I have a friend.
The main thing about my friend is that he is a good one. We’ve known each other since I was two years old, and he has been constant and steady and faithful all that time.
My friend has rather large ears, but I like to think that it’s because he is such a great listener.
My friend has a bad habit of hanging out in his blue and white striped pajamas all day, but I like to think that it’s because he is comfortable with me.
My friend’s feet are worn straight through on the bottom, but I like to think that it’s because he has walked by my side for sixteen years.
My friend’s pajama buttons are losing their shine, his jet eyes have oddly shaped gouges in them, the stitches making his mouth are mostly obliterated, his fur is not as soft as it once was, his pajamas are beginning to pill, and most of his tail is gone.
My friend is a Good Night Moon bunny, and he is the best one I ever saw.
This summer I spent an inordinate amount of time on my front porch and discovered that my street is a magical place.
Particularly at around nine o’clock on July nights when the sun has just slipped below the horizon and the water in my neighbors’ little fountain is streaming with light.
It is a time to say good night, moon, as you close the front door and go inside, book in hand, beautiful impressions still dancing before your brain.
I realize quite well that this magical place of moon and water and light is not the one I go to when I leave my hometown for my dream school in less than 48 hours.
I realize that I will be waking up in a very different place from my street where the lights glimmer through the fountain in the dark.
I realize that I will have to say, hello, world.
But if there is anything I have learned it is that nothing ever truly leaves you, and you still carry with you the very first moment you breathed on this earth, and you will carry it until the last moment you ever breathe on this earth, and you will also carry all the moments with you that ever may have gone between. Including the moments in which you carried around a blue-and-white-striped-pajama-wearing bunny.
And the moments when you gave him various roles in millions of roleplays.
The moments when you cried into his pajamas after long days of homework and dumbass boys and editor stresses and everything else.
And the moment, in under 48 hours, when you will set him up in his place of honor on top of the bookshelf next to the books you read with him in your arms.
Every moment in between.
It’s a spectrum, each moment slides around on it. Good night moon moments. Hello world moments. Sometimes they alternate back and forth, sometimes they stay consistently on one end for a day or two or 365 plus two hours for good measure.
Here I am. Caught between the two.
A good night moon moment. Good night childhood, good night carefreeity (is that a word?), good night first eighteen years of my life. Robert Louis Stevenson wrote a poem ending with the line, “Good bye, good bye to every thing!” (archaic spacing) and that speaks to the moment. Good bye to my every (old) thing.
(then here’s me, in between)
A hello world moment. Hello whatever is out there. Hello new opportunities and new friendships and new milestones and new realities (and new languages). Hello, hello, to every (new) thing.
The old is gone; the new has come. The face of the world washed clean like spring (setting aside the fact that it isn’t spring at all).
If it ain’t here, it’s down the road.
Somewhere else on the spectrum.
(I must apologize for the unusual incoherence of this post; I guess my brain is fried, which of course is highly fortuitous but nevertheless a fact.)
Life is a river, always moving. Life is a spectrum of moments.
Good night, moon.