“…the moon pours down its pale enchantment.” – Baudelaire
The full moon shines on a cluster of apartment towers overlooking the sea. Agatha, Beth, and Sam sit on the upper balconies of different buildings. Agatha is in her late 80’s, in a wheelchair, deep into Alzheimer’s. Beth is in her early 50’s. Sam, curly-haired, with glasses, is 16.
MOON: Knowing you suffer in silence, I want to catch up with each of you, if you choose. But first I have to ask—what is going on down there? Wildfires on every continent, 100 degrees Fahrenheit in Siberia, methane released from the thawing tundra, the virus in its fourth wave…
Silence.
BETH: Horrible.
SAM: To be honest, none of it is real to me. I’m vaccinated.
AGATHA: I no longer receive this kind of information.
MOON: Right, but Beth and Sam—I don’t know if I’ve ever seen a month like this.
Silence.
SAM: What do you want me to say?! I’m not responsible for this!
BETH: One way or another, we’re doomed.
Silence.
AGATHA: If I could start. There has been a change. As you know, I have only myself, and that doesn’t include my brain. So my organs have become like pets to me. Like a little group of poodles. I know exactly what’s going on with each. I watch them function. I feel the life in them. I’ve named them. This is new. I wanted to tell you. And thank God the problem is not in my organs. My favorite right now, if I’m honest, is the liver. I never drank much, and he is really a champion. He has a kind of kingly quality. And I thank him for his service. I can’t walk my organs in distance, but I can walk them in time. I choose one, and concentrate, we are there together, and we go for a walk.
MOON: So this is a good thing.
AGATHA: This is a very good thing. I feel like I’m getting out. Seeing the street, smelling the trees…
MOON: I’m happy for you. That’s wonderful.
BETH: I’m happy for you. Keep going.
SAM: Here’s something not so wonderful. It’s boiling, so I wear shorts. But I hate my legs and feet. If I wear sneakers, my legs look too skinny. If I wear flipflops my feet are small and white. So I walk everywhere in socks, even the parking lot or the street. My socks get black and stuck with gravel. My father worries I’m disturbed. I can see it doesn’t make sense: if people would think I was a freak because of my legs, they would think I’m even more of a freak for walking in socks. At least my calves look better, they have a little more shape. I know I’m making a mistake, and getting a reputation as a weirdo, but fuck it. Look:
He raises his leg and shows his foot in a white sock that has become black with tar and dirt. Silence.
BETH: It was a bad month of eating. Pasta and cheese and ice cream. Chips. Everything, no limits. I sucked the nectar out of each thing, and I hit the pleasure center of my brain again and again, jabbed it, then kept my finger down. I don’t give a fuck. You know why? Because relationships are over for me. There won’t be another one. I can’t do it. Every once in a while you read about someone who eats till they burst. One guy sat down in front of a Grand Union, ate everything in his bags, and ruptured his stomach. If that’s me, that’s fine. I’d like to splatter myself all over the last motherfucker.
AGATHA: I hope you won’t do that, dear.
SAM: There are fat free and low sodium versions of everything, that taste just as good, my father says.
Silence.
MOON: I wish I could do something for you! That’s my curse, I guess. To be so close and yet so far. If any of you liked swimming in the ocean, I could certainly create a nice high tide for you. But other than that…Does anyone have any thoughts?
Silence.
AGATHA (to Beth): I like the fan you’re using to cool yourself. Is that Japanese?
BETH: Yes.
AGATHA: What are those figures?
BETH: The long-legged birds? Cranes, I think. In the reeds, the marshes…
AGATHA: I wouldn’t want to live inside it because of the constant opening and closing, but it’s lovely. Sam, you have nice hair. You’re a handsome young man.
SAM: I disagree, but thank you.
BETH: Nerd-chic, I think they call it. Don’t worry, it’ll work.
MOON: Anyone else? No? Please think about each other this next month. And remember our agreement: no one will do anything to hurt themselves until we meet again. Okay? And when we meet, you’ll talk about the thoughts, and any plan you might’ve made. Does everyone agree?
Agatha agrees first, Beth last.
MOON: All right. And now, you lovers of the moon, please, enjoy!
They each look at the bright disc and bask in the pure light.