Now it is finally over. For weeks, this is what I’d wished for. An end. This quiet. My heart safely locked away. And yet I feel neither peaceful nor rested. I lie awake on my cot, push peas and carrots around my plate. The fact is I liked the fight on the moon. Even though I was surprised when you swung at me. Dodging your slow-moving arm took more effort and force than I’d imagined, but my feet lifted off, kicking up dust that swirled around your head into a halo. Like the dust, I hung suspended, hovering near you, then slowly touched down. I caught the glint in your eye and wondered, were you somehow joking? I lowered my head and charged, knocking you off balance. I’ll admit I enjoyed watching you fall.
When we boarded our return flight you seemed fine, your usual self, perhaps a trifle sullen. Upon landing, marshals surrounded me, and you grinned that coyote grin, and I knew that I should have let you win. The way I always did. Not because winning is everything to you, but because losing, losing to you, is everything to me.