You Can Catch Anything Under the Full Moon

by Jane Stecyk

Brody and I are high when we decide to go to the moon. It’s a clear, cool night, and we’re lying outside on the hill behind the high school, passing a joint back and forth.

“Or maybe…” He flicks the roach away and reaches up to pinch the full moon between his fingers. “It can come to us.”

I watch in slow-motion as it does. He has to wiggle it back and forth a little bit like it’s a stubborn baby tooth, glossy and innocent. But then it slides right out of the sky, easy as sin. He pops it into his mouth.

“Yum. Tastes like Julie Bowman.” I punch him, hot blush on my cheeks and a tight little spicy garlic knot in my chest when I think about Brody slipping his moon-glazed tongue into Julie’s fish lips.

He uses that tongue to taunt me even more, sticking it in and out of his mouth with the glowing pearl sitting smack center like a piercing. The strobe light effect slows things down even more and I’m watching a drive-in movie when I see my finger reach out and flick the moon like a paper football. It flies off his tongue and into the grass and then it’s dark dark.

“Fuck, Bea!” He’s laughing, though, and flips over on his hands and knees to search for the moon like it’s a lost contact. I jump on his back and flatten him to the grass, the air going out of him with a satisfying thwump. I spread my fingers on top of his outstretched hands to match exactly.

He presses up, but gently so I can keep my balance, and keeps searching. I like being his turtle shell and then I sit up and I’m a little cowgirl and then I try and stand—hang ten!—and then I fall off.

Brody crawls over to me, smiling, and I can see the moon reflected in his eyes. I turn my head and it’s right there next to me. I grab it before he can and shove it in my mouth, swirling it around behind closed lips. It tastes like grass and peppermint and Brody. I run my tongue over the tiny plaque like a finger finding braille—we came in peace, got it—and it’s like biting tinfoil and the hair stands up on my arms. I have the moon in my mouth and I can do anything.
Anything at all.

The light leaks out between my words and plays across Brody’s face, close to mine.

“Come and get it.”

Jane Stecyk is a lady with sometimes funny, sometimes dark, often weird stories to tell. She's won several flash fiction competitions and been published by TL;DR press, Elegant Literature, and Rat Bag Lit. She lives in Halifax, Nova Scotia. You can follow her on bluesky @janestecyk.bsky.social.