Moon Garden

     It brought my partner and I stability. A home. Peace of mind when before we struggled so much.

     But it didn’t come without cost.

     I am an engineer. It’s difficult work, puzzling day after day to build bigger and better rock harvesting machines. Still, it’s work I can be proud of. Every time a whoop of joy comes from the mine’s depths, it makes my heart sing. Knowing my work made their lives easier, safer, I know I made the right decision leaving everything we knew behind.

     But I digress. This story is not mine alone.

     It was a bittersweet garage sale. We sold everything we owned in Neopia Central, Dew and I, in the hope that this job thousands of miles away would provide a better life for us both. We didn’t make much from the furniture, childhood toys, or our garden plot, but it was enough to cover our one-way ticket and a deposit on a small, one-room rental. We slept on a bare mattress for a while, eating moon-crunch cereal and moon sponge cake while we waited for my first bag of Neopoints to arrive. Thankfully, we made it through.

     Dew works as a nurse’s aide in a retirement home while I putter away at my designs. They bring such joy to the elderly Grundo who live there, entertaining them with stories of our adventures down below. Of Bolt and Dew, the Brightvale University study buddies turned tag team. Of Bolt, the first girl in her family to finish with her college diploma, and Dew, known as the “class parent” for students of all ages.

     The dynamic duo. That’s what they called us.

     We wanted to stay near Brightvale where our friends and families lived, but opportunity proved fleeting, at best. A temp contract here, a seasonal job there. At least in Kreludor there would be room to grow and plenty of space.

     Plenty of space, get it?

     Dew always laughed at that one. My college friends would roll their eyes, saying that I was just as bad as my mom, a BVU janitor, with puns. Maybe it’s true—I’ve inherited more than my brains from her. My rainbow scales, on the other hand, broke the pattern of the many blue, red, or purple Hissi in my family. And as for Dew, a blue Ogrin with a short, bleached mane, their family sent postcards from the surface almost every week. Their dad spoke of great harvests at the family farm, of the largest fishberry Dew’s twin had ever picked, of things overheard by their fellow BVU cafeteria workers… that kind of thing.

      Some would find it strange to have their parents working at the same college where they attended. A few students would even whisper things about our “uncultured” parents behind our backs, not that we paid them any mind. I was thankful that they were here, and that BVU offered us both a free ride to attend here as students. After all, this is the place that brought Dew and I together.

     And now, we had everything we could have wanted: a supportive family, a place to live, plenty of food, money to indulge on life’s little joys…

     We were as happy as could be.

     Well, almost.

     Dew missed something—a part of themself. They knew full well that the alien landscape beyond our apartment window would never offer bushels of tomatoes or marrows winding across the ground. Instead, a cool breeze billowed across the grey sand, blowing a wave of dust as far as the eye could see. Nevertheless, their smile carried each time they arrived home from work, sometimes in the early hours of the morning or late at night. Each time, I prepared a warm cup of herbal tea to help them relax before crawling into our warm bed.

     But between their toothy grins, their tight embraces, and their comforting voice, there was an echo of sadness. A lost spark in their eye that once twinkled like one of the millions of stars that surrounded our skyscape.

     I had to do something. I had to build something. Our fifth anniversary was quickly approaching, and I wanted it to be special.

     To our great fortune, a library stood only two blocks away. While Dew was away on one of their Sunday shifts, I poured through art books. I copied the floral designs as best as I could, jotting notes all around the different sketches. I thank Brightvale’s tallest spires that my grandmother loved to build things, but more than that, loved to share that crafty spirit with me. I learned how to make trinkets in her workshop behind the house. A napkin holder, a puzzle for my cousins, a wooden Mallard. When she left us, I continued to tinker, to build, to grow. Although wood proved difficult to find on the moon, there was plenty of metal around. That had become my medium of choice since moving to the moon.

     I would learn. I would build for my dear what they missed the most: a garden.

     But how to hide it from them? How to keep them from finding out the secret before it is done? There was my workplace, but they monitored us closely. So closely, in fact, that I could swear the underfoot Robot Petpets had blinking lights in their eyes… I pondered this on the walk from the library to our apartment, kicking a moon pebble down the path. Nothing really came to mind—nothing beyond those fleeting thoughts of using my workbench for personal craft, that is. I shook my head once more; it wasn’t worth the risk. I passed an old warehouse and stopped in my tracks. I could hear the unmistakable sounds of metal being worked, of sparks flying into the air from an artisan. I poked my head around the corner of an alleyway and saw an open doorway.

     A mutant Grundo hunched over an old chair, shaping metal tools. When I called to him, his ear twitched back, but he didn’t turn. It was only when I approached that the chair spun around, squeaking like a machine that needed a tune-up. He wore a surly frown as he wiped his dirty fingers across his smock.

     “Can I help you?” Not a shred of warmth painted his voice.

     I had worked with plenty of mutant Grundos through my job, but not one quite so… gruff. I pushed back the scales on my forehead, feeling a coolness in my body that I knew wasn’t from the air around me.

     “I am looking for a place to build something—”

     “Not interested.”

     “—I could pay for the workspace… and to use your tools. I’ll bring my own supplies.”

     His posture straightened as his arms crossed. For a minute, I thought I might be better off miles away in the opposite direction. My mind began to race as I took a large step back—

     “How much?” His eyes narrowed.

     I could hear the shake in my voice as my heart rate quickened. “For?”

     “Using a corner of my shop.” His gaze traveled to my blue dress, my grandmother’s wooden necklace, and my hoop earrings. “I won’t teach you. And if you break anything, you buy it.”

     I bit my thoughts back. This wasn’t the first time someone saw me and didn’t think I could do it.

     “1,000 NP a week. Mostly evenings and weekend hours.”

     His head tilted. It wasn’t a bad offer, and he knew it.

     “And,” my tongue flicked as I slithered forward, “I don’t need to be taught. I’m a mining engineer.”

     At that, he snorted. For the first time, he cracked a small smile. “Alright then, engineer. Hand me the points, and I’ll lend you the space. But listen up,” he added, scowling once more. “I’ll need to know where to find you if you don’t pay. I’ve been burned before.”

     It was just until I finished the project, I thought, just a temporary arrangement. Maybe a month. I could deal with his attitude to have a workspace only a 5-minute walk away. Besides, I had no intention of stealing from a Grundo with fists the size of a holiday ham. I scribbled our address on a piece of paper and took out a pile of coins from my purse. When I laid the last one in his hand, I said, “You got a deal.”

     “Pollux.” He stuffed the coins in his pouch. “You?”

     “Bolt.”

     He raised an eyebrow. “Your parents like the weather or something?”

     With a deep breath, I explained what I had told so many others since that day more than ten years ago. “I chose the name. It gave me the spark to find my own path.”

     Seemingly satisfied with my answer, he returned to his work without another word.

     I returned a bit later that day in my work jumpsuit: a grey and drab thing, not terribly flattering, but practical. Under one wing I carried a bunch of sheet metal. Some of it came in shades of different colours, of coppers and brass, with little bits of silver. He took one look at me, nodded, and pointed to the wall of tools.

     “That’s what I got. Put it back when you’re done with it.”

     I got to work right away, slipping on gloves to protect my scaly wings, goggles for my eyes, and ear protection. Pollux had an electric saw, dremels, and metal nibblers. Everything was taken care of impeccably, or his tools were, at least. It reminded me of my grandmother’s workshop, of her tools with artistic handles or hand-painted floral designs. When she crafted, she would sit in silence—unless she was teaching me, that is—and tinker away. I suppose that is where I got my own work ethic. Some of the other engineers have to wave their hands in front of my face or snap their fingers to break me out of my hyperfocus.

     Pollux’s squeaky chair groaned as he worked throughout the afternoon, pausing only briefly for a stretch or two. Every hour, a mechanical clock would chime, sending out a metal Weewoo that would chirp the time. When the Weewoo sang six times, I wiped my brow, feeling the sweat upon it. A pile of neatly trimmed metal petals lay before me. I couldn’t help but smile as I consolidated the stack and carefully put the tools away. Tomorrow, Dew worked until 10 o’clock at night. I would have time after my shift.

     Suddenly a hulking shadow cast over me. I couldn’t help but swivel around, my back instinctively pressed to the table.

     “These are decently cut. A bit rough on the Dremel, but decent.” He picked up one of the metal pieces and ran a calloused finger across the edge. “There are sanding sponges in the drawers.”

      I found myself staring and quickly corrected my posture. When I realized I was staring, I added, “Thank you, Pollux.”

     He placed the curved metal sheet down atop the pile. “What is this all for, anyway?”

     “My partner loves flowers.” I felt a blush creep into my face as I thought of my Dew. “I want to make a garden that will never wilt.”

     Pollux hummed to himself before walking off, not saying another word. Strange, I found myself thinking, before reminding myself that this would only be temporary. Maybe a month or so.

     I got back in time to change and make a quick dinner. Dew walked in with a yawn, already half-asleep, when I handed them their cup of chamomile tea. They sipped it slowly, only speaking once they had a few bites of food. “Thanks, darling,” they said, cleaning off everything on their plate. They gave me a nuzzle, adding a quick, “Good night, I’ll see you in the morning.”

     Dew made breakfast, having a few hours of time before their shift. Being from a family of farmers and cooks, they far outdid my simple meals. They added flourishes to the plates such as sliced strawberries, heart-designed pancakes or smiley face waffles. All of this brought warmth to my heart, but nothing brought more joy than to see them dancing across the kitchen, playing with their tools to create something new.

     Work passed quickly, mechanically, as I kept checking the time until I could rush back to the workshop. Pollux heard me coming and gestured to the work site. “Found some bits and bobs to mechanize the flowers, plus some lights. Use them if you want.” That was all he said to me that evening, otherwise hammering away at his own projects. I didn’t mind the quiet, spending much of my time sanding the metal pieces and cutting copper leaves and stems for the flowers. Only the sound of the Weewoo clock broke me out of my trance—it was after 9 pm. A barely legible note sat at Pollux’s empty desk. It merely said, “Lock the dock when you’re done.”

     Back when I was younger, my grandmother would do similarly: leave me to my own devices once I had the basics down. It was gratifying, knowing that I had her trust. I picked up the note, smiled to myself, and stuffed it into my coat pocket. Then, I locked the door.

     Thank Hagan we had some dried leftovers, which I finished rehydrating just as Dew arrived. Again, they looked completely wiped out—work must have been a doozy for them, because they hardly spoke beyond a quiet thank you and wishing me a good night.

     The next two weeks passed in a similar fashion, both of us going along our normal routine. On our shared days off, we would take long strolls, watching the world of Neopia spin below us. At least then, we both had the energy to speak about our days, about our families, about news from the surface. We had heard about a grey curse in Neopia; thankfully, our families remained unscathed thus far. Or if they had been affected, they hid it well. Both of our parents had a nasty habit of leaving out the “worrisome bits” in their letters.

     When Dew worked and I was free from the mines, I continued my project. Our anniversary was just one week away, and I was determined to have it done by then: ten metal flowers. With spreading leaves and glowing gems that reflected the moon’s rays—Pollux charged me extra for those—I could see the end in sight.

     On the last night, while I put the final touches on a flower, Pollux shuffled behind me. I grew used to his lumbering steps, his gruff attitude, and his deft hand at craftsmanship. Over the days, we began to speak more, most of it about different ways to cut, to trim, to hammer in detail. I turned around, expecting another constructive comment on my craft, but instead what I saw was a fistful of small metal roses, painted in Kreludor’s national colours, and a vase made of sheet metal.

     “Here,” he said, presenting them unceremoniously to me, “for your kitchen table.”

     I was left speechless, snapping into reality enough to reach into my purse for some Neopoints. When he saw this, he shook his head and waved a big, meaty hand in front of my face.

     “But I should—”

     “No. Keep it.”

     I looked down at the shimmering flowers, taking in their metallic twists and turns.

     “When I chose the name ‘Pollux’,” he continued suddenly, averting my gaze, “It told me that I was free of Sloth’s control, that I was my own Grundo.” He raised his massive hand, turning it slowly in front of his eyes. “But many Kreludites didn’t see that—they still saw me for what I look like, not what I can offer.”

     I couldn’t help but think back to the friends I lost back then, back when I became ‘Bolt’ instead of ‘Benjamin.’ “Then that’s their loss. You know who you are.”

     He let out a world-weary sigh. “And who am I, Bolt?”

     “A kind Neopian.”

     Pollux tried to hide his smile, pretending instead to be annoyed. “Well, what are you waiting for? You have flowers to deliver.”

      I turned around, metal garden in my hands, and practically skipped to our apartment with a grin.

     When I approached the door, a wonderful aroma filled my nostrils. It reminded me of Brightvale, of the summer marrow festival under a firefly-lit sky. But how could that be? They were supposed to be at work for another hour! When I reached for my key, the door flew open. Standing in the doorway was my dearest Dew.

     “Surprise!” they chimed, a platter of fresh food in their right paw and a latch-hooked table runner sprawled over their shoulder. “The residents and I have been working on this together!”

     ‘Happy Anniversary!’ it spelled in green and gold, our college’s colors. Their gaze then travelled from my shocked face to the metal flowers in my hands. The nearly decorated tray of food nearly slipped from their grip, but they tipped it up just in time; only an olive or two rolled onto the ground.

     I was too surprised to speak, still trying to process the scene before me.

     “What… are those?” they asked, their eyes twinkling like they did before.

     “These… I…” I cleared my throat, took a deep breath, and then dropped to one knee with the bouquet of metal roses in one hand and the garden in the other. “I just want to tell you how much you mean to me, Dew.” Tears began to fill their eyes, and mine did the same. “You came with me on this journey, giving up your beloved gardens so that we could find a new place, together. But I wanted to… I wanted to make sure you always had flowers to enjoy even though we’re far from home.”

     Before the platter lost any more pieces, they hurried it to a table, then gave me the biggest side hug, careful not to collide with any of the flower sculptures.

     “I love them, Bolt.” Their face sparkled from the tears, as did mine. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

      I tried to wipe away what tears I could as I laid out each flower next to each other, standing them like sentinels across the living room floor. In the candlelight—Dew set up the table with a spread and a bottle of Meridell Acres Marrow Juice—the gems adorning each flower lit up the room with so many rainbows.

     “And I have one more surprise…” I pressed a switch on the largest flower, and its metal petals opened and closed as if embracing a new day. Tears flowed freely as they cheered with delight. Pollux was right. The little machine’s motion made all the difference; Dew looked as happy as they did during our college days, long before that fateful one-way flight one year ago.

     I took a longing look at the beautiful spread that my darling made. There was one missing Neopian from the table.

     “There’s someone I’d like you to meet, Dew,” I said, wondering to myself of the Grundo would even be at the shop at this point in the evening. “He’s a kindly artisan who helped this garden bloom.”

     Their smile could make even master thief Hanso jealous. “I would love to.”

      Dew followed me down the road, holding my hand all the while, with the beautiful bouquet clutched to their chest. I knocked on the door. It didn’t take long for Pollux to poke his head out.

     “Is this?” he started, before my darling barreled inside and surprised him with a hug. Or half of him, anyway. Pollux proved far larger than either of us combined. He tensed up, surprised by my partner’s forwardness.

     “Thank you for your kindness,” Dew said, their face still red and puffy. “I can’t tell you how much I’ve missed seeing flowers.” They gripped the bouquet tightly as they said this.

     “I… It wasn’t much.” For someone as huge, as hulking as Pollux, it seemed almost strange to see him being bashful.

     Dew shook their head. “I disagree. It… was everything. What you did—what you both did—together.”

     I knew they had missed their farms, their forests, their flowers. No matter how much they hid it… I could tell. And somehow, so could Pollux. Maybe he could see how hard I worked on each petal, how desperately I wanted to bring a little of our old home to our new home.

     At first, when I invited him to our place, he looked ready to crawl into a spaceship and take the first flight back to Neopia, but Dew’s warmth led him to stay.

     Before the three of us dined, we took turns placing the flowers into the dusty soil behind the apartment. Moonlight shone upon the copper, silver, and brass, making the flowers glow with ethereal light.

     Passersby oohed and aahed, excitedly chattering about the new mechanized marvel on Neopia’s moon.

     And every week, after tinkering away on a project at Pollux’s workshop, we all come together and grow like the flowers that dotted Dew’s family’s farm.

     Friendship is a garden. With proper tending and care, it can bloom into something truly special.

     Kreludor is kind.

     It brought my partner and I stability. A home. A new friend. Peace of mind when before we struggled so much.

     And we will tend to this garden. Together.

     The End.