Packing for the Moon
by Dean Francis Alfar
Sam’s eyes are closed, her small frame propped up against
three pillows.
“Sam?” I knock softly at her door. “Are you sleeping
already?”
Her eyes bolt open and her face breaks into a smile. “Dad,”
she laughs. “If I were asleep then you’d have woken me up.”
I nod in agreement and sit on her bed. “You have to, soon.
Big day tomorrow.”
“I know,” she answers, expelling a sigh. “But I get a story,
right?” She blinks her brown eyes once, twice.
“No need for the puppy-dog look, Sam,” I tell her while
rolling my eyes. “You get all the stories you want.”
“Maybe just one for tonight, Dad,” she says, stifling a yawn.
“I’m kind of tired.”
“Okay, let me get the book.” For the past six months, since
her seventh birthday, we’ve been making our way through
Stories From Around the World, the hefty hardcover that I
ordered online for her. “Now, where were we?”
“China,” she says. “We read the Lantern Story and the Fishy
story... and the one about the Wall. That was cool.”
I find our place in the book. “Well,” I say, looking at the
illustration. “We could try another country.”
“No, no,” she says. “Let’s finish China. What’s the title of
the next one?”
“The Princess and the Moon.” I show her the painting of a
princess and what looks like a fireworks-powered rocket
ship.
“Looks good.” She shifts position on the bed, squinting her
eyes like she does when she’s concentrating — my cue to
get started.
One of the things I love doing for Sam most is telling her
stories. I clear my throat and begin to read, giving voice to
the petulant princess who demanded from her father a trip to
the moon. I speak for the imperial advisors, who tell her that
the trip was impossible, that many many things will be
needed and that the moon is no place for a young girl, much
less the princess of the empire.
I tell Sam how the princess stamped her feet and held her
breath until everyone gave way, and how the rocket ship
was built, with firecrackers for propulsion — pausing to
show her the illustration again, which made her laugh and
say “I get it, Dad.”
I enumerate all the things that were needed to keep the
princess safe and secure, well-fed and well-clothed, as well
as entertained: crates full of marvelous mechanical soldiers
armed to the teeth with various miniature weapons; silver
trays and covered gold serving dishes of fruit, vegetables,
and dainty sugary treats; teakwood chests filled with formal
clothes in case the moon was cold, as well as an astounding
number of parasols, fans and handkerchiefs in case the
moon was untowardly warm; plus an exhaustive list of the
princess’ favorite entertainers, in case the moon turned out
to be boring, including acrobats, singers, falconers,
storytellers, and the Chief Vizier’s little boy who played Go
very well (he knew enough to always lose).
But with everything piled into the small rocket ship, there
simply was no room for the princess. Her father, finally
showing some backbone, canceled the trip and that was the
end of that.
Sam crinkles her nose. “What a silly girl.”
“Why?” I ask, returning the book to the bottom of her night
table.
“Well, she took too many things with her,” Sam says with
conviction. “I’d take only what was really important. Let’s
make a list, Dad. You know, of really important things to
take. You make one and I make one.”
“We will when we get back from the hospital, okay?”
“Okay,” she mock-frowns before breaking into a smile. “I
love you, Dad.”
“I love you, Sam.” I kiss her three times, once on each side
of her face and once on her forehead. I look at my little
fighter of a daughter and wish her the best dreams on earth.
***
Our projected overnight stay at the hospital extends into four
days when her doctors order more tests; into two weeks
when all of the tests say that the cancer has returned; into
three months when they determine that it is only a matter of
time.
She will get better. Because she’s Sam. Because she’s, my
daughter. Because I believe she will. She’s a fighter, my
little fighter. She’s tougher than any kid I know. I know she
will make it. There is no doubt in my mind. There can be no
doubt.
The last time I see Sam, her breathing is slow and she
cannot open her eyes. I sit next to her and tell her every
story I can remember, all her favorites as well as the ones
she didn’t really like.
I talk and do the voices of peasant boys and princesses and
talking horses and everyone lets me, until hospital protocol
requires them to take her away from me.
I cannot stop. I do not want to stop.
I drown instead, when the heaviness becomes too much, too
real, too soon.
***
The house feels empty. My heart insists that she’s watching
TV in the den, or reading a book upstairs, or brushing her
teeth in the bathroom.
I see the big book at the bottom of her night table and pick it
up.
There is a piece of paper sticking out, in the section of
China, at the end of “The Princess and the Moon.”

I sleep on the couch. I sleep for days. Until sleep retreats It’s a list. I only manage to read the first few items before
completely. my eyes become useless.

I climb the stairs and stand at the door of her bedroom. My Important Things To Pack For The Moon
hand on the doorknob is shaking. Let her be inside. Let her
be in bed, with her feet snug and warm under the comforter. Dad
Let her be sleeping. Or awake. Let her be. Air
Spacesuits
She’s not inside.

I don’t know how long I sit on her bed, feeling the

hollowness inside me expand. I bury my face in her pillows.
---End---