Something about moonlight reflecting on the water drew me to the beach; I had seen it from the bedroom window, full and bright, calling me to the night waters. I hadn’t even changed out of my boxer shorts and t-shirt. Instead, I slipped out of the bed – leaving behind the warm body sleeping silently – and slipped on a pair of flip-flops. Slow and carefully, I took my time climbing down the tree beside the bedroom window, pausing a couple times when I felt my hands slipping. It had been a lot easier when I was a child, floating down the branches towards the grass. It wasn’t until I reached the grass, after slowly cursing to myself while descending; I realized I had scratched my leg, leaving a small stream of blood running down from my knee. In my mind, I thought about the cool waters, and could only imagine that the cool waters would make everything better.

In the daylight, the beach and shoreline was nothing like I remembered it being as a child. Huge, newly built houses were lining the coast now, and everyone seemed to be down on the beach during the day, taking away the once calm sandy beach that had been my summer haven for so many years.

In the morning, mom would pack everything up as though as we were going somewhere far, making sure we had food, and water, and sunscreen, and the two of us would lay on the sandy beach all day, swimming in the cool waters, throwing the beach ball back and forth. Back then the only other house was up the beach, and they never entered our land as we never entered theirs. It was our world, except for the brief moments when granny would peer over the edge of the bank, waving in our direction or taking a picture of the two of us; I never realized then that maybe she was just spying, making sure that nothing bad had happening. But it didn’t matter, the only thing that did was that I never, ever, saw my mother smile like she did when she was on that beach, her long flowing blond hair trailing behind her as she ran, me in her arms.

Now, you couldn’t walk down on that beach without entering the suffocating crowd of people, all of then squished next to you, loudly claiming the beach as their own. You could no longer hear the sound of small waves breaking against the sound, or seagulls flying above you. Loud conversation filled your head, and music blasted from stereos, forcing you to listen in on the sounds of rap music and talk radio. My beach was dead now, replaced with its city dwelling cousin.

Slowly, I wandered through the darkness, lead by only the light of the moonlight. Had my beach returned to me, had it come to tell me that those mean people would never take it away from me again? Carefully climbing down the creaking iron stairs which had been tucked away against the shoreline as long as I could remember, I finally made it to the sound, jumping down and melting into it. It still held the heat of the midday sun, warming my dew chilled toes; I had taken off my sandals as I walked away from the house.

There were no waves tonight, the water calm and glasslike. As I undressed, pulling off the shorts and t-shirt, I questioned whether or not I should disturb the beauty of the water, if I should slip inside of it. But the moon was calling to me, its smiling face reminding me of what I was missing out on standing on the shore. Slowly, the sand sinking around my feet, I glided into the water, slowly letting in surround my body; my toes, my knees, my thighs, my navel all disappeared beneath the silk of the water, until it was only my head above the darkness. It brought back memories flooding into my mind.

Mom didn’t just bring me down to the beach in the morning, but would wake me up into the middle of the night, still dress in her nightgown. “Come on Sadie,” she would smile, taking me by the hand. We would creep down the stairs, out into the night. She would point to the water, the moon on the clear glass of it, and we would sneak down onto the beach. “Let’s go swimming,” she would saw, still dressed in her nightgown as she slipped into the waters, the nightgown floating behind her as she slipped deeper and deeper inside of it. I would stick near the shore, watching her; she always looked like a mermaid swimming in that water, like at any moment she would disappear beneath the waves, swimming back to her castle in the sea. Once in a while she would swim under the moonlight, disappearing from sight, leaving my heart racing and wondering where she had gone. One she would pop up again, I knew she was safe, and I knew she wasn’t going anywhere.

Swimming through the deeper waters, like she had, I wanted to sink into them and find this magical castle under their sea, and my mother the queen. I wanted to stay here forever, in the quiet romantic sea, letting it sing me to sleep and cradle my body. Slowly, I felt myself sinking, letting it take me, and letting myself melt into it.

“Sadie!”

The voice echoed in my head, and then I felt a hand pulling on my arm, bringing me back from the waters, lifting my body up. Suddenly I didn’t feel warm and safe and protected, but like I was being ripped from comfort. Looking up through my hair, which had fallen into my eyes, a familiar face – and the expression of worry upon his brow – looked back at me. “Oh god,” Anderson said, wrapping his warm, strong arms around my shoulders and bringing my nude body into him. He was wet too, his pajamas soaked right through, probably from jumping in to grab me, “What were you doing?” From the rock on the beach, he picked up a robe, wrapping it around my bare shoulders, “What were you thinking?”

Meekly, I replied, “I was swimming.”

“You were sinking,” his snapped, without pause, rubbing his hands up and down my shoulders; was that was I was doing, sinking into the darkness? It didn’t sound all that bad. I close my eyes, leaning in against his body, but just as quickly he pushed me out slightly and stared deep into my eyes, “What is going on in your head!” I shrugged, “I’m serious Sadie,” He spoke so seriously, his body so stiff and rigid, his hands on my shoulder, holding me with such stiff fingers I wondered if he was going to leave bruises. Of course, if he did, it probably would have been my thin skin and not the fact he was trying to prove his point. “You can’t just go swimming in the middle of the night,” his voice was quieter now, softer, as though he realized he had been screaming at me in the middle of the night.

“My mother used to take me swimming in the middle of the night,” I almost pouted.

There was a second pause, his eyes softening, and then: “Is that what this is about?”

“What do mean, ‘is that what this is about’ Anderson?” I asked, staring at him.

He paused, softening his arms around me, but bringing me closer to him at the same time, “Your mom,” he said finally, and I tried to pretend I didn’t know what he was saying, “This is all about you losing your mom.” Shaking, I ignored his words, tuned him out, but he wouldn’t give it up. “Sadie, you’re mom’s gone.” Looking up into his eyes, I tried to shake my head but the softness in his face told me that he wasn’t trying to be an asshole, he was trying to help.

“She can’t be gone,” I softly cried, collapsing into his arms, “she’s my mom.”

Tightening the hug on me, Anderson kissed my forehead. He held me like he felt that if he let go, I would slip away and disappear, back into the darkness, “I love you Sadie,” his voice was so hushed, so secret, “I love you so much Sadie.” His hands were on the back on my head, pulling me in, keeping me part of his body. I’m not sure why he was declaring his love for me, why he felt he so desperately needed to. Pulling away and staring into his eyes, I realized then he was looking at me with terrified eyes. He was scared; he was just so scared for me. Wiping away some of the tears gently streaming down my cheeks; he leaned in and kissed my cheek gently, his arms around my waist. He didn’t want to let go.

Finally, “Anderson,” I whispered in a childlike voice, and he looked up towards my teary eyes, rising up to tower over me once more, never once letting me go. What came next slipped out so easily, that I didn’t realize what I had said before it echoed in both our ears, “I’m not going to end up like her,” it was so easy to know what he was thinking, and the worries that nagged at him. Since the day the phone call had come, and the two of us had collapsed in a pile of tears on the living room floor, he had been looking at me like that, watching me closely, looking for all the signs that no one paid attention to in mom. I was her daughter, I looked like her – long flowing blond hair, thin arms that are always questioned – and therefore I had to be like her. “I’m not going to end up like her,” I repeated again, promising him with my eyes, and just hoping he could believe it. I wasn’t going to be tragically beautiful like her, floating away into the darkness. Maybe swimming in the middle of the night didn’t convince anyone of anything, but I knew in my heart I wasn’t like her.

“I believe you,” he hugged me tight, “I believe you.”

Maybe he didn’t, and maybe he was still terrified. He didn’t answer my questions, as he led me back towards the creaking iron stairs, leading me back towards our warm bed, and the safety of his arms, where the moon couldn’t seduce me. Maybe that had been what had led mom to the waters, why – in the middle of the night – she had just let the water take her, hearing promises from the moonlight. Walking across the lawn in my bare feet, the grass washing them clean, I paused in front of the back door, and looked towards the shoreline, the empty beach and the glowing water.

“Come on,” he said, pulling on my hand. I glanced back towards him, his tired eyes, and his pleading expression. Softening my body, I moved with him. But my eyes still looked back towards the moon, the sea, and my mother’s final resting place, at least in my eyes.

“Goodnight moon,” I whispered, stepping through the threshold of the house, glancing back over my shoulder just once, while the door was still open and Anderson was slipping of his shoes and dropping my clothing down on the bench in the hallway, “Goodnight mom.”