Moon Balloon

I stare up at the moon as I lie on my back in the long grass. It’s a shining white orb in the midnight darkness, illuminating the world with its beauty. Clouds haze the sky, but the moon stands alone, apart from a few strands of wispy grey fluff.

I stare at it for so long, the seconds merging into minutes and the minutes merging into hours, until the brightness starts to hurt my eyes and I have to look away. Inevitably, my gaze finds the empty spot beside me, an imprint of a figure still visible on the grass. Tears sting my eyes and memories sting my soul as I stare at the empty space. Finally, I drag my gaze away, back to the night sky.

You would’ve loved it. It’s a beautiful night, just like the night you died. Quiet, too. All I can hear is the wind, whistling through the grass, and a few crickets chirping a few metres away. It was even quieter that day. Too quiet. I should’ve known… but I didn't. Nobody did. Nobody couldhave.

At least, that’s what I say to console those who blame themselves for what’s happened. Everyone’s done it. Your mum, your friends… and me, of course. Because it wasmy fault. It doesn't matter what I say, I could’ve stopped it. If I wasn't such an idiot, you wouldn’t have died.

But it’s too late for what-ifs and if-onlys. What’s done is done, and cannot be undone. That doesn't stop us wishing, though. Doesn’t stop mewishing. Doesn't stop me coming here every single night, to our spot, for reasons I can’t quite understand.

I can still see you, you know. Every time I blink, I see your smile, lighting up your beautiful face. But it wasn’t your smile lighting it up that night. It was the headlights of a car.

I can still remember every tiny, torturous detail of that night.

I can still smell the acrid stench of burning rubber. I can still hear the screech of tyres and a car horn honking for us to get out of the road. I can still feel your arms around me, hurling me out of the way. I can still taste the metallic blood in my mouth as I hit the pavement. I can still see the car smashing into you and your fragile body flying into the air and landing with a sickening smack on the road.

I look beside me again, futilely hoping that by some miracle you’ll be lying there, wearing your signature jeans and checked shirt, smiling back at me.

But you’re not, obviously. You’re up there. In heaven. If it exists.

I don’t know if I believe in heaven or not. Or God, for that matter. But why does it matter? We shouldn’t waste our lives worrying about shit like that that doesn't concern us because it could be our last day and we’ve wasted it worrying about what-ifs and if-onlys.

I sigh, rubbing my forehead. I’m getting a headache with all this thinking. You always told me I’d hurt myself if I did too much of that, but I think you were joking. I hope you were. Sometimes, it was hard to tell. Especially when you came out with all that philosophical crap.

You said once that the moon was just a balloon that someone had let go of a long time ago. It had floated upwards and came to rest in the sky, looking down on us all like a silent protector. Sooner or later, you said, it would pop, plunging the world into darkness.

I laughed at the time, thinking you were having me on. But maybe it isn’t so stupid. In a way, it kind of makes sense. I let go of you and you floated away into the sky, and you’re looking down at me now, lighting up the night sky with your beauty. And even though you’re gone, I know you won’t pop until the world ends, until I end.

I sigh, realising how silly I sound. Maybe it was just a joke. Maybe it was a metaphor for something bigger. I’ll never know.

Slowly, I get to my feet and dust myself off, still staring up at the sky. You stare back at me, smiling, until I can look no longer. Dragging my gaze away from the already lightening sky, I trudge away, back to my life, ready to start another day without my moon balloon.