Little Man & the Moonlight Darlings

Are you moonlight-clean?

A knife I found in Hayward, CA.

He was lying on his back in the sun beneath a street sign half covered by the flaring branch of a sycamore. I rubbed my eyes like a cartoon hobo finding a shiny coin, and picked him up. He stretched and yawned, tilted his head this way then that, and then the little fucker bit my hand. I asked him why he’d bit me. He said it was because I was so big and he was so little, an understatement to be sure, as he was only three inches tall.

I set him back where I found him, and went home to clean the bite. After that, I showered, dressed, and went to meet Collette and Danni down at our old haunt, the Dubliner.

Danni was already halfway into her pilsner when I arrived. As I approached the table, she nodded to my hand. I told her I’d found a little man by the tracks.

“He was teeny-tiny and half naked.” I grabbed her beer and took a swig.

She called me a big weirdo and punched me in my shoulder.

Collette arrived late, as usual. The three of us laughed and reminisced about old times, but during our third drink, Collette said she’d found out her new neighbor was a sex offender. He’d served three years for raping a thirteen year old girl in Oxnard.

Danni shook her head. “The world is so fucked.”

I excused myself to the restroom where I tried to dislodge the little bits of shit off of the porcelain bowl with my piss, but they were stubborn. When I was done, I zipped up and left the bar without saying goodbye.

On the way home, I asked the Lyft driver to drop me off by the tracks. The little man was still there sleeping beneath the street sign. He was as cold as ice.

“Wake up, Little Man,” I said. “I know I’m big, but I’d like for us to be friends.”

The little man stretched and yawned, and after a moment of reflection, nodded agreeably. I dropped him into my jacket pocket and off we went.

I made a small bed in my sock drawer and tucked him in tight. I even sang him a pretty song my dad used to sing me.

Canopy atop knotted limbs

Makes dappled walkways for the Moonlight Darlings

Romance bent—whispers in the still

A deserted world for the Moonlight Darlings

But in the night, do killers kill? It really makes no difference

For the magic of the light is real—and it demands it

Worship from

the Moonlight Darlings.

In the morning, Little Man was lying on the pillow next to me. I watched him sleep for over an hour, and by the time he woke up, I’d already mapped out our entire day; we’d take the train to the city for the matinee, and then get a bite at my favorite restaurant, Chippies. But Little Man had other plans. He wanted to bite people. I asked him why he wanted to bite people. Because, he said, some people were too big. Some people were so big and filled with such darkness that they needed to be bit.

I reminded Little Man that I was big and asked if that meant I needed to be bit, too. He said he had tasted my blood, and it was moonlight-clean. I told him that most people were probably just as clean. He said he’d met many people who didn’t like the moonlight at all. People, he whispered, who like to stay hidden. We went back and forth like this for a while, but I’m not one to diminish another’s personal experiences, and eventually we agreed that some people probably weren’t moonlight-clean, and that some people—but not all—probably needed to be bit.

Later that day, we popped over to Collette’s to say hello. She was sitting on her porch looking at her phone, eating cheese crackers. We talked about the weird overcast but warm weather—what we call earthquake-weather in California—and about books, shows, movies, and that shit-bag in the White House. While we chatted, we watched a group of neighborhood boys and girls playing soccer, and whenever one made a goal, we shouted, “Gooooaaalll!”

Little Man was snoozing in my pocket. The rise and fall of his little chest made me feel lazy and content. I wished I were a cozy little man sleeping in a pocket.

Across the street, a big man came to his window and looked out at the kids playing soccer.

“That’s him,” said Collette. “That’s that fuckin’ rapist. Piece of shit—look at him staring at those kids. They don’t live on this street—they only come here because it’s a cul de sac. Less cars, ya know? They think it’s safer here. Think I should warn them?”

“Probably…” I said and nodded. “Hey, you mind if I grab a beer?”

Collette said she’d grab one for me on her way back from the restroom.

Just then, Little Man woke up. He looked up at me and asked me why my face looked the way it did. I told him it was because there was a man across the street that was too big. He asked me if he was so big he should be bit. I said yeah, probably he should be bit. Probably he wasn’t moonlight-clean.

Collette came out with a cold beer and asked me if I needed a bottle opener.

No, I said, Little Man would help me. And he did—he popped the cap right off that bottle no problem. Then the rascal bowed.

Collette rolled her eyes and giggled, and told me about a short story she’d recently read by Patricia Highsmith, about a man and a button. “I’m not sure how to feel about it.”

It was hard to focus on Collette’s words; the big man in the window was distracting me. And Little Man wouldn’t stop talking about the many people he’d bit over the years.

I put my finger to my lips.

Thankfully, Little Man got the message and settled down.

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Little Man and I made our way up the moonlight-dappled walkway to the big man’s house and looked through the transom window. He was sitting on the couch watching The Big Bang Theory. I tried the door, but it was locked. Little Man told me to kick it down. I laughed louder than I’d meant to, but thankfully, the big man didn’t turn around. I told Little Man it wasn’t so easy to kick a door down.

“It’s not like in the movies,” I said.

Little Man said he’d never seen a movie.

After we were done here, I promised him, we’d watch a movie together. Maybe I’d introduce him to Twins, with Danny DeVito and Arnie. Little Man said he’d like that.

We went around to the side of the house and found an open window. I quietly removed the screen and pulled myself up and into a cramped bedroom. The man’s work boots were on the floor beside the dresser, on the bed was a Teen Vogue magazine.

Little Man was wide awake and talking a mile a minute. I shushed him.

The couch squeaked—the man was up and coming toward us.

We hid behind the door.

The man came into the room with a waft of vanilla and salami, stopped, and stood perfectly still.

I watched the side of his face; his eyes were two resin beads between slats of Silly Putty flesh. He looked at the screenless window, trying to work out what had happened.

“Hello?” he said, and moved slowly to the window where he stuck his head out, surveying the side of his home.

Little Man and I snuck out from behind the door and into the living room, where we hid behind a splintery crate with a dozen holes in the top.

We heard the man close the window in the bedroom. A moment later, he cautiously entered the living room where we were hiding. He approached the transom at the front door and looked out. When he was satisfied nobody was outside, he sat back down on the couch.

Little Man and I made silly faces at each other for twenty minutes, occasionally peeking out from behind the crate to see what the big man was up to. Eventually, the big man’s eyes became too heavy to keep open.

Little Man wanted to bite. I told him to chill. He was only little and I didn’t want him getting hurt. But when the big man was finally snoring, I stood, stretched my legs, and asked Little Man if he was ready.

Little Man blushed, confessing he’d never actually bitten anyone but me. I asked him why he’d lied to me like that. He said dreams and opportunity don’t always align, and that it was only a lie because he’d never had a friend like me before. But now he did.

I sat down on the corner of the crate to think about this—Little Man’s confession changed everything. I had a big decision to make.

A whimper came from within the crate, and a whisper, “Please…please let me go home.”

The big man’s eyes snapped open. He stood and asked who I was and what I was doing in his house.

I didn’t know what to say.

He looked at my hand in disbelief—he’d never seen a little guy like my Little Man: three inches tall and half naked.

Little Man suggested I look away, which I did. Then, Little Man bit the big man, and he kept on biting him for over an hour. While he did this, I frowned at the crate, occasionally consoling whoever was inside, “There, there, Moonlight Darling,” I said. “Little Man will be done soon.”

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