The Rockrose Moon (A Serial Fiction)

Part 1

Of course I have to start off with the moon! Last night when I woke up it was huge and yellow hanging there like I was living on some tilted plane, slightly off. I write poetry and somehow or other the state of the moon is always near to the surface of my subconscious. When you meet me, you can ask, “How’s the moon today, Rose?”

You’re more likely to get a direct answer that way, than asking me how I am doing, I often don’t know… and I have a tendency to lie to myself. So, if you asked, I’d be lying to you too. Most times folks don’t ask. They just look at me with this soft stare and smile. With the older guys, and my world is full of older guys, as I work at the Gelato store across from the famous bookstore and everybody that wants to be a writer goes there…, with the older guys it is a soft stare and a half smile.

The women look with longing or hatred and sometimes with a mix of both. Ron, our boss (it is an open secret), doesn’t hire anyone who isn’t pretty and looks good in black.

Beth and Angie, work with me. Beth is really a model and Angie, well, when she can manage to make things work she fronts a band. She doesn’t tell many people this but her favorite instrument is the clarinet. She should have been a man in a Swing Band but instead she was born this ethereal willowy slip of a thing. She sure has a pretty smile.

My parents are dead. It was sad when it happened but I am pretty much over it. The point is, you won’t hear me whining about complicated family arrangements over the holidays like my friends. The amount of time my friends spend complaining about their moms! At least they have one to complain about.

My holidays are always a mess based on what guy I am seeing and his kids from the first or second marriage or if the guy is closer to my age dealing with his parents. P-l-e-a-s-e.

I have a crazy genius brother I haven’t seen in years. He is either a street person by now, or a Zen priest (he used to teach meditation) or some rocket scientist on a secret project. (I actually met a real rocket scientist once, Asian guy, a sweetie.)

I have this aunt. She thinks it is her job to take care of me. I complain about her like my friends complain about their moms, but it is weird because, you know, she isn’t and even though she has this great life and a nice husband and a good job, she is unhappy. That’s what makes me crazy most... but anyway, the point of all this is that I am basically on my own.

And now that you know that, I so have to go!

I’ll be back, when I can.