The night was dreary. It was raining and dark and quiet, but the clouds were parted just enough to see the full moon glaring down at the two lovers, though one was in a lavish apartment on the upper east side and one was in a studio living with two roommates on the west coast. They didn’t know each other, but they each watched the shimmer of the moon and thought about the day when they would meet. They knew they would, though, in that moment, each was thinking about another, for fate is a tricky thing.
The woman, who was sitting in the bay window, watched the droplets fall against the glass and began tracing them with her finger. She dreamt of a rich man, someone blond, tall, and important enough to impress her mother but intimidate her father. She knew this man was out there somewhere in the city, so she sat at the bay window daydreaming about the day they would meet. Perhaps he would help her pick up the books she had dropped while walking out of class. Perhaps he would sit next to her in the dining hall and they would start up a conversation. She would, however, eventually stumble upon this man, not in the way she expected. She would be invited to a party somewhere on campus. She would consider not going, but her best friend would convince her. They would get dressed in their finest night-time attire, something sexy enough to draw attention, but conservative enough to be presentable in public. She would stand awkwardly in the corner of the party and get offered drinks from numerous bachelors until he would come into view. He wouldn’t see her that night, but she would see him. It would be the start of their one-way relationship. She would remember his face the next Monday in her psychology class as he walked in. He would see her and sit beside her. He would steal her notes for the next few months until he decided to ask her on a date. She would say yes and they would go to an expensive dinner. There they would meet his parents who would know her parents. And she would realize that their parents had already decided they would get married, for he was studying to be a lawyer and she was from the upper east side. She would comply and they would marry in the spring.
They would move into a fairly decent-sized apartment, though closer to his work than hers. She would be happy for the next year, but he would find his happiness with a girl named Nancy. She would not know about the affair as she tried to start a family with him, but it would never work. He would blame her so as to cover up his late-night hours with Nancy. She would not know that his weekend work holidays would consist of him and Nancy working very closely. On the day she would find out, she would hold herself well. She would hide her anger. She would hide her tears and she would quietly pack her suitcase. She would have to leave that night because Nancy was coming and the apartment was in his name. She would have to stand in the rain as the yellow cab pulled up. She would watch Nancy get out as she got in. She would sit in silence as the cab took her forty blocks to her parents' penthouse, while she thought about the 6 years she had spent with him. She would think about her twenties and how they were wasted on a man who never loved her.
She would walk to the elevator, where she would have to wait, in silence again, for it to reach the top floor. And she would knock. Her father would answer and she would fall to her knees. She would try to contain herself as she explained the situation to her concerned parents, though the tears would not stop. Her father would threaten to kill him and her mother would frantically look for her cigarettes. She and her mother would cry and smoke and cry again, taking shots of brandy in between. Her father would pace in the kitchen, twitching his fingers into fists, until he finally calmed and went to bed. Her mother would pass out on the sofa, but the woman would not be satisfied. She would sit at the bay window every night, until the moment in which all the paperwork was signed and she was finally able to forget he had hurt her. And on one certain day, exactly 6 years, 4 months, and 17 days since the night she first stared at the moon would she decided to stop in a little jazz club in The Village on her way home from work.
***
The man, who was getting ready for a night around the city with his two roommates, dreamt of the girl he had always thought he loved. The girl from high school, who had moved back into town only a few nights ago. The boys would go to meet up with her and some friends. And he would wonder if they would still have chemistry, which they would. And the two would in fact begin to date. After a few months, they would move in together into a small, single-bedroom apartment. They would pick out furniture and plan their life. They would spend long nights making love. And they would also spend long nights fighting. Three sets of dishes would have to be replaced. The marks they made while being thrown, would stay in the walls until they decided to move. They would have a pregnancy scare, then an actual pregnancy. He would pick out a ring. He would wait until the right moment, where he would get down on one knee, as he always planned, and he would propose. She would say yes and they would be happy for a few nights before the blood came in the middle of the night. It would ruin their bed and they would have to get a new one. She would break down, crying every night until he suggested they move. She would think about it and decide to go far away. He would agree because he went through the same pain and knew she needed it. They would look in countless cities before deciding on New York because it was different and exciting. There, they would find an even smaller place, but it was in a nice neighborhood. She would plan on going back to school. He would find a job. And he would say goodbye to his parents and his friends.
And then he would board a plane with his fiancé, knowing it would lead him to a destination far away from comfort, but felt it was right. He assumed it was because it was with the girl he loved. Someone he needed to be with, but he didn’t know it would lead him to a small jazz bar in Greenwich Village, where the woman, who had long since divorced from her rich man, would be, waiting for him to see her. Waiting for him to walk over and introduce himself because neither of them knew anyone else there. Waiting for him to sit down and laugh with her as they drank and watched the band perform. She would ask him why he had come all the way out to the East Coast. He would tell her about his now ex-fiancé, who had left him for a tall, blond, almost immediately after they landed. They would sit and talk until the staff kicked them out. He would ask to see her again and she would say yes. And she would wait for his call. They would see each other every day after that. One night they would go back to his place and they would get drunk. They would share a night together. She would wake up earlier than him and watch him sleep. She would wait for him to wake up, as she made breakfast for the two of them. He would eat it with her and they would laugh through their headaches. He would call her again the next night. And it would become habit. Each night she would wait for his call. She would wait as he fell in love with her and would wait as the symbolic music would play and she would walk down the aisle for the second time. She would wait as her labor pains worsened, for both of their children who came easily. Wait as he unloaded the car for each of them to leave for college. Wait for him to get through his mid-life crisis. And finally, she would wait, as he said goodbye to his children and grandchildren for the final time, to meet her in the beyond.
But as for right now, they each watched the moon, daydreaming about the time that would come. Both unknowing where it would lead. Both anticipating its arrival.