Z.

The Moon was an ancient relic.  For all of time, it floated in the well of gravity around its nearby neighbor of blue and white--a colorful contrast to its own raiment of grey and brown. Cold. Distant. Still.  A silence far deeper and eternal than whether or not an unobserved tree makes a sound when falling. From the perspective of its nearby blue and white sister, the Moon rotated around her with apathy, but not without influence. That influence asserted itself subtly, almost passively, on the dark waters of the world beneath it. Even the earth itself would be pulled and stretched, undulating imperceptibly toward her as the Moon wandered across the sky impossibly out of reach.  As steady as the sun itself, she raised and flattened our tides. Her orbit guided the fertility cycles of countless generations of mothers and sisters and daughters. Her stoic glow peeked back at us from behind veils of waxing or waning shadow month after month, year after year, century after cent...

I remember thinking, isn't this game for timid high school kids?  I felt so adult, then. I wasn't even 21.  And honestly, when it started, I really wasn't all that aware of you. Someone got the empty alcohol bottle. A large circle formed around it, lying still on its side, waiting to be spun. Maybe it was a game for timid high school kids—but even then, it wasn't a game I had encountered at any party I ever went to. Some of those parties would've regarded spin the bottle as tame. At still other parties, it would have been far too ambitious. Here, it unfolded naturally. Were you involved? I can't remember.  The drinks helped. Don't they always? Makes everything much easier to say 'yes' to. Even if it is a little silly. Even if it is a little juvenile. Who goes first? A hand enters the circle, reaching for the bottle, then twists it with a sudden jerk. It glides silently around on its axis atop the soft beige carpet. Friction slows it, it rolls and lan...