Lost in the Moon's Ocean

Hiraeth (n): A homesickness for a home you cannot return to, or that never was

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"If you miss me, and I'm on the road and can't get to my phone," he hesitated tellingly.

"You can come here to find me. I'll always be here," he blushed.

"Yeah?" she smiled bemusedly. "Where is ‘here?’"

"Up there," he pointed to the night sky overhead. "I always think of you when I see the moon and the stars and everything. So that's where I'll be if you can't reach me."

Lilly only giggled, never quite knowing how to react to his sudden bursts of sentimentality. "Okay," she blushed in turn.

Robert seemed very pleased with himself, but he said nothing in reply. And so, they lay in silence until their breaths became visible, finally being forced to retreat.

Robert managed to coax her to his place for a quick cup of coffee. The room he rented was tiny even by a room's standards. But she loved visiting all the same.

Lilly stared out the basement window, back up at the sky. The moon looked different, somehow. Perhaps it was the song floating off his record player and through the burgeoning autumn air that was distorting it.

The night, unrelenting, came to its end. With it, they reluctantly parted ways. Robert insisted on walking her home, as safe as her neighbourhood was.

Lilly had no objection whatsoever. Most likely because this allowed them to share a goodnight kiss on her dorm's front steps.

They'd met only months ago, at the start of summer. Lilly had just graduated from university with a Masters in Communications -- a Major in Business, a Minor in Marketing, and absolutely no idea what she wanted to do with the rest of her life.

She was wandering the familiar streets of her campus town, getting one last hurrah in before she inevitably returned home to 'find herself' all over again.

To reward her hard work, Lilly had decided to explore all of the little shops she had been neglecting while in school. You know the ones: those charming family-run establishments that you make plans to check out every upcoming weekend, but never do.

Her first stop had been an eccentric-looking flower shop on a side street off the main road, its front a riot of potted trees and hanging baskets with vines that obscured your view inside. Upon entry, Lilly discovered the interior was just as overrun with greenery of every size and description, with barely enough space to browse without getting slapped by protruding branches and buds. The air inside was a sharp contrast from that of the breezy May sunshine’s; it was damp and stagnant like a greenhouse -- as though someone had transplanted a slice of the Amazon into the middle of New Hampshire.

A bell above the door signalled her entrance. Within seconds, who she assumed to be the owner came bustling out from behind his counter, the image of fastidiousness.

"Good day," he pushed his horn-rimmed, coke bottle glasses up his nose, his accent too vague to place. "What may I interest you in?" his voice was expectant.

"Oh," Lilly was at a loss for words (very ironic for someone with a Masters in Communications). "I'm only here to browse," she almost apologized.

He categorically failed to hide his annoyance, uttering a snide "ach" and turning back with an "If you need anything, let me know," practically exhaled in a sigh.

Lilly was taken aback by his abruptness and wanted to leave, but simultaneously felt obliged to stay for fear of letting the man down.

She had no idea why she felt such an obligation to a total stranger, but she acted upon it nonetheless.

She carefully made her way to the flowers, managing not to get stabbed by any plant appendages. She knew nothing about plants or plant care, but she figured that if she purchased something, the owner might have mercy upon her soul.

Lilly was examining what she was pretty sure were roses when the bell rang to signal another customer. She manoeuvred her way back down the path she had taken to get a look at the new arrival.

He was a little too tall, dressed in an ill-fitting jacket and worn sneakers. But his smile was...

Hmmm...

At catching sight of the newcomer, the owner came bounding from his counter, his face shining. "Robert!" he exclaimed with all enthusiasm. "It is so good that you are here again! How I have missed you!"

Robert looked down, self-conscious but evidently thrilled. "Thanks," he nodded shyly. "It's good to be back," he grinned, finding his social footing.

"Of course, of course," the owner beamed. "Come, come! Let me show you my newest imports -- they just arrived two days ago. What timing!"

In the next instant, Robert had disappeared with the owner behind some shrubbery.

Lilly remained aside, taking in what she had just seen. She could not help but feel jealous of Robert. It wasn't just the warmer reception, either.

There was something he had that she didn't.

Some time later, the sound of andante footsteps returned from where the excited ones had gone.

"And of course, you must take care to mist her every evening, but not when the sun is down. The sun must still be above the horizon," the owner was holding a very elaborate-looking exotic flower, its petals bursting out delicately from the bulb. He handed it carefully to Robert, who received it with just as much care.

"Are you sure?" Robert looked up at him.

"Of course I am sure!" he boomed, making Robert jump slightly. "What is something like this between friends, hm?"

"Well," Robert looked lovingly at the potted flower in his grip. "If you insist," he gave in rather quickly.

"I do," the owner nodded emphatically. "Now, I will leave you to see what I have done with the shop since your last visit. I must go and check on the petunias."

Robert nodded understandingly, turning to begin his quest.

But his quest was immediately interrupted when his eyes finally met Lilly's.

They stood perfectly still for a split-second that lasted an eternity. Lilly, for whatever reason, felt as though she were intruding. She quickly retreated back to the flowers, her face inexplicably flush.

Poor Robert was starstruck. It took the man much longer than it should have to resume the quest he had barely started.

They each waltzed through the shop, deftly circling away when one got too close to the other. And yet, it seemed gravity kept drawing them together.

Their waltz came to an end when a loud, avalanching crash resonated throughout the humidity. Robert followed the sound, rounding a corner to see several smashed clay pots scattered in pieces around Lilly's feet. Lilly, the klutz she was in such an enclosed space, had done the inevitable.

She was looking up wide-eyed at Robert, the guilt all over her face. Without any words exchanged, Robert immediately sprang into action, rushing to pick up the debris when the owner came bounding out from the back of the store.

"What is this!?" he caught sight of the accident, addressing Lilly as though he were clairvoyant and knew exactly who had done it.

Before Lilly could say anything, Robert took post at the front lines. "Sorry, Lou. It was my fault. I wasn't looking."

He wasn't a very good liar. Lou narrowed his eyes at Lilly, fully aware that Robert was covering for her.

Lilly turned to Robert, a protest on the edge of her lips. But Robert didn't acknowledge her. He resumed picking up the pieces.

Lou was thoroughly vexed, not able to understand why Robert would come to the defence of this interloper. But he was a loyal man; he could not get angry at his favourite student. He bustled into the back and returned just as quickly with a broom, brushing Lilly and Robert aside, grumpily insisting he would take care of it.

Lilly and Robert, forced together at last, sidled to another corner of the shop and cautiously exchanged introductions. Their caution quickly grew to furtive remarks as the chemistry between them ignited.

Lilly was balancing on the precipice of thanking Robert, but he held her back. Instead, he launched into the topics one discusses when meeting a new acquaintance.

In their new beginnings, Robert revealed that he was a certified horticulturalist -- diploma and all. He had worked at the shop before going off to get his degree, and had thus developed an impeccable rapport with the owner. In fact, Lou practically viewed him as a second son.

While all of this was interesting to Lilly, it was the manner in which he spoke that dazzled her. He spoke like he was sure of himself. He was pursuing something he truly loved, even though he'd admitted sheepishly that the money wasn't as good as a doctor -- what his parents had hoped he'd become. All the same, his poise of conviction and his contendedness enchanted Lilly.

He was exactly what she had always wanted to be.

During a break in the conversation, the blossoming (hehe) couple paused at two identical fruit-bearing trees bound by a ribbon of twine. Anxiously wanting to keep the small talk going, Lilly forced out:

"They're so cute! I've always wanted an apple tree--"

Lou had been stalking them, bubbling and steaming like his famous carrot stew, watching in horror as his prodigy fawned over the infiltrator. But this was the final straw.

"THOSE, madam," he burst out from behind a cactus, "are Korean pear trees. NOT apple trees," his pupils bulged.

Lilly stood between him and Robert, frozen with bewilderment. "Oh, I--"

"Enough!" Lou interrupted again. "You have tainted the sanctity of this establishment! You can have nothing more to do except leave!" He inflated his chest for full effect, though his diminutive stature detracted from it greatly.

Lilly eyed Robert, silently asking if she should follow his orders. Robert gave a curt nod, choosing to stay behind to calm poor, exasperated Lou.

Thus Lilly made her escape. She ended up sitting on the curb like a six-year-old who just had their lunch money stolen by the school bully. Eventually, Robert stepped out to meet her, awkwardly extending his hand to help her up.

"Lou is uhhh... serious about horticulture. He can't stand anyone new -- he was like that with me when I started my first summer. Almost made me quit," he chuckled. "But he'll warm up to you eventually. D-don't worry," he stammered.

There was a hope in his voice; an invitation to stick around. Lilly instantly caught on to it.

And she didn't let go.

They went from Lou's to a nearby coffee shop to going steady. It was that they had nothing in common that made them perfect for each other. They came from different backgrounds, had different world views, and had different trajectories in life -- though Lilly's could be better categorized as a lack of a trajectory.

But where Robert was going, and how he was getting there...

Lilly wanted to go there too.

Weeks turned into months, summer fading to fall. Lilly’s time and her future were quickly becoming filled with new schemes that all seemed to converge onto Robert.

He was considering a position on the other side of the country -- the perfect place for someone like Lilly: broke and still figuring themselves out.

Robert made plans to go scope the place out at the start of September. To remember him by, Robert gave her Lou's exotic flower -- the rare Vanda coerulea, a blue orchid. She'd refused at first, certain she would kill it. But Robert's confidence in her gave her the desire to try.

"It should flower again sometime before fall, if you follow all of the care instructions," he'd told her.

But it never did.

Robert left for what was supposed to be a week, eating into his credit card while he stayed to make sure their plan would work in practical terms.

He never returned.

At first, Lilly had no idea what had happened. All she knew was that he wouldn't pick up his phone.

But then, an old friend shed the most scorching light onto her darkest time.

Lilly was out for a walk, retracing the steps they’d always taken together. Her walk took her past Lou's, who just so happened to be out watering his outside display. She considered approaching him to ask if he had any news about Robert, but he made the decision for her when he caught sight of her.

Lou put down his watering can and extended a sympathetic stare, his eyes brimming with tears.

A horrible sense of dread overtook her. She was unable to speak. She didn't want to ask.

"I am so sorry, Lilly..."

Unceremoniously, in the plain, hard terms of the truth, Lou revealed that Robert had gotten into a car accident. He had held on for a couple of days, but finally passed away in a hospital. There was to be a funeral at the end of the month.

Lilly, for lack of a better word, fainted; all of the strength left her legs, leaving her no other option but to collapse on the pavement. For several moments, she was unaware of her surroundings or Lou's attempts to help her.

Her parting words to him were a simple "Thank you." It was all she could force herself to say.

The rest of the month passed in a fog. The days melded together in one long, strung-out, teary-eyed daze. She regularly forgot to eat and sleep. The only time her mind would clear was out where their walks had always lead them.

One evening bordering the funeral she was unsure of attending, when the weight of his passing was particularly crushing, Lilly set her sights on another walk. She hadn't gone in the evening or at night since he'd left, as the memories would have been too much. But that time, she felt compelled to. As though she wanted to torment herself -- to punish her heart for hurting as much as it did.

As dusk fell over the late September, she changed out of her pyjamas (the ones she had been wearing for four days straight), cleaned herself up, and dressed extra warmly to greet the cold night air.

Without having to think, her footsteps followed the path they always took. Whisperings they had exchanged floated past her ears as the memories grew stronger with visual stimuli. How he had ridiculously declared her to be the prettiest 'Lilly' of the field ever to grace the earth, and how she had hated herself for loving such a silly remark. How scared she was because she didn't know what she wanted to be when she grew up, but she was already grown up. How he had rhapsodized about all of the earth's flora and fauna, inciting her to find her passion.

They arrived.

They lay by the maple tree, wrapped in a gauze of moonlight and stardust, each in the other's arms. Lovers intertwined, married by the heavens themselves.

This, of course, was only in her mind.

In reality, she only looked up at the night sky, thinking of him. It was the perfect setting to revel in melancholy -- not a soul in sight, nor a cloud to cut across her view, nor a light to diminish that of the moon. It was as though he had prepared the night just for her.

She felt like she was drowning in it. Every star was a memory and a song and another lonely night without him. She couldn't look away; they demanded her attention.

Without meaning to, she fell asleep where she lay. Her final thoughts were spent on trying to figure out what she would love to do, and finding the means to do whatever it was she loved to do. These thoughts chased each other in a loop until they dwindled into dreams.

She awoke half-frozen the next morning. She felt very little self-concern, only feeling closer to him.

She barely made it back to his room, already fighting a wicked cold by the time she trudged through the front door. She went through his things and made herself a cup of coffee, shivering even after she piled all of his blankets around her frame.

The pear trees were where he had left them, still intertwined, waiting to be planted outside somewhere across the country. The record player was gathering dust, longing to fill the room with sound once more.

Lilly shuffled to the basement window, looking up at the morning sky. She couldn't see the stars anymore, of course.

But they were still there.

She blew her nose and returned to the kitchen counter. She leaned against it and began daydreaming of the projects she had told him she would try.

The ache remained. It would always remain.

But so would everything else.