Atlas

Moon

 She watched him. Even when they were little. For as long as she could remember, she had observed his blonde, curly head of hair make its way through the world. When she moved to their tiny school because her father was laid off, she fixated on the first golden thing she saw. Maybe it was because her older brother always called her Birdy, but she saw the shine in his eyes, the gold of his hair, and decided it would be worth watching. Something interesting would happen there, she was sure of it. So she found solace with two very nice, but a little strange, girls, one who loved horses a bit too much as a kid, and one who was a touch overdramatic. And later, they added a girl who loved writing. She was going to be an architect, and her friends would be a horse trainer, a teacher, and an author, respectively. They grew up together, never too far apart, and while her life slowly crumbled at the seams, she tied one eye to the bright blond star, watching him grow with them.

She remembers her brother dying when she looks at him. He is like her brother in so many ways, the golden boy, the one everyone follows. He smiles and she swears thirty girls faint. And maybe it is because her brother always used to call her Birdy, but she just has to hang onto him. She has to hold onto the only thing that might keep him alive, in some small aspect. The only thing as perfect as her brother was. So every class they have, she stares, documenting the way he bites his pencil when he thinks, or the way that he tells jokes without meaning to. He says what he thinks, and sometimes people laugh at the sincerity, or the openness of his responses, and he laughs with them. She doesn't think he's ever gotten offended before. This reminds her, of course, of how patient her brother always was with her. She finds herself at the football games, surrounded by a crowd of screaming fans. She watches him, the way he throws and catches the ball with precision. Though he's hardly ever on the field, she manages to drag one of her girl friends along to every game, just to watch. One of her good friends is on the team too, his friend too, so if it ever comes up, she can use him as an excuse. It never comes up.

Her friend that is his friend, Eli, sits with her sometimes. She is so often sad these days, and her friends are slowly trickling away, scared and confused by her lack of desire for new clothes or a boyfriend. She tries to explain to them that she is content to just observe, but this seems weirder to them than anything else. Finally, one of them pulls the trigger, insulting her 'obsession' with him, calling it freakish and creepy.

She knows. She already knows that he will never want to be with her, much less talk to her. She can recall the very few days they have talked. A few times in English, in which they are the top two students. When they were little they talked a few more times, but that was ages and lifetimes ago. Back when so many things were different, when so many things were whole that have now been shattered. She remembers they talked about baseball, of all things, because her dad has always been a Yankees fan and he was a firm Red Sox supporter. She didn't even really like baseball, but if it meant they talked, she could recite fact after fact, littering her language with trivia and opinions that were not based in fact.

It really is not her fault that he is so perfect. He can never say a wrong thing, he has never had anything bad happen to him. He was never bullied or teased, so who can blame her for watching the soft curve of his lips as he smiles? If even a bit of that was in her life, maybe things would be different. Better. But it is too much to hope. He is so far at the top, and she is so far at the bottom. When they apply for colleges, she will have her stunning grades, but only her community service as an extracurricular. He, on the other hand, will have a litany of experiences, nearly every school sport, Homecoming King, Prom King, captain of the football team, plus his glowing accolades in scholarship. It hardly seems fair, but he is perfect. He deserves every bit of fortune that comes his way.

One day he catches her staring. She knows because she really isn't staring at all, rather daydreaming while her eyes rest on the back of his head. Her mind is miles away, thinking about life away from home and how unfair it is that she will be the first of two siblings to graduate high school, when it should have been her brother. He turns around, though, which shakes her out of her daydream just quick enough to make it look like she was staring. Their blue eyes meet for a moment, his vibrant and cerulean and hers as dull as a January sky. He turns back around and leans over to Eli. Though she knows it is stupid, she hopes he is asking about her. Knowing that Eli knows her the most of any of his friends, and at this point maybe of anyone alive, he would be a good person to ask. But truly, it is stupid to think such things. She looks down again, eyes connecting with the desk but remembering her father's way of pinching her ear when she got in trouble.

He too is gone, like the last rain of the spring, in her life one moment and gone another. They say everyone deals with grief differently. This is how she realizes she is dealing with it through him, when her father says goodbye without a note or a sign. She is mad at her father, for wasting what was ripped away from her brother, for not treasuring each moment. And she leans even further into the golden boy, the lure of his charm. He bumps into her and says he's sorry, brushing her arm as he walks away. She dwells on this for hours, before beginning to realize he is to her what a gun was to her father. But she would obsess a thousand times over if it saves her from that. And it can't be her fault for being drawn to something so perfect.

He waves at Eli when they talk next, waving at her after. She slowly raises a hand in the air, and by the time she moves her wrist he's turned away. The popular girls haven't bothered with her for months, so Eli doesn't have much to say to her. He apologizes again, wishing there was a different fate for her. She waves him off, citing some farce about God having a plan, when in reality she wants to bawl, she wants to hold onto God's legs and beg for a different path. As if there is a God at all. It's a nice thought.

He speaks at graduation. She's seated in a room full of strangers, people she never knew and didn't care to know. She stares openly now, unafraid of the consequences. After tonight, she will never see any of them, after all. So she lets her brain memorize every detail of him like this, his curly hair tucked back underneath the stupid-looking hat. His slanted nose, the gentle curve of his lips. The way he makes the future sound so bright, so promising. She is the salutatorian, but is luckily not asked to give a speech. When he cheers, ending his speech with a bright "We made it!" she stands with the rest of her class and claps, knowing this is the end. The last hope she ever had of meeting him, of kissing him, is slipping past in these seconds. She stands with the rest of them, forms the orderly line as they cross the stage, pausing briefly for a picture with their diplomas. Her mother gives her a squeeze on the shoulder as they leave the ceremony, and at the exit they bump into.... him. Knowing this is her last chance, she taps his shoulder, only now taking in how much shorter she is.

"Great speech."

"Thanks. Congratulations."