The Night the Moon Took Leave

I was informed, with a seriousness usually reserved for funerals and tax notices, that at precisely 9:23 this evening the moon would resign from public service and vanish entirely. Not diminish, mind you, nor hide modestly behind a cloud like a bashful debutante, but disappear altogether, as if it had quarreled with the sky and taken its light elsewhere.

It alone might trouble a thoughtful person. But the true alarm came with the additional intelligence that, owing to the moon’s absence, gravity would lose its grip and begin behaving like a politician’s promise, liable to float off at any moment.

“Stay indoors,” the warning said, “or you may drift away.”

Now, I have lived long enough to distrust any advice that recommends staying indoors on a perfectly good evening, but I have also lived long enough to recognize when the universe might be in one of its moods. So I made my preparations.

I placed a chair squarely in the center of the room, sat in it with conviction, and kept one hand firmly upon the table, in case the earth decided to shrug me off like a crumb.

At 9:22, I felt as a man does before a duel, calm on the outside, but privately wishing the moon would reconsider its position. At 9:23, I looked out the window, and sure enough, there was no moon.

Now, I must confess, there had been no moon visible for some time before that, but this was different. It was an official absence.

A deliberate one. The sort that comes with consequences.

I tested the air cautiously by lifting one foot. It remained loyal to the floor.

Encouraged, I lifted the other. The result was much the same, though I will admit the second foot had a slightly independent spirit about it.

Outside, I observed my neighbor standing on his porch, gripping the railing with both hands and staring upward like a man expecting to be collected by the heavens. His hat made a brief attempt at escape but got subdued with admirable swiftness.

Minutes passed. Then more minutes.

Gravity, it seemed, had not received the notice and was continuing its duties in a stubborn and worklike fashion. By 9:30, I had grown confident enough to release the table and walk about freely, though I did so with a certain respect, as one does when dealing with a creature that might bite without warning.

In the end, the moon returned, as it always does, without apology or explanation, and gravity remained as steady as ever, having ignored the entire affair with commendable professionalism.

I have concluded from this episode that while the heavens may occasionally give the impression of mischief, they are, on the whole, less troublesome than the people who explain them.