Read Online Meet Me in the Moon Room by Ray Vukcevich - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Ray Vukcevich
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mechanics was our last hope, I bullied Jane, who didn’t want to be married to me anymore, and Sacha into cooperating with a final desperate attempt to save the world.
“This is stupid, Tim,” Jane said, her voice softened a little by the brown paper bag over her head.
“La la, la la, la la,” Sacha sang. She banged the heels of her shoes against the legs of her chair in time to her tune. Wearing a bag over her head was still fun, I thought, but our daughter was seven and had fidgeting down to a fine art. How long would she stick with me?
I’d pushed away my plate, but there was a sticky spot, orange marmalade probably, where I would have liked to put my hands. I put them in my lap instead. Breakfast had been tense. Jane had banged some pots around, scorched some eggs, burned some toast, warmed some bacon. I wished I’d brushed my teeth before I put a bag over my own head.
Everything was tan, but not an even tan; I imagined it was like looking through the dry, mottled skin of some desert creature, maybe a horned toad. There was a seam where the brown paper overlapped and joined to make a bag, and I couldn’t see much light through that double layer. If I tilted my head back carefully, I could see what looked like the letter H in some fancy font (except for the way the seam came up and touched the cross piece of the H) made from the overlaps needed to square off and seal the bottom of the bag.
“I don’t think I could have missed the fact that a comet is about to hit the Earth, Tim,” Jane said.
“Do you read the newspapers?”
“No.”
“Do you watch TV?”
“You know I don’t.”
“How about the radio?”
“Well, no. Not today.”
“None of your goofy friends do either.” I nailed down my point. “So just how do you think you would have heard about it?”
“That tone is exactly why I say we need to live apart, Tim.”
“Boop boop boop be doop,” Sacha sang.
“Everyone just relax,” I said. “And keep your bags on.” Things were slipping away. I needed to circle our wagons. It was vital that none of us give the world outside even a fleeting glance.
My own breath aside, the smell inside my bag reminded me of all the things you can carry in a brown paper bag. Curiously, the first thing that came to mind was books. Surely I’d carried home more groceries in brown paper bags than books. In fact, the name of the grocery store was printed right on the bag in red letters. Nevertheless, I thought of books, and clothes, and moving. I thought of garbage in the bags before I thought of groceries. Maybe it was because groceries spend so little time in the bags. I knew that if I packed my stuff up in paper bags, the bags might just sit for months in some cold new place.
“This isn’t just my plan, Jane,” I said. “The president has been on TV urging people not to look. Forests have been lighted to smoke up the skies. Teams are everywhere in primitive areas making sure no one looks.”
“Even if there is a giant comet about to hit the Earth, just what good do you expect these bags to do?” Jane asked.
“Things that might happen can’t be separated from the devices you use to measure them,” I said. “You can’t look at something without changing it.”
“What?”
“The moon’s not there if no one is looking. Or in our case, the comet.”
“Like the tree in the forest?”
“Sort of,” I said. “But that was philosophy. This is science.”
“Oh, right. Sure.”
“I have to go to the bathroom,” Sacha said.
“Soon, honey,” I said. “Just hang on a little while longer.”
“Someone would peek,” Jane said.
“Maybe. But it won’t be us.”
“How can that matter?”
“This is the same argument you use for not voting, Jane.” I knew I should be soothing her instead of snapping at her, but I couldn’t help it. “It’s irresponsible. If everyone thought like you, no one would vote.”
“Who’s talking about voting? We’re sitting around the kitchen
“This is stupid, Tim,” Jane said, her voice softened a little by the brown paper bag over her head.
“La la, la la, la la,” Sacha sang. She banged the heels of her shoes against the legs of her chair in time to her tune. Wearing a bag over her head was still fun, I thought, but our daughter was seven and had fidgeting down to a fine art. How long would she stick with me?
I’d pushed away my plate, but there was a sticky spot, orange marmalade probably, where I would have liked to put my hands. I put them in my lap instead. Breakfast had been tense. Jane had banged some pots around, scorched some eggs, burned some toast, warmed some bacon. I wished I’d brushed my teeth before I put a bag over my own head.
Everything was tan, but not an even tan; I imagined it was like looking through the dry, mottled skin of some desert creature, maybe a horned toad. There was a seam where the brown paper overlapped and joined to make a bag, and I couldn’t see much light through that double layer. If I tilted my head back carefully, I could see what looked like the letter H in some fancy font (except for the way the seam came up and touched the cross piece of the H) made from the overlaps needed to square off and seal the bottom of the bag.
“I don’t think I could have missed the fact that a comet is about to hit the Earth, Tim,” Jane said.
“Do you read the newspapers?”
“No.”
“Do you watch TV?”
“You know I don’t.”
“How about the radio?”
“Well, no. Not today.”
“None of your goofy friends do either.” I nailed down my point. “So just how do you think you would have heard about it?”
“That tone is exactly why I say we need to live apart, Tim.”
“Boop boop boop be doop,” Sacha sang.
“Everyone just relax,” I said. “And keep your bags on.” Things were slipping away. I needed to circle our wagons. It was vital that none of us give the world outside even a fleeting glance.
My own breath aside, the smell inside my bag reminded me of all the things you can carry in a brown paper bag. Curiously, the first thing that came to mind was books. Surely I’d carried home more groceries in brown paper bags than books. In fact, the name of the grocery store was printed right on the bag in red letters. Nevertheless, I thought of books, and clothes, and moving. I thought of garbage in the bags before I thought of groceries. Maybe it was because groceries spend so little time in the bags. I knew that if I packed my stuff up in paper bags, the bags might just sit for months in some cold new place.
“This isn’t just my plan, Jane,” I said. “The president has been on TV urging people not to look. Forests have been lighted to smoke up the skies. Teams are everywhere in primitive areas making sure no one looks.”
“Even if there is a giant comet about to hit the Earth, just what good do you expect these bags to do?” Jane asked.
“Things that might happen can’t be separated from the devices you use to measure them,” I said. “You can’t look at something without changing it.”
“What?”
“The moon’s not there if no one is looking. Or in our case, the comet.”
“Like the tree in the forest?”
“Sort of,” I said. “But that was philosophy. This is science.”
“Oh, right. Sure.”
“I have to go to the bathroom,” Sacha said.
“Soon, honey,” I said. “Just hang on a little while longer.”
“Someone would peek,” Jane said.
“Maybe. But it won’t be us.”
“How can that matter?”
“This is the same argument you use for not voting, Jane.” I knew I should be soothing her instead of snapping at her, but I couldn’t help it. “It’s irresponsible. If everyone thought like you, no one would vote.”
“Who’s talking about voting? We’re sitting around the kitchen
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