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I thank her while keeping a watchful eye on the crowd. Mrs. Henderson happily strolls away, savoring each mouthful of her heavenly waffle creation, and I keep hoping I’m not taking too big a gamble.
But that's when I spot him – a man whose face niggles at the edge of my memory. He's not directly looking at me, but something is familiar about him and it’s setting off alarm bells in my mind.
It quickly hits me like a ton of bricks. The realization comes crashing over me like a cold wave, chilling me to my core.
My mind flashes back to an event almost four years ago – a lavish gathering hosted by my soon-to-be fiancé’s powerful family. It was one of those opulent affairs where the wealthy elite mixed with a thin veneer of respectability. Amongst the guests, I remember this man, his demeanor aloof yet observant as he mingled effortlessly.
I wish I could remember his name.
He was distantly related to my fiancé's family or some sort of business associate, privy to their inner workings but not directly involved. I only met him briefly then, but the image is burned into my memory. And here he stands, in this crowd, tall and lean, his sharp features highlighted by the dimming lights of the festival. He's in a polo shirt; the place is too packed to see what kind of pants he has on. He has an air of authority and purpose, causing heads to turn as he makes his way through the bustling festival-goers.
I try not to let my panic show on the outside as I continue serving waffles, but inside, my heart is racing and I can feel sweat beads forming on my forehead. What is he doing here? Is he here for me?
Every time my eyes land on his face, memories of that night flash through my mind – the flashing cameras, the tinkling laughter, the uptight background classical music, and the subtle glances exchanged between businessmen in expensive suits.
But none of that matters now. All that matters is making sure he doesn't recognize me.
As carefully as I can manage, I make small talk with customers while keeping an eye on the man. He seems occupied with his own phone conversation now, but I can't shake off this sense of unease.
A few minutes later, Mrs. Henderson returns for another round of waffles and catches sight of me tensely watching someone in the crowd.
"Is everything alright, dear?" she asks with concern etched on her face.
I force a smile and nod. "Yes, just making sure everything runs smoothly." My words sound hollow even to myself as I struggle to keep calm.
Mrs. Henderson looks at me closely for a moment and reaches over the counter, patting my hand reassuringly. "Don't worry dear, you’re doing just fine," she says with confidence before leaving with her waffle.
Her words do little to calm me, but I try to keep my panic in check. His presence here at this festival can't be a coincidence, can it? I don't know what to believe. I try to remember his name but still can’t. His being here keeps reminding me of my father’s deal to marry me off to that family over a decade ago – a union designed not for love but for power and allegiance.
Memories of that party flood back to me – how this man had shared a brief, seemingly casual conversation with my father. Their polite words carried an undercurrent of seriousness that was lost on me at the time. But now, his face triggers a surge of fear.
His presence here is probably more than just by chance. My fiancé's family might be closing in. Maybe he’s here because they’re also searching for me, a thought that sends a fresh wave of panic through my body, as if the universe itself is sending me a message.
As I place a warm, golden waffle in front of a young couple, my trembling hands fumble slightly as I count their change as my mind races.
This is too much. I need to disappear again.
The carnival's bright lights and cheerful music now feel oppressive. I am nothing more than a pawn in a dangerous game of power and loyalty. As the familiar figure from my past fades into the crowd, I know that my time in Taos has come to an end. The risk of staying, of being discovered is far too great. I have to find a new hiding spot and take on a new identity. It's a decision I’ve had to make before, but it’s not getting any easier. Once again, I have to abandon the life I've been trying to build and start over.
The festival continues in full swing as the urgency of leaving tonight solidifies in my mind. The vibrant lights of the midway, once a source of wonder and excitement, now glare with danger. The joyful laughter and lively music around me feel distant and suffocating.
I stand behind the waffle booth, my hands moving mechanically as I clean up before my shift ends. I start to plan my escape - what to pack, which route to take, how to cover my tracks. The small stash of money I've saved up, securely hidden in my motel room is a lifeline, my ticket to freedom.
Glancing at my watch, the time ticks by slowly. It's late, but not too late to make a move. Every second I stay here increases the risk of being caught. The man I spotted in the crowd could’ve already informed my fiancé's family of my whereabouts if he recognized me. I speed up my tasks at the thought, packing up the booth swiftly, careful not to draw attention to myself.
As Marlene comes to do the last couple hours of the event, I slip away, keeping my head down and blending in with crowd. Walking the streets of Taos became something I looked forward to, but now it feels threatening.
I arrive at the quiet motel and decide to take one of the side doors as the main entrance has too many people coming and going. In my room, I move with rushed efficiency, stuffing only the essentials into my bag. My mother's letters, worn and creased from constant reading. Clothes that can be easily discarded or replaced. My hard-earned money, gathered through odd jobs and saved for a single purpose: to disappear without a trace.
As I zip up my bag, I take one last look around the small room that has been my temporary refuge. It's a bittersweet farewell. My time here was mostly uneventful. I had a moment to live like one of the locals, but it was always just an illusion. My past is an unbreakable chain that threaten to pull me back.
I quickly jot down a brief message for Marlene and Jeanie, informing them that an urgent matter came up back home and I must leave immediately. It's a simple note, but it gets the point across.
With my bag slung over my shoulder, I step out into the cool night air. This decision to leave, made in haste and in the face of danger, feels right, yet each time I flee, a big part of me longs for the day when I won’t have to run anymore. When I can finally stand my ground and face my past head on. But for now, survival is the only option.
As I become a shadow once again, moving through the dark streets towards an uncertain future, I can't help but hope that someday I will find peace from this endless cycle of fear.
18
