10⎜The Moon

           With a final tick from the clock on Seth’s side of the room that usually wasn’t an issue, my eyes snapped open, only to be faced with the dark navy of night, light streaming in from the moon outside. The room was a lethal silence, for Seth thankfully didn’t snore (I didn’t either, for that matter). I could just barely make out the pattern of the ceiling tiles above me, and had no desire to start counting sheep or blast music in order to aid in the process of sleep.

           I had gone to bed around eleven, and then Seth wandered into the room at about eleven-thirty. Within minutes, he was fast asleep, leaving me to ponder the largest questions and concepts of life, ranging from immensity to the famous “where did we come from?” Normally, sleeping was not a problem from me. I didn’t get homesick, and I generally had the ability to shut my eyes and instantly fall into the suspending trance of slumber. Tonight, though, no matter what I did, I just couldn’t seem to fall asleep.

           “Seth?” I whispered quietly. “Are you awake?” The requested party merely let out a dazed grunt in response, probably barely hearing me.

           Seth was a strange sleeper. Some nights, he was out in seconds and slept the entire night through and was impossible to wake up in the morning. A nuclear explosion couldn’t even wake that guy up when he was determined to sleep. Other nights, he was like a hyperactive puppy, tossing and turning and talking and not sleeping. I preferred the nights when Seth was a human rock for a few hours—I tended to get more sleep then. Tonight, though, his rock-like qualities weren’t exactly working in my favor. I wanted to talk to someone, and usually Seth was just the guy for that. Alas, my roommate was asleep, and I was more awake than I had ever been before.

           I sighed, finally determining what I was going to do with myself. Generally, physical activity tired me, meaning that a walk couldn’t hurt. The chances were high that I wasn’t going to get mugged on the quad at midnight, so I wasn’t too worried about going alone. I slipped on a pair of flip-flops, and then threw a sweatshirt on so that my uncovered torso was at least somewhat more decent. It was hot out, so I didn’t bother zipping up the article of clothing, assuming that the campus was going to be a ghost town on the weekday night.

           Cautiously, I tiptoed over to the door with as little sound as possible for Seth’s benefit. My hand reached out to the doorknob, and I twisted it, pressing the door open only slightly, as to not let the light of the hallway stream into the room too much. I flitted out of our dorm room, and closed the door behind me, staring at the empty hall that lay before me.

           Typically, the hallway was a place of livelihood. Boys were always rushing in and out of rooms, occasionally dragging girls along with them. There was barely ever a time when no action was occurring in the long passageway between rooms. It was odd to see that even a place with such a reputation for energy was dead at night, like everything else.

           I strolled down the lit hall, and then jogged down the few stairs required, until I reached the front area that was the beginning of another identical hallway, and also the exit. Like upstairs, it was vacant of any inhabitants besides me. The worn leather couches that commonly served as a meeting grounds for all people alike just sat on the scratched wooden flooring, looking bulky and cushiony as they always did, but with a tint of desolation that everything seemed to possess at this hour. I made my way over to the glass double doors rimmed with black metal, and pushed only one open, recalling a time when I had thought that pulling them out from the inside was a viable option. Evidently, it was not.

           The chilled night air hit me as a surprise, considering that during the day, it had been almost too hot to function. Now, it wasn’t exactly cold out, but it was definitely colder than it had been earlier. And like everything else, the pathways that lead to the main campus were empty. From where I was now standing, on the edge of my dorm building’s steps, I could see the moon fully, and how truly bright it glowed. It was a perfect illuminated circle, and absolutely alluring to look at.

           I stepped onto the brick path that would take me to the quad that I had tanned on prior to the beginning of school, and began to follow it. There were a few lamps scattered about, though the majority of the light came from the moon. It was large and bright and loomed in the distance, seeming as though it was reachable, when in reality, it was thousands of miles away. The moon was really my main guide as I navigated through the darkness, enjoying the silence and storing it in a place deep within so that I could recollect it when needed.

           When I finally found my way to the quad, it was completely bare. I could just barely make out the fresh color of the green grass, and began walking towards it, stopping in an area close to the middle of the large expanse. Looking up, I was in absolute awe of the moon. There was something magical about the full moon that fascinated me. If I was going to turn into a werewolf, now was as good a time as any.

           “Eric Wilson?” someone said from behind me, as if unsure who I was.

           Startled more than I thought possible, I then immediately turned around, knowing the voice, but not being in the correct frame of mind to connect it with a person. Then, I saw her. Ari. She was just standing a few feet away from me; adorned in a white T-shirt that was too big on her and gray sweats. Her hair was tied into a loose braid that lay just past her collarbone. I couldn’t make out precise details, but because of the moon, I could see her fairly well.

           “Why use both my first and last names? Why not just ‘Eric’?” I questioned, instead of replying back with the expected “Ari?” or “Yes?”

           “Because you’re a first and last name type of guy,” she said in that rainy tone of hers, taking a few steps towards me. “Eric Wilson. It sounds good and American, and just works. Eric sounds okay, but Eric Wilson is just so much better.” I nodded, not being able to disagree with her, for her point was a valid one.

           “Then why do people just call you ‘Ari’?” I inquired, glancing from the moon back to her. It was a tossup between which specimen was more beautiful.

           “How many people with the name ‘Ari’—and just Ari, not Arianna or something else—do you know?”

           “Just you, I guess.”

           “Exactly,” she smiled, having made her argument. “I don’t need a last name because my name is so obscure. Same goes for Noa, Kay’s roommate, but not Kay or Houston, because those two have last names that are practically glued to their first names,” she laughed lightly, and I noticed that we had somehow come to be a mere foot away from one another. “Kay Rodgers and Houston Walker. They just sound good.”

           “Fair enough,” I said, straining my neck in order to see the moon fully, and not just the light it shed on everything.

           “Lie down,” she commanded, spontaneously reaching her hand out and meshing our fingers together. She then lowered herself to the ground, bringing me down, also, in the process. I did as instructed, resting my back prone to the grass, only a thin sweatshirt and sweats separating my body from the prickly green beneath. Ari released the connection between our hands, allowing me to place mine behind my head. She then proceeded to also descend fully, her head resting on my bare torso. It was an odd position that we were both in, but it was also somehow comforting, in a way. “I love looking at the moon.”

           “Me too,” I mumbled, an inquiry for her popping into my mind. “I have a question for you.”

           “No,” she said, “you have three.”

           “I have three questions for you?”

           “Yes.”

           “And what would those be?” I asked, only having one in mind.

           “Why am I out here this late at night, why are we laying like this, and will I go to the frat dinner on Sunday with you,” she enlightened me as to the questions that I hadn’t even known I had been wondering. As I thought about what she had said, I realized that I had internally been pondering all three of those things, though planned to only verbalize the first. The more I contemplated it, the more I realized that there weren’t three questions that I wanted to ask Ari, but rather an infinite amount that I would never get to.

            “Okay,” I said, “so now that I know all of the questions I’m asking you, are you going to answer them?”

           “Nope,” she shook her head so that her hair moved from side to side on my abdomen, “I just listed them. You have to ask them.”

           “Fine,” I grinned a bit at that, preparing myself for what I would ask next. “Ari, why are you out here this late at night?”

           “Because I like looking at the moon, and couldn’t sleep,” she stated. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to speak after that, or if she would continue, so opted to behave how everything else was tonight: silently. A couple of seconds passed by, and then Ari took initiative, and continuing to speak. It was probably the most verbal I had ever witnessed her to be throughout all of our interactions. “And why are you out here this late, Eric Wilson?”

           “Exactly the same reason as you. I like the moon, and couldn’t sleep,” I reiterated the gist of what she had replied. “So now I guess my second question is why are we laying like this?” I asked in a doubly inquisitive tone, for I wasn’t too sure about what I was asking.

           “Refer back to the first part of my previous answer,” she breathed.

           “Refresh my memory?” I requested, figuring that it was the politest way to say that I wasn’t quite sure what she had said. It was pretty late, after all.

           “I like looking at the moon,” she mumbled, “so figured that since I hate standing, laying down would be the most effective way to do so. But I think that I was wrong.”

           “Why were you wrong?”

           “Because I thought that you would be a good stand-in for a pillow, but you’re not,” she shared one of her most recent revelations. “I hate abs.”

           Not being entirely sure that I had heard her correctly, I repeated what she had stated, though wasn’t certain. “You hate abs?”

           “Yep,” she confirmed exactly what I had thought that she had said. Not once in my life had I ever encountered a girl who had that mentality, so I wasn’t quite positive how to respond. It wasn’t that I was completely shocked (though I was close to it), but more speechless, and unaware what to say next. Ari clearly figured this out pretty quickly, for she kept speaking, once again. “I think that they’re very nice to look at, but for these purposes now, I’d prefer if you had a few extra pounds to spare—like Scott.”

           “You’ve done this with Scott?” was the first thing that popped into my mind to articulate.

           “No, but I’ve hugged him enough times to know that he could manage to lose a few around the middle,” she laughed, the vibrations hitting various parts of my side.

           Because “hugged him enough times” implied that they had built an association prior to this form of higher education, I chose to ask her about it. “How do you know Scott?”

           “We, uh,” she hesitated, “grew up together. I—I used to live in Pennsylvania, then moved out here when I was thirteen. We’re old friends.”

           “Oh,” was all I could think so say.

           “Now, don’t you have one final question to ask me that Scott already informed me of?” she diverted the conversation, not wanting to dwell on the topic of she and Scott’s relationship.

           “Um, yeah,” I sighed. “Ari, do you want to go with me to the frat dinner on Sunday?”

           “See, Scott said that he told you to ask me, but I don’t understand why you actually would, Eric Wilson,” Ari remarked instead of simply saying either “yes” or “no.” She wasn’t one for short answers.

           “What don’t you understand about it?”

           “Well,” she began, “you seem like the type of guy who dates cheerleaders and prom queens. Why not stick to that demographic?”

           I let out a small laugh, a grin remaining on my face as I stared up at the moon. “I really hate bringing up my dating history, but because you just stereotyped me, I’ll make an exception,” I said, emitting a yawn from my mouth. “I’ve never dated a cheerleader, Ari. In fact, out of the only two girlfriends that I’ve ever had, neither was all that cheery, and only one was coordinated—though, she didn’t dance.”

           “You’ve only ever had two girlfriends?” she asked, a thick coating of disbelief lacing her words.

           “Yep,” I confirmed. “Mackenzie and Elizabeth. Well, really Mac and Liz. Mackenzie was lazier than a dying snail, and Liz just so happened to be a better basketball player than Michael Jordan.” My openness was probably due to how late it was, for I knew in the back of my mind that deep emotions generally surfaced when I spoke about Mackenzie…and sometimes Liz. “Mackenzie liked partying too much to be prom queen, and the only reason that Liz got the title was because she was dating me. What about you, Ari? Would you ever go out to a frat dinner with an ex-quarterback like myself, or am I too mainstream for you?”

           “My ex-boyfriend was actually the JV quarterback at my high school,” she said, startling me almost as much as she had when she magically appeared on the quad.

           “Really?” I stretched the vowels out longer than necessary.

           “Yeah.”

           “JV?” I then questioned, not fully understanding why someone like herself would date a guy seemingly younger than her. JV stood for “Junior Varsity,” and it was a term meant for those not good enough to get onto Varsity. Underclassmen usually played on JV. Personally, I had actually played on the varsity football team all four years, but that wasn’t typical.

           “Yeah, he’s a year younger than us,” she explained, though it still didn’t make sense to me. If the guy that she had dated was only a year younger than us, then that would mean that he played on JV as a junior…which generally didn’t happen.

           “This is going to sound really rude, but did he suck at football?” I risked the question.

           “No,” she said slowly, “there were just guys better than him at my school.”

           “Oh,” I nodded. “Uh, how long were you two together?”

           “A little over a year,” she said, her rainy voice not allowing me any insight as to whether it was a good two years or a not so good two years. She was being relatively impassive, and since I didn’t feeling like prying, the reasoning behind why she and her past JV boyfriend had broken up was unknown to me. “How long were you with your last girlfriend?”

           “Five or six months, maybe?” I estimated, truthfully not recalling how long Liz and I had been together.

           “You don’t know?” she inquired.

           “I’ve kinda blocked out the majority of my high school memories,” I said, yet again in sincerity.

           “Why?” was the follow-up question she elected to ask.

           “Because I was a jerk a lot of the time in high school, and did some things I wasn’t proud of—some things that aren’t worth remembering,” I found myself admitting. I wasn’t sure how the words came to form and be verbalized, but somehow they did, and somehow I actually managed to say them.

           Back in high school, I was nice most of the time, but there were instances when I was an absolute asshole—and that was all me, not a side effect of the stuff I was smoking. The majority of memories were blurry to me now, because I didn’t want to relive them. My time with Liz was foggy, and I could only remember the larger chunks of importance—not the little things.

           The relationship I had had with Liz wasn’t all that volatile. In fact, we were actually a pretty okay couple…the way I remembered it. She was just in love with another guy—that was the main issue. How I acted towards this other guy (my ex-best friend), though, was something that I had conveniently blocked out. Events like dances and prom and dates had been wiped from my memory, because I selectively didn’t want to remember them. I wasn’t proud of who I was back then, so chose to forget. It probably wasn’t the best way to deal with my past, but thankfully that segment of my life was done, so I didn’t ever have to go back. It was over.

           “So, um, do you want to go to the dinner thing with me or what?” I sighed with the change in subject, causing my stomach to fill with air and then deflate, Ari’s head moving along too. I didn’t want to think about high school anymore—I couldn’t.

           “To be perfectly honest, no,” she said, confusing a good amount, considering the long conversation we had just had.

           “No?”

           “No,” she affirmed. “Look, Eric, I don’t really like you, but I don’t not like you, either.”

           “Well, the feeling’s mutual,” I said honestly. The way I felt about Ari was about as neutral as emotions came. I couldn’t really read her, and wasn’t dying to spend time with her, but there wasn’t this overpowering sense of aversion associated with her, either.

           Even in the dark, with the moon to guide me, I could make out a grin that had spread across Ari’s pale face. “Now, Eric Wilson, what I blatantly don’t like, however, is the frat and the inevitable skirt or dress that Kay will make me wear if I do end up going.”

           “You don’t like wearing that stuff?” I questioned, not fully surprised. Ari’s style was simple, but not plain, and she didn’t really come across as the type of girl who lived for the sway of a skirt…especially since she wasn’t.

           “Hate it,” she yawned.

           “So, um,” I gulped, rephrasing the question I had asked, “do you want to go to the dinner with me?”

           “Do I want to? No,” she turned down once again. And there it was—rejection. I opened my mouth to try and say something, but Ari continued to speak, surprising me like she had a tendency to do. “Now, if the question were will I go with you, my answer would be yes.”

           Not trusting the way she had said it, I asked the readjusted inquiry for myself, hoping for a positive outcome. “Ari, will you go with me to the frat dinner thingy?”

           “Yes, Eric Wilson, I will,” she accepted. Well, that only took way longer than I had thought it would. It was just a simple question and answer, and yet Ari had somehow managed to protract it longer than I thought possible. I exhaled a form of relief, and just stared up at the glowing moon and few stars that could be seen.

           “Hey, Ari?” I began, a yawn leaking through my words.

           “What, Eric Wilson?” she replied back.

           Though I wasn’t sure where what I was about to ask was coming from, I asked it, nonetheless. “What’s your last name?”

           “Pomegranate.”

           Just like when she had expressed her supposed hatred for abs, I wasn’t entirely sure that I had heard her correctly, so repeated back the name of the red fruit with many seeds in an inquisitive tone. “Pomegranate?”

           “Well, my last names means pomegranate,” she explained, making slightly more sense.

           “And what would that be?”

           “Remon. Ari Remon.”

           “I like Ari Pomegranate more.”

           “Whatever, Eric Wilson…”

           “Whatever, Ari Pomegranate.”