The Moon
What he misses most about Earth are the TV commercials, the ones where British men in tuxedos drive expensive cars and say things like Dare To Be, or the ones where a family is gathered at a barbecue and you are made to understand that all of the color and joy there is attributed to the pain relief medication that the father is taking.
Here is gray and joyless. There are no British men in tuxedos who want him to buy nice cars. There are no men at all.
There are no people but plenty of nuts and dried fruit. All other food has been consumed.
Find Your Passion. That was his favorite.
The latest is dancing. A month or two ago Herman discovered that the main computer system not only had plenty of residual battery, but it had an entire library of music loaded onto it. So now he comes every day between his first and second meal to dance; different styles, too— salsa, hip-hop, even ballet— and he performed them all perfectly, because the music was lodged deep in his head, so deep that it ached, every thrust and swing of his limbs an attempt to take flight, fly away from the Moon or his body which was stationed there.
Severed from his physical form, his mind was free to roam the universe, only it kept falling back to Earth, the gravity of neon lights and TV screens and car horns always, always bringing him home.
Today he breakdances on the sterile white floor, which is a smooth plastic— perfect for breakdancing, he realizes— until his ankle does not spin with the rest of his body and it twists, halting his frenzy for the rest of the day and, Herman fears, the rest of the week.
Time has not gotten any easier. He still anticipates the next Moon colonizers will arrive any moment, that he will see their ships touch the surface like rain on a lake, slow and then all at once. The day never comes. Perhaps the world economy collapsed and no one can afford to visit him. Or nuclear war has broken out and everybody is either dead or living underground. On the worst days (such as today, now with his sprained ankle) he feels as though a cruel joke had been played on him, like they sent him to live on the Moon to see if he'd go along with it.
He puts some tape and a compression sock onto his foot and sits in the observation room. This is the second best room next to the dance room because he can see deep into the black sky. Maybe all of space is one very big tuxedo, he thinks. Wouldn't that be neat. Dare To Be, he repeats to himself, straining his voice into a British accent.
God is a very handsome and well dressed British man selling movement.
There is nothing to buy on the Moon.
Out from the black nothing a blue light almost blinds Herman. He covers his eyes and squints but manages to still see through the light a small spaceship, one in a coat of black paint but with a humming white light around its edges. At a glance it seems that a cartoon sketch is floating above him.
Herman puts on his space gear and steps outside to greet the ship. It looks nothing like the one he arrived in.
small hatch opens from the side of the ship and a metal orb rolls out of it, and it looks as if it is going to fall clean on Herman's head, but then four tight columns of steam appear and bring the orb to hover about eye level with Herman.
It beeps a few times at different pitches, then there is a crackling sound that reminds Herman of the TVs again. His heart beats faster. The crackling sound abruptly stops. Then the orb ascends back towards the ship and is swallowed whole.
The ship flies towards Earth. Herman forces down the words that are only now beginning to form in his throat. Standing on the surface of the Moon he watches the ship almost vanish as it flies closer and closer, and then there is a terrific white flash, so bright that Herman falls onto his back. He pulls himself up and sees the Earth in a million tiny pieces flying outwards. Taking its place is a growing ball of fire.
The debris like so many arms outstretched.
It is a silent moment. The radio in Herman's head stops playing. It is a terrible leakage in his head as not just the music spills out but so do the movies, so do the people. The warmth of all those he loved and who loved him passing in a second sharp as a breath. The money he had and his occupation and the house in which he lived. The house where he was born. His dog runs from the backyard through the house and the front gate and leaps into his arms before disappearing into the woods. There is nowhere else to go.
An amazing weight released from his shoulders. He jumps up and down and feels a sharp pain in his ankle, but pain relief medication is long gone and soon enough he forgets the pain entirely. He starts crying, uncontrollably, as if the water wanted out too. He falls to his knees.
Billowing out from space comes a paved road on which rests a sleek silver sports car; this is the last to go, Herman realizes. If this is a commercial then he is convinced, this car is and contains everything in the universe. He watches it with love and passage in his heart. He removes his helmet and sees it clearer. Any moment now, he thinks, any moment now the door will open and there will be God promising everywhere, carrying nothing. He takes a deep breath; any moment now.