That Night

He laid on his back the remainder of the day with his hands in the grass, rows of soft blades peeking between his fingers. Here I will lay until she returns.

One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten. He counted in his head. Repeat. He watched the sun creep across the river. He watched the occasional boat slide silently by. He let the flies land on his arms. Ants crawled through his hair. Sweat slid down his temples. A rock settled into his back, just behind his heart. The sun set. His body ached; he did not move the rock.

The summer night wasn't too cold. He didn't begin to shiver until he saw the reflection of the moon in the water. Above him bats and moths flew through the air, he could see their abrupt dance as they passed in front of the moon. Sometimes two would collide, without a noise, and only one would fly away.

A moth landed on his shoulder. There it sat for an hour, maybe more. He had counted to ten 400 times before the moth spoke.

What are you doing here?

Admiring the river.

It is a nice river. It'll be here tomorrow.

How do you know?

I've been flying over it for millions of years.

And it will be here another million years?

It'll be here long after you're dead.

He sat silent for a minute.

But maybe not?

Anything is possible. I'm only a moth.


The moth spoke again.

There are many rivers.

But look, he pointed across the water, this one is so wide you can't see the other side.

It is dark.

Even in the day light.

I wouldn't know. Have you seen the other side?

No.

So.

So?

So you don't know much about it.

The boy sat up to peer across the water. The moth flapped its wings a few times, barely taking to the air, and then settled back down on his shoulder.

Have you heard of the Nile? It feeds millions of people.

It is very far away.

Have you heard of the Amazon? It's so long it would take me a year to fly its length.

But is it as beautiful as the Mississippi?

It has its own beauty.

Yet here you are, flying.

It is the way of things. I must go.

The moth flew off. He watched it disappear into the night. He moved a hand through the compressed grass where he had been laying all day and found the rock. He stood, moving the rock between his fingers.

One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten. He threw the rock at a soft angle and listened to it skip across the water before it sunk to the sightless bottom.

Later that year he boarded a plane to Brazil--he had to see the Amazon.