Moon Walk

Moon Walk

Hank and I sat on the porch swing on a mild night. As we watched, the moon began its rise. My head laid on his shoulder, his arm around me.

“Do you want to know a secret?” Hank whispered in my ear.

I thought for a moment. A secret, what in the world could it be. My pulse quickened, I could feel my face getting red.

“That depends. Good or bad.” I still had my head on Hank’s shoulder, afraid to look him in the eye.

“That depends.” He pulled me up. “See the moon?”

Of course, it was above the horizon, a full bright white ball. “Yes, it’s beautiful.”

“That’s my home. I was born there.”

I chuckled. “Ha, for a moment I thought you said the moon’s your home. You live here, sweetie. We’re married, remember?”

“How could I forget? I love you, Mary. We have a great life here, but the moon is where I was born. It’s my ancestral home.”

Hank gazed at the moon, the light from it bathing his face in its pale light. “That’s my secret.”

“Uh huh. Ancestral home? You said you were from Cincinnati. You lied to me.”

“Just a little white lie. Would you have believed the truth?”

“Well, no.” But then, “Oh good grief.” I stood and paced on the porch. “How is this even possible? Gravity, oxygen, and food, and water, and…biology! Hank, you have some explaining to do.”

So, as he explained it, Hank’s father was one of the astronauts doing a moonwalk. His mother lived on the moon, saw his father out for a stroll. And, well, you know. Stars in their eyes.

As if I would believe a word of this. Perhaps that moon walk was in Utah.

W/C 294