MOONogamy

When someone says they want to kill you, it’s not always a statement taken literally. It’s more like a playful phrase couples use when they tease each other, a rather puckish way of saying: I’m going to get you back for whatever silly thing you’ve done.

Something worse to hear would be: I’m leaving you. That’s when things get serious. Ears perk up. Eyes focus. Lungs breathe faster, pumping oxygen to a beating, breaking heart. These are the same physical reactions the body exhibits when it’s in danger of dying. Heartache is similar to death because life, as you know it, is over.

It’s not hard to imagine Bill and Phoebe Westmeyer. Think of the safest place to live. Picture the most breathtaking house and make it fit for two. There’s no need for them to live in a mansion. Too many rooms. Too much space to keep clean. Too much property to maintain. When they moved to this place, it cost them an arm and a leg, but that’s speaking figuratively because they still have theirs attached.

Bill and Phoebe have no children, although the idea has crossed their minds several times. They enjoy a private life. As far as friends, what kind of a world would we live in if peer-time didn’t need scheduling around hobbies and things we enjoy more than socializing? You know, and I do too, with wealth such as theirs, not all friends are humble.

Speaking of wealth, let’s imagine theirs. Picture a bank statement and pretend the balance is whatever amount will afford you a comfortable life. Now, add a zero to the sum. Turn five figures into six, or six figures into seven. You expect most affluent people to be snobby and stuck-up, and you’d be right. I will say this, however; Phoebe and Bill are not like that. They’re a wholesome couple. Pretentiousness does not become of them. You can have a Lamborghini parked in your garage or a ball of lint in your pocket, and in their eyes, you’re only human.

Speaking of automobiles, the Westmeyers own one of those electric cars run by computer. The kind you leave plugged into a wall socket instead of a gas pump. A Tesla. When they bought it from the dealership, both Phoebe and Bill agreed on the space-gray paint job because of its neutral color. With all the bells and whistles, a new model comes with a hefty price tag. One-hundred, forty-thousand dollars. That’s five-hundred, sixty-thousand quarters. Or one-million, four-hundred-thousand dimes. Or two-million, eight-hundred-thousand nickels. Or fourteen-million pennies.

The Westmeyers are stronger as a couple than they are as individuals. Take Phoebe, because ladies come first. Imagine the most beautiful young woman, one as attractive as a Victoria’s Secret model. In fact, Phoebe sacrificed a potential career of photo shoots and magazine covers in exchange for a life with her husband. Bill lucked out, finding a woman half his age to take his arm.

Speaking of Bill, think of the nerdiest guy you’ve ever met, and Bill might come in near second place. He’s no hunk or heartthrob, nor is he a hideous man. The unique thing about Bill and Phoebe is they never cared about looks. Granted, physical attraction is the cornerstone of any relationship. However, Bill saw beyond her glamour, through her soft skin, elegant breasts, and straight into her heart. Likewise, Phoebe’s eyes were blind to Bill’s male-pattern baldness and a skinny, pale body. She ignored the fact he was twice her age and old enough to be her father. Instead, she discovered his kind soul, and the two fell head-over-heels in love the first moment they met.

Society deems a trial period on any relationship before marriage. Love is a beautiful thing unless a couple gets engaged because they got pregnant. It’s a joy unless they go to the altar after only a few months of dating. Love is only acceptable when the two involved have spent enough time to grow sick of each other. Seal the deal on monogamy and put a ring on the finger of the person who bores you.

Again, I tell you these things because they do not apply to Phoebe and Bill. There was no question whether they would get married. Knowing each other for one night or one year; it didn’t matter. With all its uncertainties, its questions, enigmas, its randomness, and unexplainable acts, the universe made sure it got one thing right: Phoebe and Bill were made for each other. They’ve been hitched for three years. That’s one-thousand, ninety-five days. Or twenty-six-thousand, two-hundred, eighty hours. Or one million, five-hundred, seventy-six, eight-hundred minutes. And right now, at this very moment, Bill struggles to find out why his true love no longer wants to spend another second with him.

The sheer concept baffles his mind. He can’t allow something to shatter his soul until it makes sense. Something can’t break his heart until he knows what it is. Why does she want to leave with all this? In the bedroom, you can see Phoebe packing the most fashionable clothing, the skimpiest lingerie, and the most lavish shoes into the priciest luggage case.

Speaking of bedroom sets, picture this one to be the most luxurious. If you thought of a queen-size mattress, make it a king. If you thought of a cedar frame, turn it to oak. Cotton sheets? Change those to silk. Average sized pillows? How about the full-length body size to cuddle with instead? For the first time in ninety-four million, six-hundred, eight thousand seconds with her husband, Phoebe is at a loss for words. Nothing she can say will make him understand why she wants to leave, and nothing he can say will change her mind to make her stay.

Ladies first. Phoebe breaks the silence.

“If you love me so much, why don’t you—”

Bill interrupts by asking if he’s a bad husband.

“Am I a bad husband?”

No, Phoebe’s planned departure is not because Bill is an unfit spouse, and that’s what she tells him.

“It’s not because you’re an unfit spouse. I love you more than life itself, more than anyone I’ve loved before.”

Bill remains bamboozled, confused, and ponders his next question. He wants to know if he’s bad at sex.

“Am I bad at sex?”

No, Phoebe’s desire to estrange is not because Bill is unsatisfying in the sack, and that’s what she says to assure him.

“It’s not because you’re unsatisfying in the sack. With age comes experience, and you know the right way to satisfy a woman. I can’t count how many times I woke up the next day with sore toes from curling them the night before.”

Frightened by the potential answer to his next question, Bill asks about someone else? Another man? Another woman?

“Is there someone else? Another man? Another woman?”

No, Phoebe isn’t leaving because she fell for someone else. In a life of privacy and seclusion, there’s no one else to fall in love with. That’s what she promises.

“It’s not because I fell for someone else. Who else is there to fall in love with?”

By now, Phoebe’s bags are packed. She zips her suitcase and drags it down the hall and to the kitchen with Bill lingering behind.

Speaking of kitchens, imagine the most beautiful and make it better. Picture the most spacious cooking area and add a few more square feet. If you’re thinking of granite countertops, make them marble.

Bill opens the fridge to find a beer, and speaking of beer, don’t strain too much on the brand. There’s no need to embellish. A cheap lager will do because there’s hardly the will for him to consume it. Bill doesn’t drink beer regularly, but for this, he sure could use one.

Speaking of ingestion, Bill hasn’t had much of an appetite either. Image the longest time you’ve gone without food and how hungry you were. Now, add the stomach irritation, the shaky hands, the weakness; add all of this together, and it’s almost as hungry as Bill feels.

Phoebe picks up her flight ticket from the counter. A one-way trip costs exactly what you think it should, but a lot more. She moves into the dining room and pulls out a chair. Fantasize the most expensive table but make it better. Dream of the best china, the kind you would die if it were to shatter.

Speaking of cracks, recall the worst break-up you ever experienced, the most painful heartache. Now, picture it twice as bad. Remember how hard you cried, but double the tears. That’s how Bill feels right now. He searches his mind and racks his brain for sensible answers to his desperate questions. He comes in, moping beside the table, and sits on the opposite side from his wife.

Phoebe tries asking again, “If you love me so much, why don’t you—”

Bill interrupts, wanting to know if, somewhere down the road, she lost interest.

“Somewhere down the road, did you lose interest?”

No, Phoebe’s abandonment isn’t because she’s bored. Bill did his best to keep her happy and entertained. And that’s what she says to him.

“It’s not because I’m bored. You did your best to keep me happy and entertained. Even things you enjoy, things I never thought I would find appealing, are now my favorite things to do.”

Bill’s mind scuffles for more inquiries and settles on another. He asks if he’s not as successful as she hoped.

“Am I not as successful as you hoped?”

No, it isn’t because Bill is fruitless. He shares with her a life only some can dream about, and of course, that’s what she implies.

“You’re more than successful. The life you share with me, only some people dream about. It’s hard for me to turn away, but I have to.”

Bill wonders if she’s leaving because they don’t have children.

“Are you leaving me because we don’t have children?”

No, starting a family is not the issue, and that’s what she exclaims.

“Starting a family is not the issue. Thank God we don’t have kids. Otherwise, this would be harder than it is already.”

Bill is out of questions. Phoebe’s grounds to leave him could be anything. He’s frustrated and stands from his seat. Any man with a short temper would shatter his beer bottle against the wall or knock his chair on its side. Not Bill, though. No, not Bill. Take the most tempered person you know and defuse them down to a gentle kitten. Regardless of how tender you make him, Bill won’t let Phoebe leave without giving him a justifiable reason.

“I won’t let you leave without a justifiable reason. I don’t understand. Is this not the life you wanted? Is this not the world you’ve always dreamed of? You wanted the Moon, and I gave you the Moon! Is it not good enough for you? We’ve come so far together, so far from where we started. How can you leave me now?”

How hard have you worked to achieve something? Well, I’m here to tell you; Bill worked harder. Phoebe doesn’t give him a reasonable answer. She doesn’t give him an answer at all because he storms from the room and to the garage. If Bill has to lose this battle, the least he can do is spend every last second with the woman he loves. And so, he offers to drive her to the airport.

“Let me drive you to the airport.”

The shuttle waits for passengers to load their luggage before flying them to their final destination. Phoebe is the only one standing in line with a ticket. Bill watches with teary eyes as she wheels her suitcase to the gate and hands the attendant her passport. With a sort-of sad and sorrowed smile, she looks back to see him pouting in his seat as a janitor runs a vacuum-cleaner beside his feet.

Finally, Phoebe gives him what he’s been longing for. She tells him the reason she has to go. Bill doesn’t lift his head. He stares at the sweeper, watching as it sucks up dirt and lint along with any hope of him ever being happy again.

“I’m sorry, Bill. You have to understand. I’m homesick. I miss my mom and dad. I miss my friends. I miss going out on weekends to the movies. I miss shopping. I miss hotdogs and cotton candy. I miss meeting strangers and bumping into people I haven’t seen in a life-time. I miss kittens and puppies. I miss filling my car with gas and stressing when the gauge drops to empty. I miss television shows and books. I miss not having to make decisions and going where the wind takes me. I miss the ocean. I miss the snow, and I miss the rain. I can only spend so many days with the sun always shining. Sometimes, I need the weather to change.”

Bill feels like a failure. He agrees; those things sound wonderful. Phoebe gave up everything to live a life he thought was good enough and a little bit better. He believed he provided the best for her, but a tad bit more. The truth is, all she wants is less. She can’t live without the things they take for granted. Bill doesn’t say it, but he thinks maybe she’s right. Maybe she should go. That way, she can be happy. And if she’s happy, that’s all he will ever need.

Phoebe’s flight is about to leave. It’s the only scheduled departure, and she’s the only passenger. She steps through the gate and stops to look back.

“If you love me so much, why don’t you—” She hangs her head. “Never mind.”

Phoebe blows him a kiss. It travels through the air, across the room, and hits the tip of his nose. With his hands folded in his lap, Bill lets it bounce from his skin and fall to the floor. Eventually, someone will come along and pick it up. They can keep it for themselves because right now, Bill doesn’t feel like he deserves it.

Speaking of travel, take the length of the longest flight you remember and double it. That’s how many hours Phoebe spent on her trip. Recall how many bags of peanuts, how many glasses of champagne, how many in-flight movies. Add them all together, and that’s how much Phoebe consumes before she finally arrives at home.

Poor Bill. Now he’s alone, and I mean alone. It’s doubtful, and by doubtful, I mean unlikely, and by unlikely, I mean improbable that Bill will find another girl like Phoebe. He may never know a greater love. It’s safe to say he will never feel softer hands touch his skin or silkier lips kiss his face. He will never feel more at home in someone else’s arms the way he felt with his wife.

With his head down, his arms hanging loose, and dressed in the same clothes he’s been wearing for days; Bill sulks through his empty house. He makes his way to a walk-in storage closet and steps inside. He pulls a heavy box outside to his patio. When they built this house, both Bill and Phoebe agreed a porch encased in glass, like a sunroom, would save on energy bills. This cardboard box Bill drags beside him has worn-and-torn edges held together with packaging tape. He lifts the lid, and underneath is a protective layer of Styrofoam. Underneath the Styrofoam, he finds a telescope.

Imagine a standard telescope and double it in size. The most expensive, high-tech instrument ever made. Make it more. He assembles the cylinder to a tripod and aims it toward the heavens. Only half the heavens are visible from his patio. Bill needs to get a better view. He unlocks the terrace door and holds his breath.

Take your own deep breath and imagine it even deeper. However long you can hold it, hold it longer. Bill lifts the scope over his shoulder and strolls across his backyard. There’s no grass, only rubble, and rock. The scope’s three legs rest in the gravel, and he aims the lens at the brightest light in the sky. He peeps through the viewfinder and focuses.

Vibrant blue glows through the glass and into his eye. Bill twists the dial again, and his sight clears on details of green lands. Another adjustment and Bill sees the airport, the transport station where Phoebe’s flight has landed.

He waits. Poor Bill, still holding his breath, he waits another damn minute.

Then, he sees Phoebe walking from the gate. He exhales and uses the last of his breath to say:

“Phoebe, I will never find another like you. I will always treasure the time we spent together.”

The last beat of Bill’s heart thumps her name: Phoebe. (fee-bee) Then, it stops.

His eyes glaze and stare off into space between the Earth and the Moon. Two-hundred, thirty-eight thousand, nine-hundred miles. That’s four-hundred, twenty-million, four-hundred, sixty-four-thousand yards. Bill’s feet rise from the ground and so do the legs of the tripod. Both he and his telescope drift away.

Try to recall the loneliest you’ve ever felt and double it. That’s how lonely Bill is and a ton more. Now, he’s alone. The worst kind of alone. Dead alone.

The vacuum of space has sucked out his life. His body is the only one drifting through the cosmos. Even his telescope floats away in a different direction. If Bill were still alive, he would think it wants nothing to do with him. Poor Bill. This could have been avoided had he let his wife finish her sentence. He could have evaded his fate had he kept his mouth shut and listened to her question instead of asking his own.

Down on Earth, Phoebe steps from the transport station with her luggage rolling behind. Already, she misses her recent home and husband. They could have shared a different life here. It may not have been the best, but the best never mattered. What mattered was them being together. This thought leads Phoebe to question if Bill truly loved her as much as she thought.

She hails a cab, and when it pulls to the curb, she loads her bags into the trunk. Before hopping in the back seat, she looks up at the midnight sky, to her former home, to the Moon glowing above in all its brilliance.

“Oh, Bill, you jackass. I tried to ask, but you wouldn’t stop interrupting me. Now, I’m the one who needs to understand. If you love me so much, why didn’t you come with me?”

The next time you gaze up at Moon, take a moment to remember Bill. Then, reminisce a minute more.

When someone says they want to kill you, it’s their playful way of teasing you. A rather puckish way of saying: I’m going to get you back for whatever silly thing you’ve done. It’s not always a statement to be taken literally. Unless, of course, they plan to leave you.