Yesterday the man in the moon paid me a visit.
Naturally I didn't believe it was really him at first. He swore that it was him in the flesh with a big smile. I glanced up into the night sky to verify that his visage was no longer visible. I thought I could still see the face in the orb, but he reasoned that he had been there so long that it had permanently been imprinted in the rocks. Looking from his face to the sky, I reckoned that the two shared quite a few similarities. They both had hooked noses, for one. The evidence seemed compelling enough. Besides, I saw no reason why someone would lie about being the man in the moon.
"Would you care for some tea?" I asked him cordially. I wanted to give the impression that I was a good host. I wasn't sure why he had picked me of all people, but there was likely a good reason.
"Is it really made of cheese?" I asked obviously once he sat down for tea.
Of course not he told me with a laugh appearing on his giant circle of a face. Through the open slats of the blinds, I could see the moon laugh with him.
"Do you want some cheese?"
He said he wanted to give it a try. As he ate it, he mused what it would be like to have a home made of cheese. I laughed with him.
We had a good visit, the man in the moon eating my cheese and drinking my tea, me listening to his many stories, wondering so many things as he spoke but afraid to interrupt him. How did he get in the moon? Was it lonely? Could he see everything on Earth? How did he get down? How long had he been there? Why had he chosen me? But I couldn’t ask any of them.
At midnight, he rose to leave. He’d best be going he told me.
I opened the front door and followed him out on the porch. We looked up and admired his home.
"It sure is beautiful," I said to him. He nodded in agreement.
And as we watched, staring at what I imagined was the most beautiful home in the universe, a jealous man on the other side of town harpooned the man in the moon's home. We watched together in awe at the great sphere crashing down from the sky. It sounded like a giant light bulb cracking on a concrete basement floor.
"What will you do now?" I asked the man.
Maybe he'd give Mars a try he told me.
Nathaniel Tower writes fiction, teaches English, and manages the online lit magazine Bartleby Snopes. His short fiction has appeared in over 50 online and print magazines. A story of his, "The Oaten Hands," was named one of 190 notable stories by storySouth's Million Writers Award in 2009. His first novel, A Reason To Kill, is due out in July 2011. Visit him here.