ButIwasn’t fine.Notat all.Iactually couldn’t breathe very well, come to think of it.
Jack cracked a joke about something, and everyone laughed again, butIbarely heard it.Thesounds of theRenFaire– the strum of a lute, the thrum of the crowd, the hawkers’ shouts– turned to a buzz, getting louder and thinner all at once.
I stepped back, muttering something about needing another drink, and stumbled away from the group before anyone could stop me.Thegood thing about open-air festivals was that, if you wanted to disappear, you could.Ifollowed the sound of distant cheers towards a row of food stalls, beyond which a tall fence separated the fairway from the jousting arena.
I blinked back tears, furious at myself for being so fucking sensitive.Thiswasn’t about me.Whatkind of friend couldn’t find it in herself to congratulate her mate on a promotion they’d wanted?Peoplemoved, people changed jobs, life happened.Butthe truth was, every time one of my friends grew up a little more, took a step forward,Ifelt likeIwas being left behind on the first level of a game everyone else had already beaten.
The tears finally broke through, coming hot and fast, my breath nothing more than ragged gasps.Ipressed my forehead to the fence, letting the rough wood bite into my skin. “Getit together,Chloe,”Iwhispered. “You’refine.It’sfine.Thingschange.Don’tbe so dramatic.”
As the tears ebbed,Iturned around to lean my back against the fence, wiping my tears with the heel of my hand, trying to pretendIwas just a normal person enjoying a breather and not, in fact, a basket case melting down over her friend’s success.
The raw feeling eventually began to fade from my throat, and the heat dissipated from my cheeks enough thatIwas just thinking about going back to find the others, when suddenlyIspotted a black-clad figure moving purposefully across the fairway.
Teddy.
I don’t know what compelled me, butIpushed away from the fence and strode towards her, heart thumping likeI’dswalloweda bass drum.Shenoticed me instantly, and her mouth tightened, though she didn’t slow down as she carried on perpendicular to me.
“Hey!”Icalled, then immediately regretted the volume asIsaw heads turn towards me.Ikept going anyway, changing course to intercept her. “Hey, can we talk for a second?”
She didn’t answer, didn’t stop, soIsped up slightly and cut her off, causing her to rock back on her heels to avoid running into me.Thecanvas tote bag slung over her shoulder swung dramatically as she stopped.
“I’m really, really sorry about earlier,”Iblurted. “Withthe keg.Obviously, you knowImeant the keg; that’s the only time we’ve seen each other.Iwasn’t looking, andI’mjust– clumsy today,Iguess.Iknow it was a lot of work to haul all that, and look, if there’s anythingIcan do to help, or pay for whatIruined,I…”Myvoice was going all wobbly, soIdug into the pouchIwore at my hip, yanked out a pen and the folded festival map, and ripped off a corner. “Here,”Isaid, scrawling my number on it messily. “Ifthe mead place needs to bill someone,I’lltake care of it.”
She stared at the scrap of paper in my hand, then at me.Fora second,Ithought she was going to take it, but she just shook her head.
“Not necessary,” she said, flat and cold. “Ialready got fired.”
I blinked. “What?Butit wasn’t your fault.Imean,Iwalked into you,I?—”
“Doesn’t matter.”Shestared off towards the jousting field. “Apparently,I’mnot allowed to be mad at a guest when they do something reckless and inconsiderate.”
Her words stung more thanIwanted to admit, butIgrinned, trying to placate her. “Look,Ididn’t mean?—”
“It’s fine,” she spat, the disdain in her voice dripping as heavily as the mead we’d spilled. “Don’tworry your pretty little head about what’s going on behind the curtain.Justorder another overpriced mead, get some pictures in your single-use corset top and your dragonfly wings, and keep having your little main character moments, no matter how it impacts the rest of us.Keepflitting through life unbothered, and don’t worry about the mess you leave in your wake.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but the only thing that came to mind was thatI’dworn this corset top plenty of times, thank you very much.Luckily,Iwas no longer drunk enough to think that sentiment would actually help anything, soIkept my mouth shut.Actually, it opened and closed as ifIwere a hapless carp asItried to think of a comeback, but thankfully nothing came out that would have given her more ammunition.
“Enjoy yourholiday,” she said, imitating my accent, then turned and started walking away, boots crunching the dry grass, kicking up a fresh cloud of dust behind her.Ionly just managed to tuck the paper into her tote bag before she was out of reach.
“I really am sorry,”Icalled after her, but she didn’t slow down.Isaw her shoulders twitch, though, andIwasn’t sure whether she was crying or laughing at me, nor which would be worse.
I stayed there for a long moment, watchingTeddydisappear into the crowd, then practically jumped out of my skin when someone touched my arm.
“Hey,Chlo,”Amysaid asIspun around. “Youokay?”
I shook my head, then started to laugh, but it sounded more like a hiccup. “Noteven a little.”
Amy didn’t ask why.Shejust tucked herself in close to me, wrapped her arms around my sticky torso, and rested her cheek against my hair.Westood like that for a long time, until my breathing slowed and the worst of the sting faded.
* * *
The fairground emptiedout that evening in slow, lazy waves, the booths closing up and the music tapering off to a handful of last-call stragglers.Wemade our way back to the camping area, weaving between glowing lanterns and stumbling knights, our shoes heavy with dust.Ourtents were four of hundreds, all identical cheap, beige canvas, pitched on a patch of dying grass.Weeach crawled inside our respective tents to change, then trudged to the toilet block and back before settling in for the night.
Fatima fell asleep in less than a minute, her gentle snoring rising and falling just a couple of feet away, filling our tent.Whoneeded a sound machine?Still,Icouldn’t manage to drift off.Instead,Ilay on my back, arms folded over my chest, staring up at the ridged canvas glowing faintly from a lantern a couple of tents over.Myhead hurt, my body ached, andIwas so tired it felt like my bones had been hollowed out and filled with sand, but sleep wouldn’t come.
I tried to focus on the happy parts of the day– the way the sun had felt on my skin, the taste of mead and sugar, the glory of the wenches’ cleavage– but every timeIclosed my eyes,IsawTeddy.Heardher voice, laden with resentment. “Recklessand inconsiderate.” “Flittingthrough life.” “Don’tworry about the mess you leave in your wake.”Itreplayed over and over in my mind, wedged there like a splinterIcouldn’t dig out.
It wasn’t the first timeI’dheard that sort of thing, if never quite so scathingly.Myown mother had told me time and time again thatIwas meandering my way through life with no real vision.Nothought for the consequences of the decisionsIwas making.She’dalways been amazed by my “lack of ambition”; perplexed by my contentment.Bythe absence of desperate desire to create a life for myself different than the oneI’dcome from.
