“ECLIPSING THE CURSE”

by Jessica Kuzmier

     The moon rose about seven pm or so; I don't remember exactly when. Moonrises never coincide with what they tell me in the newspaper, so I don't exactly pay attention to the official time. There was supposed to be a lunar eclipse that night, along with a Hunter's Moon. From what I know of the Hunter Moon, it is a full moon that occurs around hunting season to give the sportsman more time to find their prey. It probably wouldn't do much good with a total eclipse, though. I'm sure there were vegetarians who would find this ironic justice.

     Me, I was going to be in my house anyway, so it didn't make much difference to me if I couldn't see in the dark. Besides, I'm sure the hunters would have flashlights. Technology gives even the most basic of gaming sports a full advantage at any given time to the human predator. Technology could lull you into a state of dullness, until you realized your Remington rifle and power headlights were no good to you if your prey already attacked you while you were sleeping and became the predator.

     There was another event going on this evening, which in modern society, was as momentous as the hunter's moon was in seasons past. The Boston Red Sox, the team that had been accursed since they traded Babe Ruth to the Yankees so many years earlier, were poised to break the eighty-six year spell that had barred them from a World Series title. Being a New York Mets fan, my karma was partially responsible for this drought, but it looked like the curse was about to be broken, and I was glad for it. The Red Sox had really come back from a deficit in the series before this one, taking out the Yankees after practically being swept out by them. Now, they were ready to behead the Cardinals, a team I normally liked, but not enough to not want to witness history in the making. With the game going on, I was caught between being a good outdoorswoman and contemplating the moon, and watching the momentum build up on the television in Boston. With so much technology, it can be easy to get oneself trapped between two worlds that seem equally important.

     The night, October 27, 2004, seemed kind of chilly, but was pretty mild if you remembered it was late October in upstate New York and fifty degrees at night. There had been some concern earlier in the day if we'd be able to see the moon at all, because the day had started out cloudy and threatened any viewing ability, which would make the dilemma between staying indoors in front of the television and standing in the night air all that much easier to decide. But as the moon broke the horizon, the clouds seemed to make way for the satellite, steering around it as one would pass a tractor-trailer on a two-lane highway. The clouds streamed past the moon with such a fast speed that it looked like they were trying to catch the next high tide in Florida. But the moon itself climbed slowly, knowing its rendevous with the sun would come at its appointed time, and that there was no rush to get to the inevitable. It was like a mountain climber who is so sure that she would make the summit that she didn't rush her way to the top, and instead savored every moment on her way up there. Hey, the moon wasn't cold. She had no reason to hurry.

     I, on the other hand, kept fighting the urge rush the event forward. I'd watch the moon get higher and higher, and smaller and smaller, and kept going back inside to get warm. I wanted to act like I was so entranced by the outdoors that I stood there and just let nature play her meditation, but perhaps having a warm indoor environment ten feet from where I stood was too much of a temptation. I kept going inside, watching the game as I warmed up, letting each pitch thrown to mark the amount of time I was indoors. I didn't want to miss the eclipse, but I didn't want to miss the game either. However, I kept feeling that if I went indoors, I'd miss the eclipse as soon as I went in, sort of like giving up in the eleventh hour. So to be honest, I wasn't content with either the indoor or outdoor posture. I kept feeling like I'd miss something in the other venue.

     The moon didn't begin to eclipse until 9:15, and began to blush once she met up with her lover. By then, it seemed as though the Red Sox were going to win that night. The excitement of what was happening to Boston juxtaposed the silent liaison of the moon disguising herself with shadow. One was the triumph of yang, the other the seduction of yin. It was like the moon was dressed up in red to celebrate the momentous occasion.

     Victory came to the Boston Red Sox, erasing the eighty-six year old curse that plagued them. By then, the moon was hidden away in her private passion, with only a blurry aura surrounding her to indicate her presence or even her existence. It seemed like it peeked around the shadow from time to time, as if to tease the viewer into believing that she had more of a show coming than what was viewable to the naked eye. But the blush of her embarrassment was gone; she had overcome her shyness, and found her place for the evening.

     The moon reemerged after I was in bed, as if she wanted to sneak back into position without my looking, a lot like a teenager stealing home after sneaking with her boyfriend. She eventually set, just like she did every day, as though this was just another day in her life, orbiting her big sister, playing in her shadow. But this night had not been an ordinary evening for her, as though no history had taken place the previous evening. But it had. She had her moment in the shadow, the Red Sox theirs in the limelight. Glory came in opposite ways; both nature and civilization toasted its highest honors in each other's celebration.