The Boy Who Captured the Moon

by Patt Ligman

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Raymond wanted to capture the moon.

If he captured and held it, even for just a while, he could answer all his questions: Was the moon really made of green cheese? Was it hot like a light bulb or cold like a snowflake? Why was it sometimes full and round like a silver dollar, and other times as skinny as a sliver of pie? What did the Man in the Moon look like?

One night when the moon crept over the horizon, it came so close to Raymond’s bedroom window that he tried to grab it. He leaned out the window as far as he dared, stretched out his arms, and reached with his fingers. Close . . . closer . . . almost . . .

The next morning his fingertips tingled when he remembered touching the moon. He looked into the closet where he had put it for safekeeping. The moon was gone!

It was only a dream.

That afternoon Raymond walked into the kitchen, carrying his insect net.

Papa Joe raised an eyebrow as Raymond entered. “Are you off to capture lions?”

Papa David smiled as he poured steaming coffee into Papa Joe’s heavy white mug.

“Don’t be silly, Papa Joe!” Raymond said. “I want to catch more bugs for my insect collection.”

“Why don’t you catch grasshoppers in the garden?” said Papa David. “There are more grasshoppers there than green beans!”

Papa Joe and Papa David laughed.

Raymond scowled. He walked out the kitchen door into the dusty yard. He squinted at the brightness of the sun, looked left at the fields of corn, then right at the cows grazing in the pasture. He sighed, turned left, and walked to the garden.

As he carefully stepped over the low fence that kept rabbits away from the carrots, Raymond spied a butterfly sitting on one of Papa David’s tomato plants. He tiptoed closer . . . and closer . . .

“Gotcha!” he whispered, gently lowering the net over the insect without touching it. The butterfly slowly flapped its paper-thin orange-and-black wings up and down, up and down, but it didn’t try to fly away. One of its antennae wiggled. Raymond giggled. He thought about how nice it would be to add the butterfly to his collection, but he knew it would be nicer to watch it flying free. He carefully lifted the net.

The butterfly floated away.

A thought flew into Raymond’s head: he could use his net to capture the moon, and then he would turn it loose, just like the butterfly!

When the sun went down, Raymond got ready. He looped his cowboy lariat around the bedpost and tied it tight with his best half-hitch knot. He wound the rope around his waist—twice—and knotted it tight. He waited and watched.

When the moon rose full and round, Raymond stuck his net out his bedroom window and swooped it down over the moon.

“Gotcha!” he whispered.

The empty net banged against the side of the house. The moon slid higher into the sky.

Raymond leaned far over the windowsill. His feet came off the floor. The lariat squeezed his waist. Again he swung his net. It flew right by the moon without stopping. Raymond tried again and again until he was too tired to lift the net. The moon rose higher into the sky until it joined the stars.

That night Raymond dreamed the Man in the Moon grew black-and-orange wings and flew just out of his reach.

The next morning a very tired Raymond sat down to eat breakfast. Papa Joe said, “You look tired, son. Did you have a bad dream?”

“I did! I did!” shouted Sarah, bouncing up and down in her chair.

Papa Joe turned to her. “What was your dream about?” he asked.

Sarah frowned. “I don’t remember. I kept hearing a big noise over and over again. Like a monster was walking on top of the house.”

Papa David laughed as he poured orange juice into Sarah’s glass.

Raymond held his breath. He didn’t dare look at his papas. He remembered the net hitting the house as he tried to capture the moon. The clock above the stove shouted, “Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick . . .”

“The thumps were all the animal crackers you ate before bedtime—they were trying to run away before you could gobble them up!” Papa David teased Sarah.

“Papa David, don’t laugh at me,” Sarah said, scowling. An instant later she brightened and burst out, “Wanna hear my new song?” Before anyone could answer, she started singing.

Raymond was relieved his papas weren’t looking at him anymore. He shoveled a big spoonful of cereal into his mouth and munched until his bowl was empty.

That afternoon Raymond sat on the porch swing. His dog, Patches, lay at his feet. The air was hot and still. Raymond’s eyelids grew heavier and heavier. His chin drooped onto his chest. He snored softly. So did Patches.

The screen door banged open. Raymond’s eyelids popped open, and his head jerked up. Patches yelped.

Sarah said in a sing-song voice, “Raymond! Papa Joe said it’s time to get dressed for Marty’s birthday party!”

“Okay, okay!” Raymond grumbled. Sarah went back into the house.

Raymond whispered to Patches, “Little sisters are a bother.”

Raymond put on blue jeans, a leather belt with a silver buckle as large as Papa David’s hand, a shirt with pearl snaps, cowboy boots, and real leather chaps. He grabbed his cowboy hat and pulled it on. “I’m ready, Papa,” he said, walking into the living room.

Papa Joe looked at him. “Where’s your lariat? A cowboy’s not a cowboy without a lariat!”

“I forgot!” Raymond shouted and ran back to his room.

He grabbed his lariat—and a new plan to capture the moon galloped into his head. He could lasso it! “Yahoo!” he yelled.

After the party, Raymond practiced throwing his lariat. He made a loop, twirled it above his head, took aim, and tossed it. He practiced lassoing a bush until his loop dropped over it every time. He searched for something else to lasso.

Patches trotted into the yard. Raymond snuck up behind Patches, twirled his lariat, and threw it. The rope sizzled through the air. Patches jumped, and the lariat fell to the ground. Raymond chased Patches around the yard, lassoing Patches until he caught him more often than he missed. When Sarah came home from dance lessons, Raymond twirled his lariat, and when the loop settled over her head on his first try, he knew he was ready to capture the moon.

After dark Raymond picked up his lariat, tugged his cowboy hat tight on his head, hitched up his chaps, and sneaked out of the house past his papas, who had fallen asleep on the couch watching television.

Raymond whistled as he walked through the fields. He waved at the cows. He climbed a wooden gate and crawled under a wire fence. He walked far from home.

Raymond stepped around a boulder taller than he was—and skidded to a stop. He stood on the edge of a cliff. One more step and he would have fallen into a deep, dark canyon. “This must be where the moon lives,” he whispered.

He stepped back around the boulder, far from the edge. He didn’t want to scare the moon into not rising.

Then the moon appeared. It was the biggest, fullest, roundest moon Raymond had ever seen! He made a loop and started twirling it. Faster and faster his arm circled. He shouted “Yahoo!” as the rope flew from his hand.

His lariat fell empty, flopping to the ground like a wet noodle.

Raymond tried again and again. He made a bigger loop, but it knocked off his hat. He made a smaller loop, but it was too tiny to catch the moon. His arm grew tired. The moon climbed higher into the sky.

Raymond coiled his lariat and trudged home. He hung his hat on the bedpost, climbed into bed, and fell asleep in his cowboy outfit. He dreamed the Man in the Moon was a jumping calf that couldn’t be caught.

In the morning, rain rattled the roof. Lightning split the sky. Thunder rumbled. His papas wouldn’t let him play outside or watch television. He read his favorite books. He played with his cars and trucks. He pestered his sister and taught Patches to wave good-bye.

Rain still fell after lunch. Raymond grew bored—until he saw his paint set. He placed his easel in the middle of his bedroom and chose a sheet of paper. He decided to paint a picture of Patches, asleep on Raymond’s bed.

He was putting away his brushes when the sun came out. Papa David called, “Dinnertime, Raymond!”

Raymond followed Patches into the dining room. “What have you got there?” asked Papa Joe.

Raymond showed him the painting. Papa Joe turned it this way and that. “That’s a very good work of art, Raymond,” he said.

“What a nice painting!” Papa David exclaimed as he placed a bowl of beans on the table. “Why, you’ve really captured Patches! Let’s tape it to the refrigerator for everyone to see!”

Raymond was pleased, although Sarah said his picture should be hung inside the refrigerator so she wouldn’t have to look at it.

After dinner Raymond wandered into his room—and stopped. What had Papa David said? Something about his painting . . . It captured Patches . . .

Raymond sprang into action. He moved the easel in front of the bedroom window and propped a large sheet of paper on it. He arranged his jars of paint. He cleaned his favorite brush. When the moon rose, Raymond took a deep breath, chose a color, and began to paint.

The sky was still dark when he finished. So tired he couldn’t keep his eyes open, he crawled into bed, clutching his paintbrush.

When Raymond woke up, the first thing he saw was his painting. Stars twinkled in a velvety black sky. A shooting star streaked by. In the very center was the moon, full and round, glowing as if it were in the room with Raymond.

The Man in the Moon winked at Raymond and whispered, “You’ve finally captured the moon!”