River led me into one of the shops with an orange exterior. Inside there were what looked like hundreds of barrels filled with saltwater taffy. We purchased a bag, filling it with almost every flavor they offered, then we unwrapped and chewed on the candy as we resumed our stroll outside.
As we continued down the sidewalk in the direction of the beach, I kept noticing crescent moons that had been painted onto some of the buildings. They were different colors—yellow, blue, white, green. Sometimes they were in plain sight, like the one positioned in the middle of a soap store’s sign. Other times I would catch sight of them in harder-to-spot locations: a white one at the very top corner of a building, a blue one tucked behind a rack of clothes set out on the sidewalk. By the time I spotted seven of them, I decided to ask River about it.
“Luna Buena means good moon,” he explained. “So moons are sort of like the town’s theme, if a town can have a theme. Julian and I used to come down here on weekends and see how many we could find together.”
It hit me then. I didn’t know why it hadn’t registered before, but I realized in that moment that this was the town River had told me about way back when we first met, in fourth grade, in Mrs. Crawford’s class. I remembered it well: River had decidedly told me that he did not want to discuss Hawaii—but that his favorite place he’d lived was in California. He had mentioned something about being here with his brother, and the activities they had enjoyed doing together.
“Luna Buena,” I said. “This is where you and Julian went to the theme park and lived close to a pizza place?”
River looked over at me with a smile that I thought was some combination of sad and happy. “Did I tell you about it?”
“When we were kids. It was the first conversation we had.”
“That’s right. When Mrs. Crawford changed the seating chart so we were sitting together.”
“Is that theme park still around? I’ve never been on a roller coaster.”
That made River stop in his tracks.
“You’ve never been on a roller coaster.”
“Hey, you know my deal. I just left my home state for the first time after twenty-three years. I’ve never even been somewhere that had a theme park.”
“Okay, well, it’s time we change this about you, Drew. The park’s just five minutes south of here.”
In all my life, I had never screamed so loud before. Or so frequently. The small-scale amusement park, Lunatic Land, had three thrill rides, and the first one we got in line for happened to boast the biggest drop of them all: 130 feet. I had a dreadful anticipation growing in my gut as River and I got buckled into the seats and started climbing up and up the tracks, the clack clack clack sound seeming to count down to our doomed fates.
We crested the hill, and for a split second, we were briefly suspended in the air, staring down that monstrous drop, the turquoise California coast off in the distance. Then, the moment came.
It was perhaps that most amazing physical sensation I’d experienced. My body surging downward. My eyes watering. My arms positioned up against the force of the air. My lungs powering my energized screams—and, I could hear River laughing at me through it all.
When the ride was done, I felt like a reset button for my existence had been found and depressed, as though I had been through some kind of cleansing process. As though I were new.
River was clearly surprised by my reaction. After we exited the ride, I grabbed his hand and rushed us off toward the next big roller coaster. He had taken my vocalizations for screams of terror rather than screams of embracement. We ended up going on every ride at the park, even the youthful carousel where we found a couple of tigers to circle around on. Once we’d experienced everything the park had to offer, I made River take me on that very first thrill ride again. The one with that impressive drop that made me feel like I was being transformed into something new.
We were spent at the end of it all, but River had one more thing he wanted to show me. He didn’t tell me what it was but quietly drove us away from the theme park and into a residential part of the town. He went past a pizza parlor and wound us through a few quiet streets before slowing down and coming to a stop.
He looked across the street; I followed his gaze; then I knew.
It was a small, stucco house with a palm tree in the front yard. If I hadn’t made the connection to what this town was, I wouldn’t have given the place a second thought or glance. There was nothing about it that stood out in and of itself. But I knew what this place was.
It was where River had lived with his family when he was six years old. It was where he and Julian had lived together and played in the small yard and probably, by the looks of the house’s size, shared a bedroom and slept together at night. I studied it for a while before looking at River. I could see it in his face. These were the good times. His family had been whole. They had gone to the theme park, the pizza place, they had counted the crescent moons, and they had been together. Julian had still been here.
We drove back to San Francisco and arrived at Jamie’s house late again, close to eleven o’clock. One of his roommates let us in and informed us that Jamie had tried to stay up but eventually fell asleep. I was a little relieved, truthfully, feeling tired myself and ready to curl up into bed.
Upstairs, I hurriedly washed my face and brushed my teeth in the bathroom while it was unoccupied. Back in Jamie’s room, I intended to get into bed first thing and check if it was okay with River that I turn out the light. But when I entered the room, I found it to be already dark. My eyes adjusted after a second or two, and I saw River sitting at the edge of the sofa, gazing out the single window in the room. I took a seat beside him and observed him: silent, serious, still. It was as though I weren’t there. It was as though he were alone. We sat there like that for a while, me looking at him, River looking out the window, into the night. Eventually I decided to speak, to risk breaking the silence.
“River. This was the best day of my life.”
He didn’t say anything or look at me, but his hand reached back, found mine, and gently squeezed. After this response of his, I finally took my eyes off of him and followed his gaze. I realized then what he was so gripped by out there, what he had been gazing at through the darkness this whole time.
He was looking at the moon.
◈ ◈ ◈
River was not there when I woke up the next morning. He was not on the sofa across the way. When I sat up and surveyed the rest of the small room, he was nowhere to be seen. His duffel bag was still on the floor, but I couldn’t spot his cell phone anywhere. I unplugged my own cell phone from its charger and checked the time, checked if I had any messages from him: eight am, no texts, no voicemail, no missed calls.
I was worried about River. The way his mood had transitioned last night had me feeling uneasy. It was like he had crawled into a cave by himself, and I could only look in at him from the entrance. I wondered how far down that cave he had gone exactly, and if he would still be there this morning. Last night, when I had gone to sleep, he had still been looking out the window. I had drifted off swiftly but had been plagued by dreams about River climbing out that very window and floating away up toward a blinding moon.
Setting my phone back down, I threw the covers off my body. I was about to jump out of bed and search the other rooms of the house when the bedroom door swung inward—and there River was. Looking normal. Smiling. Holding a tray of coffee cups and a white paper bag.