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Show Moon - 201 David lights another cigarette. There are wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and on his upper lip. His lovely eyes focus above my head, and she wonders what memory he's seeing and if he's feeling anything at all. She wonders if she should tell him she might be expecting his grandchild. But that would be a desperate measure, and not honest, since she doesn't really know. This morning she felt her breasts, but they did not feel like breasts getting ready for a child. The unformed space between Joy and David is as palpable as heavy clay. Is there no way to invent "real father" and "long-lost daughter?" This is like trying to get into a difficult book where you must stop trying to understand and must plod through the sentences, trusting that sooner or later it will all come together and begin to soar. They flip the pages; they are dilligent; they read hard; they hide their disappointment. David twists around and summons the waitress for the check. "Would you like to see my work?" They stand, enormously relieved to break the stasis of this facing one another like empty pages. They walk under a long archway of dying elm trees on a path lined with benches. There is a press of wisdom, of things cherished and old, beneath these sad trees. She senses something being released as they walk together. She has thought this before: people don't begin to love each other until they choose to be in motion together, until they are side by side facing something outside them both. David's studio is in a yellow brick building scarred by torn-away ivy. He leaps ahead now, taking the stairs three at a time. He turns to her on the landing, laughs and reaches for her hand. She thinks, "Yes, that's it. That's one |