After Sundown and Before Sunrise

Her bathrobe always hung on the back of her door, the lighter, longer, pink one that was probably cheaper than her green puffy one, but she got hot easy and besides, summer had just ended. After falling asleep prematurely that evening, she awoke in a flit to see what she missed out on during the prime Thursday night hours, courtesy of the nearly 20 text messages she'd snoozed through. She was starving, but no one in their right mind eats in the middle of the night, so after a long debate she settled for putting on the bathrobe and heading out for a smoke, instead of risking an argument with her father and leaning out the window.

A little blaze would do her good right now, but she left it at her friend's apartment, and there was no use thinking about what could be under the bright, almost-full but receding moon. She smelled a nearby skunk and thought how her friend could tell her what phase of moon it was, its proper name and all, and she'd never remember it, but she'd adore it. Her friend could tell her almost anything, and if she believed it, she'd absolutely adore it. 

Fingering the old burn hole near her pocket, from ancient times she thought were through, she finished up her cigarette pondering the kindness of men she never wanted, or never thought she wanted anyhow, and words she could never say, and went in for a glass of water, debating spilling it all and crying. She couldn't see the moon's glow anymore from inside the house, and she couldn't smell the skunk anymore but those things were still there. 

If no one in their right mind eats at this hour, she thought she probably should, because it would only prove what she already knew and at least she could finally be honest with herself. It seemed too harsh to think it, but that's as far as she ever got to this point, and if she never went through with the spilling and crying, then that's as far as she'd ever get, though she thought maybe thinking, under the moon she couldn't identify, that was honest enough. But thinking about it under the bright almost-full moon, it was no use. It would go on shining, and the skunk, on spraying, and the water would get cleaned up and be forgotten forever, so she hung up her bathrobe and went back to bed with her cup like a child and prayed to know what the moon was called without having to ask.