Lunatic Fringe (12 page)

Perched on the driver’s seat, Lexie
maneuvered a tampon into place, cursing her body’s timing and her
brain’s short memory. Crunched up in the seat, her breath glossed
over the back window, appearing and dissipating, a visible reminder
of her own vital rhythms.

She caught her reflection in the
rearview mirror, and noticed the subtle, rhythmic vibration of the
glass. A drum beat. At first it was just a few isolated beats, but
as she tuned her ears to their deep pitch, she heard
more.

The echo of drums vibrated the glass,
shaking loose her foggy breath. It was unsettling, this rhythm, but
Lexie knew what it was, and she knew she wanted to see it. Changing
into a fresh, long-sleeved thermal t-shirt and jeans, she shook out
her hair and glanced into the rearview mirror, then Lexie started
up the truck and headed downriver towards the Full Moon
Tribe.

Nervous nausea washed through Lexie as
she killed her engine at the forest’s edge. The rhythm that lured
her here invigorated the gathering. People milled around the grass,
mud clinging to their fashionable leather boots. The drum circle
was ten strong--all fit, shirtless men, and one dreadlocked girl
who stood with a djembe suspended from her neck. A small fire
burned in the center of the circle, around which two women and a
man danced in a near-trance. The man ran his hands over his naked,
hairless torso with the care and passion of a new lover. The women
swayed and swirled with their eyes closed, skirts spinning around
their legs. One reached skyward, tracing the fire’s smoke with her
fingers. She hummed tiny noises of pleasure and appreciation. The
drummers whomped the skins, focused yet relaxed. Their hands moved
so fast that Lexie couldn’t track them no matter how intently she
stared. Some smiled great gleaming grins, some caught their lips
between their teeth in concentration, some watched the dancers with
soft eyes, as if it were the dancers that dictated the rhythm and
not the drummers.

Outside the circle another woman
hula-hooped. A man sat in the dirt, just beyond the perihelion of
her hoop, studying her movements like an acolyte. Beyond them all,
at the edge of the woods, a girl Lexie recognized from the dining
hall twirled two glowing balls at the end of chains. She bent and
leapt, keeping the balls chasing after one another in great,
glowing arcs. Her bra, trimmed with metal disks, chimed as she
danced.

On the other side of the clearing, a
pair of young men in feathered fedoras hooked up two stacks of
speakers to a mixing board. Though the combined populations of Wolf
Creek and Milton totaled no more than five-thousand people, Lexie
only recognized a handful of the attendees as fellow students or
townies.

She scanned the scene for Archer, both
excited and terrified of finding her face among the rest. Deeper in
the glen, close to the edge of the forest, burned another campfire.
A small group of people sat around it on thick logs and canvas camp
chairs. It looked warm and calm, removed from the center of the
party, a good place to gather her nerve.

Lexie ventured in that direction. As
she approached, she noticed a young man who cradled a guitar in his
lap. His black hair gleamed in the moonlight, an obsidian blade
down his back. He balanced the guitar on his thighs and held his
red guitar pick in his lips as he gathered his hair in a fist at
the back of his neck, pulling the length over his shoulder to braid
it as deftly as a mermaid might. When he finished the braid, he
wound it into a bun and eased a rubber band on to secure it. He
looked like an Elizabethan princess, the braid curled as it was on
his head. Plucking the pick from between his lips, he began to
play. It was a simple, gentle melody, lilting over the urgent
drums; it made no attempt to compete with them, nor did it need
to.

From her vantage in the shadows, Lexie
scanned the other firelit faces. Two people had their backs to her;
the rest she did not recognize. She walked ahead, trying to stoke
her confidence, reminding herself that she had been invited. The
melody rose as the thud of drums waned. She smiled. The guitarist
nodded at her with a crooked smile, inviting her to join and
listen.

A boy in the camp chair next to her
passed her a frosty can of beer, which seemed like an unseasonable
choice, considering the nip in the air. She took it and clipped the
top open. As she took her first sip, a figure emerged from the
woods, lean and strong, a splendid woman’s silhouette. Broad
shoulders slid down a powerful rib cage, easing in to a narrow
waist and then out to full, sturdy hips. Archer.

Lexie’s breath caught in her chest, and
she looked back to the fire, wondering if Archer had noticed her
staring. Unable to stand not knowing, Lexie looked back up. Archer
raised her open palm in greeting. Lexie’s face flooded with warmth;
she hoped the fire would hide her blush. She scooted to the edge of
her log, making space, and Archer sat. A fine sheen of sweat
covered her bare arms and sternum. Her forehead glowed golden in
the firelight, as if she had just been running. Their eyes met, the
only noises Archer’s heavy breath, the distant din of drums, the
crackling fire, the rushing river, and the guitar’s lilting melody.
Archer’s eyes danced like gilded jewels, hot and cold, fire and
stone. Spectacular.

Just as Lexie thought her heart could
seize no further with the dazzling terror of their meeting, Archer
placed her hand on Lexie’s and leaned into her ear.

“
I didn’t think you’d
come.”

The heat of Archer’s breath washed down
her neck. Lexie was silent, afraid this was a backhanded criticism,
until Archer continued, “but I’m really glad you did.”

She pulled back to look into Lexie’s
face again. Their eyes locked. Lexie wanted to look away, but she
couldn’t and Archer wouldn’t. They remained gaze-locked for such a
long time that Lexie was sure people had noticed. She tore her eyes
from Archer’s, glanced around the fire circle, and saw that each of
the fire-gazers were deep into their own stories, no one noticing
her moment with Archer. Lexie removed her hand from Archer’s to
grab the beer from between her knees. She took a swig, her feigned
confidence shredded.

Archer broke the tension, “I like that
you’re okay with silence.”

Lexie laughed as she took another sip
of beer, “Yeah, people think I’m shy.” She shrugged, “I just think
most people talk too much without having anything to
say.”

Archer nodded. “In my experience, the
things that are most worth saying are those that need the fewest
words.”

Lexie noticed after a few moments that
she was holding her breath, and she let it go.

“
Hey Larkin,” a girl from
the fire ring called to the guitarist. “Do you know any songs with
words?” Archer and Lexie exchanged a sly glance, noting the small
humor of the question.

“
Sure do,” he replied. “But
I hate singing alone.” He plucked at his strings, a fractured
melody of steely slides and hand muting. “Anyone know this one?” A
playful dare. He teased the fire circle with anticipation of the
music they craved. Around and around he riffed the intro, rising
high then sliding down, a languid pace of callouses and grace.
Firelight flickered over the faces around the circle as they looked
to one another, hoping someone would jump in and start singing. All
they got was shrugs and raised eyebrows. The girl whispered, “What
song is this?”

Lexie kept her eyes on the fire, her
hands clutching the beer. Archer leaned over and whispered, “You
know this song, don’t you?” Lexie’s mouth twisted as she fought
admitting that she did.

“
So sing,” Archer said.
“You’re among friends here. This would be a wonderful way to thank
them for their hospitality.” Another of those sly grins. “Lark’ll
just keep riffing til you do.”

Lexie snorted, not quite a laugh that
still acknowledged the truth of Archer’s words. She took a long,
thick swig from her beer, pressing down her anxiety. She looked at
Archer, who nodded encouragement. Lexie rested her hand face up on
her knee. Archer looked down, surprised at the invitation. She
placed her warm hand in Lexie’s as the melody came around to pick
up her voice, timid and small, but nevertheless on key.

I’ve followed her through
crooked trees and crawled upon my hands and knees, as if I’d find
her somewhere in this world . . .

As Lexie sang her first line, Archer
tightened her grip and edged closer. With her free hand, she cupped
Lexie’s knee. A feathery tingle ghosted up Lexie’s leg as she sang
the next line into the fire, terrified of looking into Archer’s
eyes or risk forgetting the words.

If only I could see her
face, her path I know that I could trace. So much pain to try and
find one girl . . .

Lexie’s voice was barely audible over
Larkin’s pickwork, but no one complained. Someone eased another log
onto the waning fire. It burst immediately, throwing light and heat
on everyone’s face. Lexie wanted to look at the rest of the group,
but she fixed her eyes to the flames.

When the chorus came
around, Larkin added a quiet harmony,
It’s
all to get her now
. . . Larkin nodded his
head with the rhythm, his grin revealing a goofy snaggletooth that
interrupted the otherwise delicate perfection of his
face.

Archer didn’t remove her eyes from
Lexie. As they sang, other voices came and went, lending themselves
to the chorus as they felt moved. The music created a simple
intimacy among the strangers. Lexie had felt foolish at first, but
now the grins told her she was doing a good job, that something
simple and lovely was happening. Larkin played through the ending,
the repeated chorus of “All to get her now” echoing into the
distance.

The song faded and Archer squeezed
Lexie’s hand, now hot and comfortable pressed together as they
were. A silence as cozy as a well-worn quilt fell over the circle
as the last guitar pluck rang out, running into the woods and the
sky, followed by a collective sigh. The drums beyond stopped, and
everything fell quiet.

Lexie looked to her hand,
enclosed in Archer’s. Her heart felt as though it was in her throat
and that it would rather choke her than return to its normal place
in her chest. She tried to think of Renee, but her face did not
exist here in the darkened meadow and the circle’s light. There was
only Archer in Lexie’s sight and purview.
Breathe
, Lexie reminded herself. And
she did.

A loud buzz rang through the air,
followed by a click and a moment of quiet. Then a thick, synth bass
line burst through the speakers. The silence scattered like insects
beneath a lifted log. Cheers greeted the music as people rushed to
the muddy open space of the dance ground. As if they were toys
invigorated by fresh batteries, the bodies flung themselves into
the driving beat. The girl who had been spinning the glowing balls
bent over an open bag, unwinding a pair of longer poi. With a
squirt of kerosene and a lighter, she set the balls aflame. A space
cleared around her as she burst into fevered movement, spinning the
flaming balls in fiery arcs and figure eights to ignite the
darkness around her body.

The intimate moment at the campfire was
over, as everyone but Archer and Lexie left to dance.

“
That was beautiful,”
Archer said, squeezing Lexie’s knee. “Thank you.”

Lexie could only manage to smile in
response. Her ears were on fire. She looked away, embarrassed, then
back to catch Archer’s eyes.

“
You have a lovely
voice.”

Lexie shrugged. “My mom used to sing to
me every night, mostly in other languages, but I guess I picked up
some stuff.”

“
Other
languages?”

“
Cree, I guess. She used to
call me her ‘tenas tumtum’.”

“
Wake
nehiyawewin.”

“
What?”

“
Mamook Chinook
wawa?”

“
Uh . . .”

“
Oh,” Archer said, shaking
her head with a smile. “Never mind.”

“
Archer!” came a squeal
from the dance floor. “Oh my Goddess! I can’t believe it! You’re
back!”

Archer grinned widely without removing
her hands from Lexie’s as a satyr-like boy bounded up to them. His
bare chest shimmered with gold glitter. His legs were wrapped in
thick, furry pants of a color that matched his own ample chest
hair. He didn’t appear to be cold, though Lexie shivered under her
shirt.

“
Hey Mama! Where have you
been?!” he squeaked as he threw his arms around her, squeezing
tight enough to make Archer grunt.

“
There and back again,”
Archer said, gladly returning his hug.

“
I should call you Bilbo,
you world-traveling fox! Oh, I missed you!”

“
You too, Otter,” she
replied.

He giggled as they parted, and Archer
introduced Lexie.

“
You go to Milton?” he
asked.

Lexie nodded, “First year.”

“
Oh yay, welcome. What are
you studying? How do you like it? Who do you know? And all that.”
He leaned forward, eager and waiting as she sought the answers to
his questions.

“
Dunno,” she said, after a
moment. “Maybe Anthropology?”