though, big enough to see Dad on his entirety. Also, Dad gave the mirror to Mom as a gift on their first anniversary, or so Mom said.

I saw myself and Mom behind me, grinning like a little kid. Her hair was wild, but in a graceful way, while mine was wild, but in an obscene way. It ( my hair) was shoulder-length back then, and loose. I often tried to curl it like Mom's, with the tips of my pencils, all in vain.

Mom searched for something in her skirt's pockets ( she also fabricated most of our clothing) and took out two rubber bands. They were of a golden color and glinted dangerously in the sun's rays. She then took a brush from another pocket and brushed my hair while she sung:

Down, down, down

Down onto the ground

Hope has filled this Earth

Hatred has become a threat.

Elves and pixies,

Olives and daisies,

Humans and animals,

Have paid the price.

Down, down, down

Down onto the ground

The maiden's limp body

Falls into the hole

Escape is beyond and beyond.

We're all alone.

But the moon showed her face

And the maiden smiled

Knowing that moon would be there.

When the lights went out,

And when the cold kicked in.

And so we smile

Up at the beautiful moon

Just like the maiden,

Like every afternoon

Ever and forever after.

Kiss the moon,

Touch the moon,

Because down, down, down

Down onto the ground,

There will go Hatred and Illness

And triumphant will be Lady Beauty.

I had closed my eyes as I listened to Mom's lullaby. When I opened my eyes I gasped. The girl looking back at me was rather pretty. She had two brown braids and big blue eyes. I liked my new self. So I turned back and hugged Mom, who beamed at me.

"Oh Mom, I am so pretty!" I chirped, looking back at myself. Somehow I felt as if I was looking somewhere deep. . . I knew I was very beautiful.

"Remember Isadora, beauty comes from within."

And then I lost my moon. She shifted from here to there. I kissed her for so many years, and I touched her hair, and hugged her frame, and loved her very much. She protected me from Hatred and Illness. . . . but in the end, what I did was not enough. We should have known. . . But when we did, it was too late.

I still have Mom's memories, however, and that no one can take away from me.