The Sun and the Moon and the Flying Fish
On the longest day of the year, Bridger joined the world and the sun refused to sleep, making it the brightest night anyone had ever seen. A birthmark appeared like a burn on Bridger’s cheek; the parents couldn’t stop touching it, wondering if they should allow it.
The years passed, and the sun never left Bridger. Days were spent learning to run on grounds that were yellowed and thirsty. Nights were filled with steady, radiant dreams.
One morning, as Bridger’s face turned towards the cloudless sky, the birthmark hurled itself into the air and turned into a flying fish, with one wing like a flag and the other a sail. As if trained by ribbons in the wind, the flying fish swooped in front of Bridger’s upturned nose.
“I have a message from the sun,” said the flying fish. “The sun wishes to give you a gift. What would please you the most?”
With both arms spread out wide, Bridger shouted, “Take away my breasts!”
And as the flying fish sped off to deliver the message, darkness came like a cinder shower spreading across the blue yonder. Bridger had never seen the moon before, but instead of admiring it, anxiety welled up inside their body so profoundly, they couldn’t see anything but the absence of the sun.
With good news, the flying fish returned. Bridger was to lie down in a field of sunflowers, and wait. Not wanting to waste any time, Bridger set out in search of the tallest, yellowest flowers. They passed fields of wildflowers with tiny, glistening petals. It was still night time, but instead of noticing the perfect crescent moon, Bridger was focused on the ground.
There, at last, was the party of sunflowers, gently swaying in the breeze, their yellow color so luminous they seemed to cast a light all on their own. Bridger waded through the field, settling themself on the dewy ground. They closed their eyes.
By the first kiss of dawn, they woke up. They could feel the lightness even before looking down at the smooth front of their brilliant body. Springing to their feet, Bridger took off running. They ran and ran, barefooted, bare chested, face beaming as they whooped with joy.
Breathless, they came to a halt at a cliff, hands on their knees, sweat glistening on their forehead. The ocean waves crashed into the rocks below. With a flourish, the flying fish appeared, delicate wings brushing against their nose.
“The moon has a message for you,” said the flying fish.
“Another present?” Bridger asked, panting.
“A request,” said the flying fish. “The moon would like to be acknowledged.”
“That’s all?”
“This is no time to be saying what is and is not all.” The flying fish’s wings beat a little faster.
“The moon would like to be admired with everything you’ve got.”
The blazing sun radiated even brighter, and the air around Bridger wavered in the heat. Bridger wondered: How could I possibly admire anything else? But after a long while, the symphony of colors quieted down, and the dazzle of stars winked on in the darkness, joined by the cool, full moon.
Bridger stepped closer towards the edge of the cliff, as far as they dared to go. The moon looked so awesome, in a way that made Bridger feel uncomfortable. Was this really their first time? A breeze exhaled over their skin, rifling through their hair, and their eyes teared up as they struggled not to blink. Bridger raised their arms and cradled their head in the crooks of their elbows.
The moon, the moon. The glorious moon.
Jessica Dylan Miele is a writer and librarian living in Portland, Oregon. Her work has been published in numerous literary magazines including Coming Together, Gravel, Gingerbread House, and Buckmxn Journal.