Dark of the Moon

It’d been about a month since Ricky’s recovery. Dr. Littlefield called it a miracle. Mama hugged her Bible and cried. Letting her believe her healing verses had cured Ricky seemed like the best thing to do. And besides, would she have believed me anyway?

Daddy parked right square in the middle of the drive-in movie lot, and Ricky and I stretched out on the hood of the car. With the sun sinking into pink ribbons behind the screen, it was just a matter of minutes before the movie started.

“Hey, knucklehead,” I said, nudging Ricky and nearly making him spill his popcorn. “Don’t you think it’s weird?”

“What?” he answered, shaking the kernels off the side of the box.

“About Mr. Lunas. No one made the connection of him being there when Daddy got saved, and again when you were saved. You’d think they would have figured it out.”

Ricky shrugged. “So?”

“You don’t think Mr. Lunas had anything to do with you getting better?”

He shrugged again. “I don’t know.”

It struck me then that he didn’t know. He didn’t see what I saw, or know what I knew. It was going to be a secret I had to carry around all by myself.

Mama hopped up onto the car hood and bumped her hip against mine. “Scoot your butt over.”

I let out a giggle while Ricky slapped his hand over his mouth. “Mmmmm . . . !” he snickered. “Mama said butt!”

I have to admit, it shocked me, too. This from a woman who got mad if I said words like golly or bullcorn. Butt was downright unforgivable!

“Shush, Ricky,” she said, grinning toward the screen. “I didn’t give you permission to say it.” She was grinning a lot more now.

“Why’d you come out here?” I asked Mama.

She squirmed a little closer. “It’s too hot inside the car. And besides, that loose spring keeps poking my bu . . . behind.”

There was a nice breeze sweeping the movie lot, and it cooled us down even though the hood was still warm from the drive over.

“Hey, Janine, catch!” Ricky tossed a piece of popcorn in the air and I caught it in my mouth. “My turn,” he said, mouth wide.

I held one kernel between my fingers. He didn’t see the others tucked into my palm.

“Hey!” he shouted when they all flew toward his face.

“Stop wasting that popcorn,” Daddy called out. “Money don’t grow on trees.”

Nope, it didn’t. It came from his new job at the warehouse.

About then, Daddy climbed out of the driver’s-side door. “I can’t see a thing. You’re all blocking the windshield.”

He scootched Ricky over, and we were jammed together like sardines.

“Ouch,” Ricky whined. “You’re crushing me.” He crawled onto the car roof and laid down flat on his belly.

I stayed right where I was, in between Mama and Daddy. It felt nice. And we stayed that way all through the movie—from beginning to end.

The nights became moonless and pitch dark again. I sat at my window, listening to the rustling in the cornfield. Was it the wind? Buddy sometimes went into the stalks for a while, but he always came out whining and sad. He’d lay in the dirt by my window and sulk. I’d seen some strange goings-on there this past month. Once I saw a dust devil spiraling up, and for several nights the lightning bugs swarmed with an endless, eerie glow. Tonight I could have sworn I heard the cornfield calling my name. Somehow I wasn’t afraid. I grabbed a flashlight and headed out. I had to see what was going on.

Buddy trailed behind me for a bit, then pushed in front to lead the way. We squeezed between stalks and leaves and yellow corn until we got to a clearing—a perfect bald circle of dirt. I shined the flashlight down for a better look. The circle was outlined with yellow pictures and stick figures that looked like the Indian drawings found inside caves. I studied them for a minute like a child looking at a picture book. Some of them looked like the phases of the moon. A moon that slowly turned into a man, then circled back into the moon. Odd.

I also noticed a coffee can lying nearby, surrounded by broken eggshells and some dried corncobs. The person who drew this used egg yolks as paint and the cobs as a brush. Art supplies?

I stepped into the middle of the circle and closed my eyes, suddenly aware of the blood flowing through every vein in my body, from the large ones in my neck to the teeny ones in my toes. It rolled like a tide, rising and falling. Buddy curled up at my feet, and we stayed that way for a long time . . . until an owl called from a nearby tree, reminding me how late it was.

I passed Ricky’s new and improved go-cart as I walked back to the house. He’d really worked hard, getting it fixed up. He finally admitted that I hadn’t done such a bad job putting it together. I even took some turns riding it down the hill, cutting through the southern breeze. That go-cart really could zoom!

As I crawled into bed, I thought about Mr. Lunas and the cornfield, and my heart swelled a bit. I’d never see him again. Not the way he’d been this summer. Then I remembered a nursery rhyme that Mama used to recite to me when I was younger.

The August heat was too much, so I drew just a thin sheet up over me for covers. I closed my eyes and steadied my breathing. Being so tired, I figured sleep would come right away, but my mind kept going back to that cornfield. I tossed and turned, a small light aggravating my eyes. I reached over to switch off the lamp, but it was already out.

I shot up quickly, looking around. Where was that dang light coming from? Then I found it . . . up under the sheet! It was just a small glow, about the size of a walnut, shining from the palm of my hand. I gasped and flinched, one heartbeat away from fear. Then I squeezed it a few times, watching the beams seep through my fingers. It didn’t hurt a bit. Actually, it felt pretty natural. The biggest smile ever busted out across my face.

I scrunched back down onto my pillow, hugging my hand close to my heart. Mr. Lunas had said he’d left me something. He had. He had indeed.