Don't Box with the Moon

He waited outside the door of the moon. What other choice did he have? He most definitely couldn't go inside. The door never opened for him. There was only a peephole he constantly looked through.

He bent down, wincing at the sudden pain that pulsed along his lower ribs, and he glanced into the eyepiece of the telescope. He did this once a month, during the full moon, so he could take in all the splendor of her. She was far away and nearby at the same time, and he loved it. He looked at her, all dressed up in her white, circular beauty. Luminescent and welcoming. He snickered. What a thought. Welcoming. He would never be welcome to do anything but look at her. She'd tease him, stand still in front of him...offer herself to him. She'd say, "I'm here. I'm here and you still won't ever have me." She was something that circled his brain and body, like a wolf circling its prey so many times the prey would prefer death to the tormenting circles. The moon would be an escape for him just like death would be an escape for the prey. Yet death he did not want. The moon he did.

A beam of light suddenly distracted him. Shit. A security guard. He didn't realize how long he'd been out there on the upper level of the planetarium. He grabbed his backpack stuffed with granola bars and boxes of raisins and raced down the steps. "HEY!" The security guard's voice faded as he slipped farther away. He held his wheezing breath to listen for footsteps chasing him, but he heard none. He looked around at his dark surroundings. He was in the woods. He slumped against a tree and slid down it, holding his side.
He lifted his shirt slightly and glanced down to see the damage. There were some darkening bruises dotting his ribs and belly, but probably no internal damage. His stomach growled, and he unzipped his backpack, reaching deep into it for a box of raisins. He was leaving. He was running away from the jerk who kept beating him. The moonlight fell on his shirt and he read it. "BOXING CHAMP." He wasn't into boxing, the sport. He'd never been into it. But that didn't make him any less a boxer. He'd been boxing his whole life.

His brain was boxing without gloves, and it hurt like hell. His tongue was boxing with the air, and nothing he said came out right. Words fell off his tongue, sounding jumbled and senseless. When he spoke, he was so quiet people gave up trying to hear him. His fingers were boxing with a pencil. He couldn't express his thoughts the way other people could. He had them! He had so many of them they were suffocating him. However he worded them, though, they wouldn't come out right and reclined into his throat--the main part of them out of reach, but their legs extended into his mouth so he knew they were always there. He was always boxing. The only parts of him that didn't box were his arms and legs. They'd stay still and stupid while someone else was taking advantage of their subdued nature. Why? Because of her. She made him promise on her deathbed that he would love and respect his father no matter what. How was she supposed to know? How was she supposed to know the full potential of his father's hate for him? He didn't blame her for his bruises. He didn't blame anybody for his pain. Even himself. He knew it wasn't his fault. He was just keeping a promise. The promise was getting so hard to keep. He let his father beat him, but he'd say the words out loud after it everytime. "I still love you, Dad. I still respect you." Exactly like that. His dad would walk away. Never apologize, but at least he walked away. The only way he could keep the promise forever was to leave the old man.

He felt a small shoe kick his leg as hard as it seemed capable of doing. The kick didn't even hurt too much, but he gasped anyway. Not in pain, but in regret. Jamie! He'd forgotten he'd left her hidden within some bushes while he went about his monthly moon-gazing. Now she stared down at him with her oversized cap and small backpack. "You left me for so long, Billy! I went to look for you by the scopees and you weren't there! If you leave me alone again, I'll run away from running away!" He couldn't help but grin at his adorable six year old sister, who was looking down at him with her head tilted slightly to the side in disappointment. She suddenly looked like his mom, and he swallowed down sadness.

"Look, Jamie, I'm sorry. I was being chased. I would have come back for you...eventually." She still looked at him with furrowed eyebrows, so he reached up and tickled her until her anger melted away, and all that emerged from her were bubbly giggles. He stopped and looked down at her, growing serious. "We're really doing this, James. Do you know why?" She looked up at him innocently and nodded.

"Daddy isn't nice to us. Uncle John will be." His father had hit Jamie across the face enough times for her to understand what leaving would do. Billy had made her repeat the phrase ten times before he took her away into the night. He had enough money to get them onto a bus. They walked to the bus stop, when the bus came they climbed onto it. It was his shuttle. They moved toward the back of the bus and sat down in the last seat. Jamie's eyes looked heavy, and he offered his shoulder for her to sleep on until they got there. He turned his head to look out the window. The moon looked closer...