Envious Moon by Thomas Christopher Greene

it and Big Al and I were struggling to get it up on deck. Its eye was as small and dark as a marble, and when it caught my attention, I saw her in its reflective surface, staring back at me, her long hair streaming behind her. I must have completely stopped what I was doing. For in a moment I heard Big Al next to me and then I felt him, a swift punch delivered to my biceps with his free hand.
    â€œAnthony,” he said. “What the fuck? Get her up.”
    From then on I tried my best to keep her at bay. I tried to think of her only in the deep of night when I was sure I was alone. When I could have her to myself. For the most part it worked. And I didn’t tell anyone about this, not even Victor.
    One August morning I stood in front of the Lorrie Anne where it was berthed. Tomorrow we were to head out again. I was waiting on Carlos. A beautiful midsummer day and we were to spend the morning loading the hold with the squid,work I disliked more than all others. While I waited I stood and smoked and watched the boats around me. Small skiffs and dinghies heading out to larger boats. Trawlers being cleaned and loaded up. The day was warm and the sun moved in and out of high clouds. To my left, rising up above all the fishing boats, was the Cross Island ferry. It left every two hours year-round and we never paid it any attention. A sea bus, we used to call it. Though for some reason this time I was looking at its massive hull and I let my gaze drift up its decks. I drew on my cigarette and when my eyes reached the third level, what I saw almost stopped the heart in my chest.
    It was her. Hannah Forbes. She was high above me and the sun was directly behind her head. The way the light shone over her made it impossible for me, once again, to make out her features. But a soft breeze blew her hair back and there was something about the way she stood that I knew with absolute certainty that it was her. You know how a parent can always recognize their child from a distance by how they walk? It was something like that, something intuitive, something I couldn’t put my finger on. I said her name out loud then, wanting to hear it roll off my tongue. Hannah. I could not see her face clearly. But I could tell by the way it was angled that she was looking above and beyond me, taking in the harbor, the skiffs and the fishing boats in front of her like toys. I dropped my cigarette and broke into a run.
    I ran past Carlos on the wharf, and he said to me, “Whoa, Anthony, man, where you going?”
    But all I did was nod and keep moving past him. When I reached the road, I turned toward the ferry terminal. I reached the parking lot and the boat was in front of me. It had left itsmoorings and was backing out and into the harbor. I scanned the top deck. There was a white-haired couple with sweaters tied around their neck. They waved to a young family next to me. But there was no sign of the girl. Though this time I knew I was no longer seeing things.
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    W hen I was first here, they did not allow me to have a mirror in my room and they had to bring me to the barber to shave my face and trim my hair. Now I have a metal mirror of my own and I can look at myself anytime I want. It’s hard to be a good judge of oneself, but I wonder if she would recognize the boy I once was. I still have curly hair, though there is a little touch of gray at the temple. My face is a little heavier, especially around the jowls, and from the corners of my eyes crow’s-feet radiate out toward my hairline. You can also see my age in the corners of my mouth.
    I am different in other ways. I read all the time now. I must go through three books a week. I read all kinds of stuff. I think I like true adventure stories the best. People climbing mountains and having to fight their way out of snowstorms. Or sailing around the world. Men who show extraordinary courage with their backs against the wall.
    They encourage my reading and they encourage my