Our Sky Has Two Moons

Chapter 9

"Benjamin?" I called, and I understood he led his attention to me because he's placed a hand under his chin. I just remembered about last night's talk and the question marks it'd raised into my hungry mind. I wanted to talk all about it. I wanted to know more. "If the moon is our ideal, what does the sky represent?"

He leant back in his seat, increasing the distance as if he wasn't expecting this question. "What sense did it make to you?" he answered. As always, he was asking for my opinion; he was valuing my thoughts and interpretations; he was still trying to get to know me better.

And I have thought about it. I have. But the options are never-ending – what could the sky mean? He said it's something you create yourself. Well it could mean the mind, or the heart, or the love one carries; it could mean the one he loves. It could also mean all of the above, as in life itself. That's what it meant for me too; my sky was my life – for I believe we all create our own lives. But I was curious what it meant for him, since he's the one proposing this subject.

"But everything for us is created by us," I explained vaguely. I didn't want to get the answer wrong. What could be the galaxy, the domain holding all those stars and the moon at a highly metaphoric level? There were thousands of possibilities.

He sighed, almost as if disappointed. "Me, I took it as myself," he said, not disappointed – apparently. He seemed happy with the subject I re-opened.

"Yourself?" I wondered, raising my eyebrows to emphasis the surprise. I really haven't thought about that.

"Myself," he agreed, holding a proud, satisfied smile. "What did the sky mean to you?"

"It meant my life," I laughed nervously. "Wow dude, you got me there. Your answer's way more philosophic than mine." Why did I make it sound like a competition? I mean, that's not what we were doing there; we were just exchanging opinions. But damn, was it challenging...

"Your life!" he exclaimed, even more proud than before, oddly. Then he gathered his outgoing emotions and kept a plain, engaged with thoughts figure. "Well, that means you value your life more than you value yourself," he analysed.

"And that means that most of the things in your life happen inside of you," I mirrored the explanation. What, he thought he's the only one with a smart gaze?

"I think it does," he smiled.

One thing I remember - he's always complained about his grades – is some thing I can't comprehend. How on Earth could this guy have low marks in school? He's rocking of brilliance. I'm surprised he is even able to hold all those metaphors and that bright mind inside. Maybe I've been wrong to label people's knowledge by the highness of their schoolwork. Don't judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, right?

We then fell into a moment of 'eye-contact'. It happened often and it was really just looking at the box showing the other – since there's no real eye-contact made, thanks to the damn distance. By the look on his face, I could tell he was still thinking of something, still analysing, lost in his own self.

Just then, a creepy forearm caught hold of the edge of my window, in search of something to hold onto. Panic flowed harshly into my chest. I was home-alone again, on a Saturday night. There was no one I could call to save me if I'm about to get murdered. I flashed a worried look back to the screen, look seen by Benjamin who raised his eyebrows in surprise and was about to say something as –

"NAAAAAAAAAAAANTSENVENYAAAA-mababichibaba," a familiar voice sang, and another hand crept in. I breathed out, relieved. It was Silver.

Shit, I re-thought that. It was Silver.