fireworks

I called taunts over my shoulder at him, prancing through the crowd, and ducking easily in and out of people’s paths in the darkening evening. Some stopped and stepped back, startled, and to those, I gave a little half-bow before continuing on my way.

It’s not every day that you get to be a hobbit at the nation’s largest renaissance festival. Coming to this place dressed as Frodo Baggins was a little like showing up at Disney Land in full Mickey Mouse costume. After a full day of revelry,  I had become accustomed to the attention I received: people stared, giggled, or even went so far as to ask for a hug or photo. Some touched my red curly locks and asked if it was real. Some jokingly tried to steal the One Ring hanging down in front of my vest, which would cause me to jump back and whip out Sting, my trusty orc-fighting sword… at which point my level of dedicated fan-girl-ness would usually scare them off. Some actually believed me to be male, which made me feel accomplished (the tight sports bra and careful study of boyish movements only heightened my acting) ;  however, the look on their faces was priceless when my space-cowboy boyfriend came sailing into the conversation just to grab my ass.

I had said boyfriend by the hand now, and together we made it up a slope to the stone arches of the jousting arena.  My bare feet were covered in dirt and the grass felt good to my soles. It had become completely dark, and in the shadows of the pillars, I slid my pack off my shoulders so I could stretch out my arms and casually arch one around the space cowboy’s neck.

I waited with bated breath as drums began. Peeking over the heads of the crowd, I could see the jousting field lit up, flames licking across designs spiraled in the dirt. The heady music grew; the people yelled, screamed, bellowed; and a lone man danced across the grounds with a torch. With slow-motion grace he bent to light a cannon.

For a split second, nothing happened.

And then a thunder blast sent us reeling back, as great plumes of fire and color blossomed in the night sky. Gem-colored rockets shrieked as gleefully as its onlookers whilst spiraling into impossibly chaotic showers.

But while the magic roared on, I found my gaze wandering to his face, alternately lit between the explosions – thrown into darkness in one moment, then washed with a daylight shade of gold. His glasses caught each firework and gleamed; I could hardly make out his eyes behind them, but  I knew from the quirk at his mouth that he was reminiscing. And that it was a happy memory. Perhaps a childhood one. I nuzzled my face into his neck, breaking his reverie, and he hugged me tightly, fingers trailing through my hair.

I no longer watched the gunpowder show; all of my attention had shifted to him. Thoughts of our imminent separation began to seep into my excitement, and I clung to him, burying my face in his chest. Soon the emotion was overwhelming, not knowing when I would get to watch fireworks with him again, or hold him, or brush hair out of his face, and tears leaked down the length of my nose, seeping into his jacket. It was with a great strength of will that I lifted my head, caught his eye, and brushed my lips over his. He kissed me long, cupping my face in his hands, and I loved the taste of his breath. Even with my eyes closed, firework patterns danced across my eyelids in dazzling colors.

Before long the spell ended. We broke apart as the show came to a booming close, and the crowd jostled us forward. In silence, we held hands as we walked under the dark sky. I carried a strange mix of sorrow and joy that felt heavier than the pack across my shoulders. And I knew that this moment – this geek-infested renaissance fair – would hold so many memories for years to come. I clutched the thought to my heart like a medieval amulet.