Saturday, August 1, 2015

Moonstruck


If someone told me that something magical would happen to me in the next 24 hours, my mind would jump to predictable anticipations. I would expect a romantic moment maybe, involving a beach and sunset (though I am nowhere near a beach—I would expect fate to figure that one out). Or I might win the lottery. Or hop on an airplane to somewhere exotic in Europe. I would think all of these things, because societal “magic” means love, money, travel. I consider myself open-minded, but it is not the small miraculous things that I dream about and look forward to. Though I’m starting to think they should be.

I certainly could not have predicted the beginning of said small miraculous magic to be a power outage. My days at Spread Eagle, the U.P. lake town where I’d been staying to visit family, had been filled with nothing but sun-soaked smiles and heroic sunset silhouettes splashed against the shore. After another sigh-provoking evening, I walked up the hill to the family’s glowing cottage. I was almost to the door when the power shuddered off. I didn’t realize right then that the entire chain of lakes had just experienced the same thing.

So the town experienced true darkness. Resigned, I watched the night swallow my surroundings, a black sea taking the land hostage. But soon frantic lights flickered like a light show in the neighboring houses. My step dad saved the day with a burning lantern. And beyond the row of our silent houses, a sliver of the moon slid gracefully down the sky. I followed it like a fish follows a shiny hook.

    Down to the water I went, and I watched as the flashlights across the lake settled into submission. The lake revealed itself to me in its natural state—where lights would’ve dotted the wooded hills, I followed only the scrapbook edge of the trees against the blue lining of the night sky. Two boats crossed paths under the setting moon, like two lost lovers reunited in a dance. A family member next door hopped in his fishing boat, and as I watched him speeding towards the moon I imagined he would arc up and touch it before my eyes. The ripple of his waves turned the white reflection into a quivering heart rate monitor on the surface of the water.

The moon dropped below the horizon, the fishing boat returned from space, the lovers resigned themselves to their star-crossed corners of the world. I curled myself in a blanket and felt the mosquitoes penetrate my fortress. But I chose the physical itch of the moment over an itch of regret in the future. The stars shined down like shafts of light, and I too was submerged in the dark sea. Bugs swam above me as I lay curled on the sky’s floor. I felt as though I could shake shooting stars free with the intensity of my awed eyes.

I took my time to witness the small miraculous magic moment, the million small miraculous lights that came together in a symphony of silence. Then I rose from underneath the weight of the stars floating above me and walked towards the darkness of the house. Once again, I reached for the handle of the door. And the lights flickered back on.  The universe had given me my time. But in this instance, instead of giving me my time in the light, it gave me my time in the dark.

I witnessed love in the intertwining boats. I witnessed travel, as the fishing boat raced towards the moon. And I—I won the lottery. My payment was scattered across the sky.