alex

"Look! There's your red moon!" Alex cried when he saw me coming down the hill.

"Race ya to the top," I shouted. "We can see it better from there."

So we positioned our sneakers toe to toe, marked our target in the distance and tore off to get a perfect view of the blood-red full moon of July as it rose in the sky.

Catching our breath, we stood for a few moments at the top of the slope. Wide- eyed and winded, we looked to the sky and silently shared the falling of night.

"I always pray under a full moon," I said, breaking the silence.

"Really?" he asked. "What do you pray for?"

"I secretly say, 'Thanks God. I get it.'"

Alex turned his face away from the sky to look at me.

"That moon is shining just for me," I explained. "God put it there just for me. It's His way of reminding me to keep on believing in life."

* * *

It was early evening at summer camp. I was originally there to talk to the campers about AIDS. But on this night, I was being initiated into their club, called the "The Shoafim," which translated from Hebrew means, "Those who aspire."

The first task was the trust walk. Ambling our way around the grounds, we were blindfolded and chained to each other: hand to shoulder, heart to heart. Touching, laughing, setting aside all inhibitions and simply making noise in the night air, we proclaimed our aliveness.

"I claim the moon!" I screamed inside. "I am still alive!"

The next task was to recite out loud, "I am a link in the Shoafim chain, and I promise to....."

"...to remember you always," I declared.

Many years ago, I sat under the same summer sky, newly diagnosed with HIV. I was alone and afraid, wanting to share all that was happening to me and all I was becoming; wanting to share the blood-red moon of July.

And now I have. For on this night, after freeing a firefly caught in a blade of grass, I rolled down a hill with a group of animated teenagers. Surrendering my favorite pair of ripped jeans to grass stains and dirt, I shouted wishes at the sky.

I raced under the moon.

On this night, I added to my inner refuge of gentle remembrances the Shoafim girls in their bunk, painting their nails and braiding each other's hair. It was after bedtime as I sang them a lullaby, my favorite Jimmy Webb song:

When the last moon is cast over the last star of morning
When the future has passed without even a last desperate warning
Then look into the sky where through the clouds a path is born
Look and see her, how she sparkles, it’s the last unicorn
I’m alive

"I'm happy that you are having a good time," whispered one sleepy girl. "Yeah," added another. "Now you will have fun memories of your visit here." Still another said, "I think you are a beautiful person. I see that in myself now. No one is better than me. No one can hurt me. You taught me how to recognize myself. You taught me how to love."

© 1997 by Scott Fried
Published by Scott Fried, PO Box 112 Old Chelsea Station, New York, NY 10113.

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