Dark Side of the Moon

The moon appeared low and orange over the horizon as Donald stood on the shore of the lake. Even the reflection of the orb seemed to send a chill through his body. It wasn’t the first time he had seen the moon like this; in fact, the last time he had seen it he vowed he’d never want to again. It was the eve of his daughter Jill’s eleventh birthday, and his wife was on her way home from work for the party. The full moon that night brought out the demons in drivers, and she was side-swiped by an on-coming car.

The news of the accident came too late. By the time he got to the hospital, Roberta had already died from internal injuries. As he returned home later that night, he remembered seeing the moon just as it was now: large, orange, and low in the sky.

Donald scuffed his feet in the sand as he made his way back to the car, where Jill awaited him. She was sixteen now, and resembled her mother more than ever before. The way her golden locks cascaded down the sides of her face, just to her shoulders, was the way Roberta had worn it on prom night back in ‘76.

He sighed. “I think we should be getting home soon. It’s not good to be out during a full moon like this.” He started the ignition and backed the car out onto the gravel road. The glowing numbers of the dashboard clock displayed 10:46, only ten minutes before the proclaimed time of his wife’s death. Donald paused for a moment, half-wishing to prolong his vigil until that time. But it was getting late and a school night for Jill after all.

As they neared the turn where the accident occurred, Donald felt a tightness in the pit of his stomach. Visions from that night came back to him. The way Roberta had looked in that hospital bed, the feel of her cold cheek under his hand as he'd whispered the goodbye she couldn't hear. He came out of his revery at the touch of his daughter's hand on his shoulder.

"Dad? Are you okay?" Jill's brow was furrowed in a line of worry--so much like her mother. Donald nodded, unable to speak. He needed to be strong for their daughter. He knew it was hard for her to grow up without her mother, and he owed it to Jill to stay strong for the both of them. He glanced over at her and forced a smile. Jill patted his shoulder as she gave him a warm knowing smile.

"This day is always hard," he said. They rode in silence as the bright orange moon lit the road before them. "And the corner . . ." his words trailed off.

"I hate this corner too," she said. "If mom hadn't been wearing her seatbelt, maybe she wouldn't have been trapped in the car. I keep thinking that--I don't know. Maybe I'm wrong."

Donald nodded. "I've been over it a million times and I think about how she must have--."

His words were cut off by a loud crashing that sent the car lurching forward.

"What the--?" He chanced a quick glance in the rearview mirror and saw the car that had just smashed into his was driving without headlights.

"Daddy!" Jill screamed as the sharp turn loomed closer, the thick line of trees looking like black jagged teeth against the leering mouth of the moon.

Donald struggled to keep the now fishtailing vehicle righted. The axle must have broken. Panic welled up in him as he tried to navigate the corner, knowing it was already too late. Stupid kids, his mind screamed as he struggled to right the car, the memory of pulling the same stupid stunt when he was a kid flashed briefly. It was a game Roberta had liked to play on nights when the moon was low and bright. "Let the moon lead us," she'd say with a smile.

All thought left him in the onslaught of screeching metal on metal, squealing rubber, crashing trees and the bone-chilling sound of his daughter's screams. Donald thought he cried out to her, letting her know everything was okay, but the world faded to black and as the dark descended, he wasn't sure of anything anymore or if he was alive to even care.

The door made a grinding metal sound as it was opened, and a rough hand reached inside and took hold of his. “Can you move your legs?”

“I think so. How’s my daughter?” He tried to look for her, but couldn’t move his neck. His legs, however, were free, and he shifted so they touched the ground. As Officer Marks helped him to his feet, he again asked about Jill. “Please, where is my girl? Is she all right?”

The officer frowned. “There was no other body found, sir. Are you sure there was someone else with you?”

“What do you mean there was no other body? She was right in the front seat with me!” Donald walked around the totaled vehicle, looking inside and underneath. “Jill! Where are you?”

There was no sign of Jill’s voice, only the quiet of night and the cops that had arrived on the scene. Sighing, he looked up into the sky, and through the tree branches overhead he noticed that the moon didn’t appear as it had before. Now it was ghostly white and higher in the sky.

Donald started walking off deeper into the forest, his sore legs causing him to limp. He could barely see in front of him, except for whatever tree was in the headlights of the police car back at the site of the wreck. If it weren’t for a misstep due to his limp, he would've tripped over a fallen branch. Suddenly a pair of arms grabbed him from behind.

“Sir, you can’t run off like that.” It was Officer Marks. The young cadet turned Donald round and led him back toward the car. “We’ll put a search out for your daughter if she is still around. For now, let’s get you to a hospital to tend to your injuries.”

* * *

Donald rolled over groggily in the hospital bed, rubbing his eyes. The events of the previous night flickered on the edge of his memory like a bad dream. His stomach grumbled now, and as he sat up he looked around for his breakfast tray.

“Nurse! I’m fine!” he called out. “Get this damned thing out of my arm so I can go home.” He tossed in his bed, within the limits of the IV tube, troubling over thoughts of the insurance on his car. Then he remembered the unsettled accounts with clients he acquired recently at work. Due to his absence, his firm would surely forfeit the accounts, lose the prospective clients, and his job would be on the line. “Nurse!” he shouted again.

There came a knock on his room door. It wasn’t the light tap one of the nurses or technicians would give before entering. It was harder and louder, like a man’s rap. The door opened slowly, and Officer Marks peeked his head inside.

“Officer,” Donald said without showing any signs of interest.

“Mr. Parker, I’ve signed for your discharge, but I have some bad news.” He pulled up a chair by the bed and took a seat. His face remained devoid of any expression as he looked into Donald’s bloodshot eyes. “We found your daughter. Her body had been flung through the windshield of the car before you crashed, and was killed upon impact.”

A wave of numbness rushed through Donald’s body. The anxiety and anger, even the hunger seemed to fade from his body. He curled up into a fetal position, burying his face into his hands as tears ran from his eyes. He hadn’t cried like this since Roberta died. The numb feeling was subsiding, but it was replaced by an emptiness that tore away at him from the inside.

Officer Marks had rented Donald a cab for the ride home, which was a blur as he hallucinated Roberta and Jill’s forms standing together on every street corner. On some occasions it appeared that Jill would wave to him, and he would have to bite his lip to stifle a sob.

The house seemed larger and emptier as Donald walked through the front door. He sluggishly drifted across the foyer and into the living room, where he knew he could drown away his sorrow with a bottle of White Zinfandel. Roberta had never let him near the stuff, and after her death even Jill kept tabs on him. He poured himself a tall glass and gazed into the rosy colored drink. “To the death of the moon,” he toasted to himself, not even knowing what it was supposed to mean. With one guzzle, he downed the entire glass of wine, and then proceeded to pour another.

It wasn’t long before Donald lay passed out on the sofa, the empty bottle and glass on the floor under his hand. The phone rang several times, but he was oblivious to the loud tone. He woke up late that night with a strong headache.

This was the routine for the weeks following: he would come home from work and drink himself into a drunken slumber, often getting sick in the middle of the night. His job suffered as well, as he arrived late and unwilling to put in a full day of effort.

Donald stumbled upstairs to the bedroom to get a real night’s sleep. Passing by the open window, he looked out and saw the moon up in the sky, bright white and innocent. He knew it was watching him, and he hated it. He curled up in his bed and drifted off to sleep.

He dreamt Jill was still alive, and the two of them were riding bikes together. Jill was far behind him on her bike, and couldn’t keep up with him. She called out to him, asking him to slow down, but he kept going without her. Suddenly he could no longer hear her cries, and when he turned back she was gone.

When Donald awoke the next morning, the headache still hadn’t gone away. He crawled out of bed and looked at the clock. It was 10:56, the numbers that were burned into his memory. He pushed the clock over and crawled out of bed. He was hungry again, since he hadn’t eaten since he came home from the hospital.

Looking in the refrigerator, he noticed that there was little food in the house. The note Jill had left a few days ago, reminding him to go to the grocery store, still stuck to the refrigerator door. She had started that habit after Roberta died, since he often shrugged off tasks that she used to do and he’d have to do himself. He was hungry now, so he fixed a small breakfast of milk and toast with jelly to satisfy himself for the time being.

The grocery store seemed less crowded than usual. As he wheeled the cart down the aisle, his eyes fell upon a tall blonde woman with a face that eerily resembled Roberta. He pushed the cart faster to catch up to the woman, ignoring the fact that she couldn’t sensibly be his wife. At the end of the aisle, as he rounded the corner, she was gone. “What the hell?” he asked himself, looking behind him and back again.

His mind was playing tricks on him, just as it had on the ride home from the hospital. He discounted the vision of the woman and continued his shopping, though he couldn’t help wondering if she would turn up again.

When he returned home, the message light on his answering machine blinked. His assistant, Brian, had invited him to the campsite property that he rented for what he called “male bonding.” Of course Donald knew what that really meant, especially when Brian asked him to bring the booze.

He remembered the entire weekends he and Brian used to spend there together, away from their wives, and drink and even bring some of the younger women from work with them. Roberta always had a fit when he returned, but each time away helped him to relax from the stress of his job.

Donald’s favorite liquor store, Ed’s, was not far from where he lived, so he decided to walk. As he entered and heard the little bell ring, the owner greeted him with a friendly smile from behind the counter. He headed for the back of the store, where the large merchandisers were. He had just selected a few six-packs of Budweiser and was on his way to the shelves where the hard liquor was, when he noticed the woman he had seen at the grocery store again. This time she turned around and looked at him, frowning at him with a look of disapproval. It was an all too familiar look.

Then he heard his name called. “Don?”

He shrieked. “Come on, Bobbie, stop bothering me like this! Go away!”

Ed approached him, noticing the pale look on Donald’s face as he looked down an empty aisle. “Are you okay, Don? I had called you, but you didn’t hear me. Maybe you shouldn’t be getting those.”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I was just thinking about Roberta again. Can’t seem to get her out of my mind.”

Ed nodded, patting his back. “Still getting over that, yes? I’m sorry, man. And to lose your daughter as well, the cards haven't been turning up right for you. I’ll tell you what; I’ll throw in a bottle of something for you for no extra charge, for medicinal purposes.” He gave Donald a small wink and returned to the counter to ring up Don’s purchase.

* * *

Brian arrived at the house just as Donald had finished eating dinner. They lingered over Donald’s computer for a few minutes, Brian showing Donald some adult web sites he had found. They loaded the car up with the snacks, booze, and some clothes for the next day. “The girls will be meeting us there,” Brian said with a chuckle as they drove off onto the main road.

It was raining, and Brian put the top up to his convertible. Pink Floyd blared through the speakers, playing one of Brian’s favorite tunes, “Dark Side of the Moon.” He seemed to know every word, and sang along, tapping the steering wheel.

The title, though, got Donald thinking about the accidents again. Any mention of the moon sent a shiver down his spine. He didn’t want to spoil the mood of the weekend, so he remained quiet. Brian gave him a strange look, but didn’t say anything. If he had, Donald decided he would just blame it on Brian’s lack of vocal ability.

The rain mixing with oil on the road had made it slippery. Several times the car hydroplaned across a puddle, and Brian lost control of the vehicle. They had just entered a turn, and the wheels locked up, sending the car against the guard rail. Donald hadn’t worn his seat belt. He jerked violently in his seat, slamming against the car door. His head smashed against the passenger-side window. He had little time to think about the moon reference, but a quick “not again” flashed through his mind. As with the last accident, his vision went dark, but the blackness lasted much longer this time.

* * *

For a moment Donald stood in a black void, though he wasn’t sure if he was even standing. It was more a floating feeling, like he was in space. Roberta drifted in circles around him, giving him the same disapproving look from the liquor store. He tried to reach out to her, but she would pass just out of reach of his fingertips.

“Look to the dark side of the moon.” Her voice seemed to echo throughout the void.

“What dark side?”

“Everything has its dark side. Even yourself.”

“The only dark side I’ve seen is that the moon caused two deaths of people dear to me.” Donald began to cry, the tears trickling down his face thicker and heavier than usual.

Roberta’s image seemed to flicker and fade into the darkness. Donald flailed his arms like he was swimming, trying to push himself toward her, but she was gone.

* * *

Donald screamed as he awoke. The sounds of the hospital room he was in were familiar, but he couldn’t see. It was as though he was still in the void, even after waking. The nurses rushed into the room at the sound of his scream. “What happened to me? Where am I? Why can’t I see?” His questions came out somewhat garbled, and he couldn’t understand why.

“Mr. Parker, you are at Memorial Hospital,” said the nurse closest to him. He could tell because her voice came from right above his ear. “You were in a car accident, and severely injured.”

Donald tried talking again, but it only sounded as gibberish. He felt a soft hand touch his shoulder. “Your head wound has caused impairment to your speech as well as your vision. It’s not permanent, but we have lined up a therapist for you. Her name is Sylvia, and will be in later today to talk with you.” Donald wanted to cry. He couldn’t see or talk, and as far as he was concerned, the rest of his life was over.

The nurse came back later that day to remove the cast from his head. She explained to him that if he had any difficulty seeing, to tell her immediately. Donald nodded to indicate that he understood. The cast was cut and the part covering his face was lifted off. Finally his eyes were basked in light, and the sudden brightness made him shake. However, he still couldn’t see anything in detail; everything was blurry, but he could make out that he was, in fact, in a hospital room, and the nurse stood at his side. “Is everything okay, Mr. Parker?”

Donald shook his head. He tried to form the word “blurry” with his lips, but it sounded more like “were-we.” Giving up, he closes his eyes and leaned back in the bed.

Soon after, someone else entered Donald’s room. He couldn’t make out who it was, but he could tell it was a woman in a bright blue dress. At least I can still see colors, he thought.

“Hello, Donald. I’m Sylvia Green, and I’ll be your therapist during your recovery. It was a terrible accident you were in, I hear.” Her voice was soothing, and Donald could have listened to her talk all day. “I know you can’t talk too well right now, but we will work on that. It will take time, but you will recover just fine. I know it.” The blurred figure of Sylvia seemed to smile at him.

As she had promised, Donald improved in his therapy. He was released from the hospital as soon as his vision had returned, but his speech impediment remained. He also had some difficulty walking like he used to, and he needed a walking stick to get around. Sylvia gave him one that was custom-made for him, with a tiger head on it. She had become more than just a therapist to him; she was a friend, and learned much about his personal life as well.

Even after his therapy sessions were over, Sylvia still came to visit, and they would go out to dinner or a movie or a show at the local theater. He was falling in love again, something he thought he’d never do after Roberta died. There was something about Sylvia, though, that made him realize what he had been missing all along.

One night Donald lay in his bed, looking out the window at the moon and thinking about the past events in his life. He remembered the dream he had about Roberta in the void, and what she had said to him. Though he still didn’t understand what she meant, he knew she was trying to tell him something. He grabbed a small note book by his bed, and jotted down a thought that suddenly came to mind. “My past accidents have all come at curves in the road. The same holds true for life; sometimes it throws us curves when we least expect it. We need to be careful to not lose ourselves in the trip, or we will lose what is most important to us.”

“Who are you talking to, Don?” Sylvia peeked her head in as she passed by his bedroom door on her way down the hall.

“Nobody. I was just thinking about something that Roberta had told me once.” His speech wasn’t completely clear, but at least he could be understood.

Sylvia smiled warmly and sat next to him on the bed, holding his hands in hers. “What is that, dear?”

He turned to the window again, gesturing for her to do the same. “See the moon out there? We always see one side of it, and it has some dark side that is hidden to us all. Everyone has that, and sometimes we just need to slow down, and take a look inside ourselves.” He put his arm around his new love and the two curled up under the covers, as the white, innocent moon smiled down upon them.