Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight

MOONLIGHT

Death has a thousand faces.

I should know.

I haven't seen them all, but I've seen enough.

There's the parade of mass murderers on the evening news, the roadkill carcass smeared on the tarmac, the van hurtling toward you in an icy parking lot, the mosquito splattered on your windshield, the talons reaching for your throat, the eyes filled with hatred, the car in a desperate tailspin, the knife flying at your heart, the blood flowing out of raptured vessels, the darkness waiting beyond the edge of the horizon…

Death is the end of everything, or a mystery, a singularity….. But is it the worst thing that can happen to us?

No, I recently learned there is something potentially just as merciless, but not as quick and certainly never painless: the mere notion that the love of your life might not be there, with you, kissing you in the moonlight.

But let me start from the beginning…

Chapter 1 - Forks

Outside the window, a silver wing slices through a blue sky. I imagine it neatly dividing my life into past and future; sunny days and charbroiled plains on one side, roiling clouds and rain-drenched forests on the other. I blink, bleary-eyed, and occasionally glimpse fragments of my own face reflected in the scratched plastic of the porthole; I look dazed, still caught between tenses.

Last night I couldn't sleep. I ended up reading a novel and listening to music in my headphones until it was time to head to the airport. Mom will miss me, but with me living with dad for a few months she will be able to spend some quality time with her new husband. Other kids would say this with bitterness, but I don't. I asked her to let me leave; I wanted to give her space, and the freedom to be herself. Her Phil is a nice guy, just as full of life and dreams as she is…. I'm happy for them.

A stewardess asks me if I want a drink, non-alcoholic since I'm just seventeen, but I shake my head. As I'm often wont to do, I'm lost in thought…. In the rear view mirror of my recent past, sun scorched-mesas and withered plains jostle for attention, but the dust of history is already piling up on them, and soon they will be lost. I remember a few friends from my old school, soccer games late at night or early in the morning to avoid the scorching heat of midday, band practice, homework, night hikes in the desert…. My mother teaching me how not to cook and google coming to the rescue with real recipes…. Memories are postcards that will yellow with time.

Ahead of me, below a ceiling of thickening clouds, in the windshield of the future, lies the township of Forks, 1,300 souls or thereabouts, nestled in one of the wettest valleys known to man. The sun is a rare sight around there, as it used to be when I spent the summers with dad before my mom relocated to Phoenix with me in tow. Online statistics are as bleak as Forks' eternally overcast sky, claiming it's the rainiest human settlement in North America. I haven't been there in years.

When mom dropped me off at the airport she tried to give me a few last minute instructions. I let her prattle on for a while, just because I wanted to hear her voice, but didn't parse any of it. I shouldn't have to remind her that the kids of a single mother, especially one as wildly unpredictable as my own, have to grow up quickly.

Throughout most of high school I've been on the short side, but just the last few months a sudden growth spurt brought me to the dizzy height of 5'10". Now she has to look up at me as she stares into my eyes.

"Brandon, you don't have to leave. You can stay with us….. You know Phil likes you."

"I know, mom," my resolve budging, but only an inch. "But I want to. A new place, new friends; it will be fun. Besides, I've been taking care of you for years. It's Phil's turn, now, don't you think?" I smirk a little. We have a very casual relationship. She rolls her eyes at me and calls me an impudent young man before we both burst out laughing. My mom was born too late. She should have been around in the sixties.

A squawky announcement makes me refocus on my surroundings. The airplane lands in Port Angeles without a glitch and I retrieve my luggage: my backpack and my guitars. The two instruments, a classical and an electric, are far from top of the line, but they're all I have. I thank the heavens I didn't choose to become a drummer and manage to haul my backpack and instruments out the doors.

It's easy to spot my dad, outside the minuscule waiting area, in his country cop uniform. In fact, he's in full chief-of-police regalia and his cruiser is parked near the tiny arrivals lounge. I should have packed some fake moustache and a wig in my carry-on. It's too late now.

Port Angeles isn't a world-renowned metropolis and of course Forks, my destination, is even smaller. I don't mind. Going to small towns sometimes is a little like traveling back in time and I want a holiday from the loud twenty-first century. Dad and I hug and exchange pleasantries and updates; mom is fine, her new husband is okay, my dad is as single as ever, maybe even still in love with her, not that he would ever admit it.

During the ride to Forks, and my new home, neither of us is very talkative. I obviously take after him in that department, and in truth we don't have a lot in common. We both like sports, but he plays baseball and worships the Mariners, while I fell in love with soccer when living in Seattle with my mom, soon after her abrupt escape to the muddy lights of the post-grunge scene. I still watch the Sounders, occasionally. I'd rather play than just spectate. Eventually we reach the one topic I dread. He asks me about girls. I blush and admit nobody will be missing me in Arizona. He keeps his eyes glued to the road and tells me not to worry; many girls at my school are eager to meet the new guy. If they're expecting a tall, dark stranger they'll be disappointed.

Not surprisingly, when we arrive at his place the sky is already hidden by a thick curtain of thunderheads. It doesn't even drizzle yet, but the air smells of rain; it won't be long. The small two-bedroom house is a cut-out starkly silhouetted against a background of majestic firs. I smile. The weather is not great, but I'm glad I'll be living near a forest. I love to hike, but Arizona is too hot. I spent most of my time there evading the sun and seeking solace in air-conned buildings… my pallor attesting to my life choices. Hiking was only possible at night for me. My life will be very different here.

Suddenly, I notice that there is another vehicle parked in the driveway, a bulky red pickup probably built before the Second World War.

""Dad, what's that? I didn't know you had another car."

He responds with a gravelly chuckle.

"That's your car, son. Well, truck, obviously. I bought it you for you from Billy Black. I know it's not much to look at, but it runs fine."

"That's really great dad. Thank you."

"It's okay," he says, uneasy. Neither of us is comfortable expressing feelings. My mom must have done most of the talking for both of them, before my taciturn father reluctantly let her move on in search of new adventures.

"It's really cool, dad." I repeat, staring at the truck. And I'm not lying to him. I really do like it. First off, since I won't have to buy a car I will have a little more money for the guitar amp I need. Also, I'd rather have something rugged for this kind of neighborhood. I don't live in Phoenix anymore. This thing might even be able to go up old logging roads and reach trailheads.

If it breaks down it will be a problem. I'm not mechanically inclined. But dad has lived here all his life, bought it from friends, and he's knowledgeable about cars. I'm sure he's confident this beast is pretty reliable. He knows what I need. Plus it's built like a tank. I bet it could total some fancy sports car with barely a scratch, one that would be nearly unnoticeable among the many already marring its ancient paint job.

My dad leads me upstairs, to my old room, still as cozy and sparsely furnished as it always was. I plonk the laptop my mom bought for me for Christmas on my old desk. It's a cheapo, but I can send emails, surf the net, and watch movies and streams on it so it's all I need. My dad leaves me to unpack and I transfer my meager possessions into a dresser. Hot places have one advantage; you need a lot less clothing to get by. I'll have to slowly add to my wardrobe, but unlike other kids my age I feel uncomfortable in malls and hate shopping. There are reasons why some called me a freak at my school in Arizona. I cleaned my locker two days ago, and yet it already feels like ancient history.

The guitars end up in a corner. The bed is a little softer than I'm accustomed to but it will do. This room still feels comfortable, familiar. I look around, thinking of the posters I will eventually add, but my stomach grumbles and I head downstairs. I laugh when I realize dad has ordered a pizza. We eat it in the living room, watching the Mariners. He promises we will also watch the Sounders when the season restarts a month from now.

Dad and I don't talk much during the game either, but we both feel relaxed, just two guys watching sports. The raucous voices of the commentators fight the pitter-patter of the rain against our windows and I almost drift off. The combined weight of a sleepless night and a long day of traveling run me over like a freight train and I mumble a tired good night before crawling upstairs to my room. Outside the window tree branches scrape against the walls and gusts of wind throw whooshing uppercuts at my windows, but it doesn't matter. As soon as hit the pillow I fall into the warm blanket of a dreamless void.

The next morning, I sleep in. It's okay. It's Sunday. It was all planned so that I would have a full day to acclimate to my new environment. As if one day could be enough…. At ten I get up and head downstairs. Dad is off on a fishing trip but left plenty of eggs and bacon in the fridge. I'll have to convince him to let me do the shopping once in a while.

After breakfast, I notice that the cloud cover is not as thick as it was yesterday. A quick peek outside confirms we might make it through a whole day without precipitation. Shocked, I quickly change into hiking pants, put on sturdy boots, and throw on a black parka that used to belong to my dad. The old trail I remember from past summers is still there and I plunge into the hike with zest. I proceed with care; everything is still wet from yesterday's deluge and the path is muddy. I weave through ferns and moss-covered trunks looming above me, their interwoven branches forming a dark canopy, as if the constant cloud cover wasn't enough. I spend most of the day meandering across this evergreen labyrinth, wondering whether Arizona's sere landscape was real after all.

Chief Swan returns at dusk with basketfuls of fish I couldn't name if my life depended on it and a couple of native youths about my age. When dad introduces them to me as Jacob and Rebecca I remember they are Billy Black's offspring. They used to play with me when we were children, but Rebecca looks rather mature for her age now, a strong young woman, and Jacob is much taller than me and twice as big. I would have never recognized them.

I help dad fix our meal and chat with my old friends about the truck while we eat. Jacob claims he rebuilt the engine himself and promises to help me out if it gives me any trouble. Rebecca asks me whether I liked any girls back in Phoenix but I manage to change the subject. They take off after dinner and I excuse myself a few minutes later, still a bit tired. I lug my toiletry kit to the only bathroom in the house, between my room and dad's, and brush my teeth.

I have to face the fact that tomorrow will be my first day at Forks High, a name that seems taken from a movie. I have a look at myself in the mirror and a reflexive grimace twists my features… Faded green eyes under a wide, sloping forehead. Messy brown hair I never style with gel, preferring a sloppy brush job instead. A slightly crooked nose, courtesy of one of my soccer games and a striker with a powerful shot but an imprecise aim. At least I won't be the shortest guy in my class any longer, but my recent growth spurt curved my shoulders into a slight hunch, and while my legs are strong, thanks to soccer and hiking, my arms and chest appear weak. To make it all worse, as the new guy in a tiny community's high school I'll probably be a bit of a celebrity; come look at the dude from Arizona, ladies and gentlemen.

The truth is, I'm not comfortable around people. Even my mother, as close as we were, seemed unable to connect with me on certain levels. We were always so different. She's as outgoing as I'm reclusive, as impulsive as I'm cautious….. And the list could go on and on.

In Phoenix, I didn't really have many friends. I never had a girlfriend, of course. Didn't really have the time for one anyways, not with a part time job and playing on soccer teams. Still, I'm scared but I'm also optimistic. I always lived in cities, went to schools with chain-link fences and metal detectors, just another face in a crowd. I remember spending summers here, as a kid, and wondering what it would be like to live in Forks permanently. I'm about to find out. I made my decision and I will stick with it.

I go back to my room and play some slow burners on my unplugged electric while I watch the sky above Forks cry tears that frost my window. At ten I go to bed and let the rain lull me to sleep.