Sticks, not Stones

I missed you since you had the baby. We hadn't spent much one on one time since your world began to revolve around feeding schedules and diaper changes. I also wanted to come over and spent some time admiring the little stinker, so I did. We sat in the back yard, just like always. I cherished the heavy weight of his warm, sleeping body in the crook of my arm. I could have stared at him all evening. His tiny mouth drew into a circle and he yawned with a little squeak. What talent.

We spent our time gossiping about the drama going on at my job. The weather was perfect. The moonlight bounced off the giant oak, creating a purplish grey hue on the bark. Lightning bugs flitted around like angry pixies. Leaves scampered across the lawn, chasing grasshoppers through the fence cracks.
Your husband kept swatting at those pixies with a stick he'd found on the ground. He was going on and on about some mountain he'd climbed one year. It seems to me there's always something fascinating that he needs to tell us about. His redneck drawl resonates in my mind. I don't know why he threw that stick into the next yard, but he had great aim. A shout from the other side let us know he had landed it right on some poor guy's head.

Why was that funny?

And why did he do it again?

"Watch this," he whispered to us. He scooped up another good sized stick and lobbed it over the fence. Another angry shout got the two of you laughing.

"Stop that," I told him, but he did it again, with an even bigger stick. One right after the other, he kept tossing, and the shouts kept coming.

You raised your face to the moon and howled your laughter skyward. The blues and purples of the moonlight cascaded against your forehead and cheeks. Somehow, it didn't seem real at all. I'd fallen into some surreal dimension where you were okay with this, and I was the only one horrified.

You'd become strange. and I'd become a stranger.

I looked down at the baby to whisper to him a secret. I wasn't going to leave him there with you freaks. But he'd disappeared and I was only holding your long-haired black and white cat.
.

.

Treasure

We ran into the trees, eyes forward, as fast as we could carry ourselves. We couldn't hold on to one another for fear it would slow our progress, but I listened for his heavy breathing and his footfalls to be sure he didn't fall too far behind. I listened also for those who chased us to be sure we were getting some distance between us.

Eventually, the angry shouts gave way to the eerie silence of the forest. We slowed ourselves until we were almost tiptoe-ing across the forest floor. The full, bright moon hovered low in the sky, playing sentry to our little scene. Perhaps it was recording facts and memorizing names. Who knows to what higher authority it reports. The Sun, maybe? They meet twice a day at dawn and dusk to compare notes. I wonder what they have to say about us.

We hid from the moon under the thick canopy of trees. Random moonbeams shot down between branches and formed puddles of light against the detritus. Those were the spots we avoided, just in case. We kept to the shadows, slinking between tree trunks until the clouds rolled overhead. A flash of bright lightning was overpowered by the grumbling thunder. The rapid tattoo of raindrops  on the treetops filled our minds like buzzing bees. I covered one ear and pressed the other against his warm chest until all I could hear was his heartbeat.

"What's that?"  he asked, nodding toward the thick dead leaves covering the ground. Something was there, out of place, winking up at us. I brushed the leaves away, dug into the soil and came back with a handful of coins and dollar bills.

"Nothing," I whispered as I let it fall back to the ground. "Only money."

He wiped the residual dirt from my hand, kissed my palm, and held me close. We began to move once again, this time holding onto one another.