Tag: 1000 words

Renaissance festivals are somewhat odd places. Those who attend them, not to mention those of us who work them, are looking for something other, to see or hear or do or be something different than normal. At its best, Faire is where the world we have and the world that should be intersect. With corndogs and porta-potties.

Crossroads are where magic happens.

I’ve worked just about every job one can do at a Faire. I’ve squired the joust, sold sno-cones, been the Queen’s Lady-In-Waiting, hawked CDs and roses. I once did an entire seven week run playing a nun in the morning and pub wenching in the afternoon. Mostly these days I just fill in where I’m needed. I’ve considered business cards: Have Garb, Will Cover Privy Breaks. Which is how I ended up working the Helping Hounds Animal Shelter booth at the Lone Mountain Renaissance Faire. We provided bowls of water and treats for visiting dogs, showed off our adorably adoptable animals, handed out poop scoops, and solicited donations.

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I’d been living in LA for three months now and still had yet to receive a single audition. I hadn’t even made the cut at open casting calls. The money I’d carefully scraped together to live on while I looked for work was long gone. I’d thought I had enough for six months. I could have lived for nine months on it back home. Longer if I’d been frugal with it.

But everything was more expensive in LA. Even the coffee. Three months of showing up to casting calls with my hair perfectly styled and my makeup done. I was on my third can of hairspray for this month alone and my fourth tube of concealer. Costs added up.

This was my last chance. If I didn’t land this audition I was going to have to admit that I couldn’t make it. I’d have to go home.

That was unacceptable.

There was no help for it. I was going to have to do whatever it took to land that role. Regardless of the consequences. I didn’t expect to get a major role. But it would be enough to get my name out there. Maybe land another role and then another. Soon I’d be in Hollywood films. An A-lister. But I had to land that first role.

I dropped my last twenty into the hand of a photography student after reviewing the digital images. Perfect.

I couldn’t go wrong with this. The casting director would have to give me the part.

I clicked send on the email, “Consider me for your next movie.” Attached were a series of pictures ranging from a head shot to full nude.

The next morning, I received a call.

 

September 18, 1919

My dearest friend,

Girls should be fearless.

That’s what my Aunt Julia always says to me when ever I begin to doubt myself, and when she and Miss Haversham announced they were starting a troop of Girl Scouts, I was the first to put down my name.

Girl Scouts! Just the name gives me shivers of excitement. The idea that girls could do the same things the boys do in their Scouting adventures thrilled me to no end. My own brothers— I have five, all of them older— have all been heartlessly smug and manly as they return from their camp! I had been pining to go with them, but they persisted in teasing me that there are certain things that girls are not able to do, sleeping on the ground being one of them.

Didn’t Grandmother sleep on the ground when she settled out west from Bradford, Pennsylvania, to take up homesteading in Kansas? Didn’t she ride her horse own all the way? Wasn’t she a crack markswoman, as well? She used to tell me about buffalo hunting trips, and brag that she brought down just as many beasts as the men.

Well, our Girl Scout troop has had the most remarkable adventures already! And better, we have had adventures such as none of my brothers ever had! Indeed, they were so jealous when I told them that they went about denying to the worlds that such a thing had ever happened. But I stand by my word, for a Girl Scout is always truthful and forthright.

It all began last summer, during the school holidays. Aunt Julia had arranged for us to go almost all the way to Springfield, Missouri, to have a camping holiday. While were were there, we were to sleep inside tents, and cook our food over a campfire, and tell tales and sing songs in the evenings. Aunt Julia even arranged for a minister to come to our camp to deliver Sunday Services— dreadful, I know, but I am informed that appearances must be maintained. (Frankly, I’d just as soon be a pagan— wear skins and run around in the woods like a wild Indian— it seems so much more interesting and romantic than the same old wearisome lessons about Ruth and Esther that we get all the time. A shame on me, but I know you, dear friend, would never breathe a word to anyone!)

We had been encamped for several days, getting gloriously filthy in the process and having grand old times. We even explored a magnificent cave in the hills north of the city! The weather had been fine, and there was constant bickering in the evenings as to whether we should leave the tent flaps open to catch the night time breezes or to keep them tied shut in order to exclude the mosquitos, which could be dreadful at times. That night the mosquitos won.

I came awake when Hattie poked me firmly in the ribs. “Jane!” she hissed. “There’s something in the camp!”

Hattie is prone to flights of imagination, as well as speaking in italics, but Alice, who is neither, said, “I hear it too!”

I held my breath and listened hard, and could just barely hear something moving about outside. Then there was a ghastly shriek, a wild, wailing growl like nothing I had ever heard before.
My heart nearly turned to ice in my chest, but I reminded myself that cowardice is for other, weaker souls, and carefully lifted up the bottom of the tent side, just an inch or so, to peek out.

There was something in the camp. I could see a long, sinuous shape prowling between myself and the still glowing embers of our campfire. It was an enormous cat, one hundred pounds at least, and had a tail as long as its own body, with a little white tuft on the tip.

“Try not to panic, girls,” I whispered to the others. “It’s a catamount.”

Hattie squeaked at the news. “I’m going to faint!” she wailed. “Suppose it came her to eat one of us?”

“It’ll eat the one that faints first!” I furiously racked my brains, remembering one of Grandmother’s favorite stories. “We have to frighten it away. We have to bang on something, shout, make a loud noise. Have we got any saucepans?”

“No,” Alice whispered. “I’ve got my whistle, though.”

“That’ll help. Here’s my canteen— it’s empty. We can bang on that. Has anybody else got anything?” We lit a lantern and rummaged around, finding several objects that we thought would suit the purpose.

I carefully untied the tent flaps and peeked out. The catamount was still prowling around, I thought. I whispered, “All together, now! One, two…”

We burst out of the tent whooping and shouting, waving our lantern and making as much noise as possible. I caught just a glimpse of angry green eyes and teeth bared in a snarl just before the animal bounded away.

This, of course, woke everybody else in the camp, and they came boiling out of their tents in their night dresses. We explained about the catamount, but they didn’t believe us. Not at first. Miss Haversham suspected us of playing a joke, but then Aunt Julia pointed out that some of our bundles of food had been torn into.

It wasn’t until the next morning that Mr. Davis, the man who owns the campground, showed us the large paw prints down at the muddy streambank. “It’s a good thing that creature didn’t visit you girls in the night,” he warned. “He’d have et you up!”

So that was my Scouting adventure, the first of many, I hope. We have such fine times planned for the future! But I must close this letter, now— the other girls and I are putting on a play about Anne Bonney, and they’ve given me the lead. I must dash to make it to rehearsal on time.

                                Yours most affectionately,
J. Hungerford.

I stood on the strip with my feet tightly pressed together and my back as straight as I could make it. My scalp and underarms were moist. My teeth tense. I could see down the line with my peripheral vision. Although I gave the impression of looking straight ahead at the mountains beyond the runway, I was studying the other pilots, sizing them up.

When we split into flight teams we all scuttled around, grabbing equipment and getting to work while Thomas barked orders at us. Formation had been easier since I could slyly look sideways at the men. But in the open while prepping for takeoff I could feel all eyes on me. I was different, not one of the guys. They knew it and I knew it. Takeoff could not come soon enough.

In the air a limited number of things need attention. These are the things you pay attention to. Because these are the things that your life depends on. I ran through my checklists, routinized and a part of me, and forgot about the pettiness of the world on the ground.

I watched the land beneath us turn into calm cerulean as we flew over the ocean. We would dash to the closest island which also happened to be the smallest, and then jump from one to another along the archipelago. We would hit each island in sequence like a frog jumping from one lily pad to another. Only a few places off the mainland were suitable for a new building and our job was to discover the best one. There were no airstrips where we were going, only the wild. We wouldn’t even stop unless we had to. Each touchdown would roll right into another takeoff. “How long?” I yelled over my shoulder. “75 minutes.” Someone replied. The weather was peaceful and clear. I deliberately forced my shoulders down, unaware until that moment how close to my ears they had become. I felt the muscles unclench a little. “Thanks.” I said under my breath.

The time passed too quickly. My respite from the other men’s scrutiny while in the calm portion of the mission would soon turn back into a test, another gauntlet where they would be expecting me to prove myself. I saw the first island appear on the horizon. My Nav hadn’t even told me it was coming up. He was probably hoping I’d overshoot it. “That our spot?” I asked. “Affirmative. That’s the south side of the island.” The navigator’s voice held a slight humor. I couldn’t tell if he was tickled that I’d asked for confirmation on the target or if he was amused by his own juvenile plan to not offer any help until it was asked for.

A quick trip around the island told me there was only one place to land. I descended and banked to the right. “Prepare for touch and go.” I told the crew. As I brought the plane down to the beach an uncomfortable confusion clouded my judgement for a moment. It was completely nonsensical, but for a split second I thought for sure I saw something. The trees that lined the beach about 20 yards from the water were walking. I took a deep breath and blinked hard once and quick. The trees were still. I hoped I had not let any of my disorientation show. I steeled my nerves against the nausea and that couple of lost seconds was enough to ruin my approach. “Prepare for landing. Repeat prepare for landing.” I barked at the crew. Out of the corner of my eye I could see their surprised body language as they followed my orders and adjusted their expectations.

I touched down on the sand and felt a sickening slosh as the tires sank into the soft ground. I was thrust hard forward and I heard one of the men fall against his equipment. This was one of the risks we had foreseen, but I didn’t expect to encounter it so soon in the mission. The ground was completely unsuitable for building an airstrip, probably because the island was never more than an inch above at sea level and flooded with every rain shower. The plane skidded as it came to a stop near the trees. For a sacred moment no one said anything. They were happy to be alive and unharmed. But all too soon that gratitude melted into fury that we were stuck.

“Why did you not bump!? Now we are sunk in. Thomas put me on your team because he’s still holding a grudge about that shower curtain. Now I’m going to rot on this island with…” one of the men was ranting when the Nav interrupted with even louder shouting. “Shut up! Just get out and dig and we’ll be on our way.” Seat belts clicked and the door clanged open. Everyone knew the drill. I was the last one out of the plane. When my feet hit the ground the horizon dipped and spun. I felt bile rise in my throat and my knees wobbled. I went down softly onto the waterlogged earth. When I woke the trees were upon them. The men were hunched over digging out the wheels and didn’t even see what was coming. They had ignored my fall and left me in a pool of my own vomit. I opened my mouth to warn them but the only sound I could make was a raspy grunt. One tree for each man, their branches reached out and curled around the crewmen like cocoons. The men kicked uselessly until their bones broke in the embrace of leaves and twigs. Then the trees stilled. I found my strength and raised up on one arm, twisting my head to look behind me and fulling expecting to see my own death. But there was nothing. The trees spared me. They knew I was different.