Phantasm Spindrift

Gina Moriarty

Phantasm Spindrift

My newest habit was massaging the nakedness of my left ring finger. Every time I caught myself, I flung my hands apart in irritation and bit my cheek. I considered the absence of my engagement ring like that of a dog who had been used to a collar and recently set free. This was what you wanted, right? Bella’s snoring engulfed my sigh.

I lounged on Eleanor’s front porch with a joint, my journal, and a book I kept meaning to crack, but I couldn’t seem to find my way beyond the cover. Content, I sat and stared ahead at the glow of the moon. I had scooted the chair to the ledge of the porch so I wouldn’t miss its magnificence: it was a solstice, strawberry-pink supermoon. The last time this same June moon hung was 1967; the last time the summer solstice coincided with a full moon was the Summer of Love.

Ding. I was new to Snapchat, but the high-pitched chime had become another bad habit, one I wasn’t so eager to break. My heartbeat quickened when I read “Cliff is typing.” Another Ding. Cliff was my only Snapchat friend; that ding was his noise. A few days after we met, a bright red heart had appeared to the right of his screenname like the scarlet-red emoji of infidelity. Maybe if I went a day without messaging him, it would disappear. Could I go that long? I giggled at the absurdity. I didn’t want it gone.

“Go for a walk,” his message read.

My phone shone as bright as the orb in the sky. The chair scraped against the cement. Bella sputtered as I stood and lifted her head. I opened the screen door.

“Go on, girl,” I nodded my head and she waddled inside.

My fingers typed as I peered up the road, “Why? Where are you?” I hit send, but I was already walking.

I grew up in this town. Who would’ve thought I’d ever be back? To say I knew this road like the back of my hand … fuck, I was doing it again. I flung my hands apart and cursed myself. This new tendency was how I imagine a phantom limb might randomly interrupt an amputee’s day: a brief impossible sensation, then gone again. My episodes weren’t painful, just emotionally jarring, though thoughts of Cliff’s impending arrival eagerly pushed my ex-fiancé from my mind.

Ding. Ding. I palmed my phone and swiped a ripple across an old picture of Bella on the kitchen floor at the old house. I made a mental note to update my background and opened Snapchat. Cliff in boldface. Received 7 seconds ago. I stared at his name and my chest fluttered. Just wait a whole minute, would you? I watched the seconds count painfully upward. I pressed my finger against his name, held it for a moment, then slid my finger to the right. 28 seconds. I waited long enough.

“Just got off the exit. Dunno how it happened. See you soon,” I read.

I grinned big and replied with a set of red lips. I slid the Galaxy back into my back pocket without breaking stride. The solstice moon lurked ominously as I sloped down the blacktop toward my favorite spot in Fennario: the cemetery.

The moon was a flushed candle color. I felt its pull as if one gust of wind might lurch me straight into outer space. The pressure in the air intensified as Cliff approached. I sensed him like a chilly fog slipping behind a tree line. A smile played at my lips when the looming headlights stopped beside me. I opened the door and suddenly it felt as though I had summoned him from mid-air. A daydream comes true. I slipped into his Element like there wasn’t a more natural thing in the world to do.

Cliff’s eyes faced forward as he spoke. The silhouette view made his features sharp; what could be seen was more distinct. His eyes were bulgy from the tequila, deep and dark in the center, like an oceanic abyss. When he grinned, a shadow of eyelashes sauntered over the dark freckle on his cheek. My feet floated. I tried to settle my heart through slow breaths. I was turned on simply watching his hands caress the turning wheel. I’ve always had a thing for hands, but I was embarrassed by how his affected me.

He parked next to the church, closing the distance between us to peck my cheek, swiftly but purposefully. Like the first time he kissed me. Will had pushed me to take the job bartending at Joe’s, but I can’t blame Will for what happened.

“Get back in the world a little,” Will had prodded unknowingly.

I figured bartending would give me a chance to see Will after his shifts, so I started working for Bert. I never anticipated Cliff. Throughout my engagement, I was so in love with Will. Then Cliff opened the door. Talk about throwing a wrench in the plans. That night, it was like a magnet yanked me by my chakras in Cliff’s direction. I wanted to mingle with him like a zipper.

I’ve been obsessed with the way Cliff’s tongue traced lines against the underside of mine since that first kiss. I still felt his hand against my ribs. That night, I could have, maybe should have, run inside to Will. I pulled the door shut instead. I haven’t thought of anything but Cliff’s stubble since. Seated next to him in the cemetery parking lot, I felt like I was closer to thirteen than thirty, how I had to keep reminding myself to breathe.

The car doors echoed as we walked across the plotted, sloped hills of the churchyard. Our fingers slipped around each other like strands of silk. Tombstones protruded around our knees. We side-stepped the obstacles, our shadows like twin flames sauntering the hillside. We made our way to the memorial area: the cement flat at the edge of the grounds.

“Wow, it’s changed,“ I said aloud. “We played Judge with that podium.”

“Really?” he laughed at the apparent childishness.

“Yes, really.” I almost felt insulted, but my infatuation kept me afloat. “This cement slab had served as my sanctuary when my mom and my sister’s dad split up. Some weeks we spent more time here than we had at home.” We always played Divorce Court, too, but that hit too close to home to say out loud.

I offered, “Like Judge Judy.”

I crouched against the podium and waited for him to take his place beside me. I wondered if he forced himself to wait for me, too. After a minute of flirtatious glances, our lips collided. It wasn’t long before we were sprawled in dewy grass, limbs tangled. When we came up for air, I was panting and partially clothed. Desire saturated the space between us, the way the moon hung: permeating and demanding.

Cliff held my eyes while he pulled away and licked his fingers. It was like vertigo, or a karmic rip current, the way my whole being was pulled under him. I don’t know where we went, but for a moment, we weren’t in Fennario. We weren’t heavy petting in the cemetery like a bunch of kids, we were somewhere far away from it all.

Cliff kissed me again and for the rest of the night and a few days after, I forgot about every single thing except his tongue, his hands, and that supermoon.

—

Gina Moriarty is an emerging writer from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Her favorite mode of transportation is on the back of a motorcycle. Her nonfiction has been published by Permafrost, AROHO, Braided Way, and 3:AM Press and is upcoming through Marrow Magazine and Purple Ink Press. Find her at http://ginamoriarty.com.