by Mari Mancusi
My heart pangs in my chest and I feel a bit sick. I can't believe I put myself in this situation. Allowed myself to fall in love with someone who thinks of me as second best. Again. And this time I have no excuse. I may not have known that Danny was spending quality time in coffeehouse bathrooms with waitresses, but Robin's love for Marion is written in a thousand texts. I knew he loved the girl when I was six and watched the Disney version, for goodness sake. And yet, once again, as I always do, I acted on feeling instead of facts. I allowed myself to believe him.
Perhaps he does love me, in his own way. As a friend. A companion. But not as the woman he would die for. Not as Marion.
Tears sting the corners of my eyes and I angrily brush them away. It's not fair. It's so not fair.
I look at his back, bobbing up and down to the horse's gait. I trace the outline of his broad shoulders with my eyes, his chestnut hair fallen out of its normal ponytail and blowing in the breeze. He's so achingly handsome. But it's more than that. It's a tenderness I feel toward him. An overwhelming desire to crawl into his arms and be held. Why can't he feel the same about me?
We arrive at the camp and the men run up to us, their eyes alight, begging to know what happened at the tournament. Did we win the silver arrow?
"I'll spin you the tale of our adventure after dinner," Robin declares. "For at this moment I am too weary and hungry to speak."
We head over to the fire and sit down on our makeshift tree stump chairs. Little John serves us steaming bowls of stew, but I'm not really hungry. Friar Tuck offers us overflowing mugs of beer, but I wave mine away. The last thing I want is to get drunk again.
"So, tell us what took place at the castle today!" Will Scarlet begs eagerly. "Did you win? Is the arrow in your possession?"
"Aye, I won. And Christian here won in his own right." He tells the tale of my two bull's-eyes and my real accomplishment—an arrow in the butt of the sheriff. The men cheer.
"Christian, surely you are a better marksman than Robin here," says Little John, slapping me on the back. "For I like more what you choose as your bull's-eye."
"Aye, Christian. Let's hope his rump is too sore for him to be rutting with any maidens for a fortnight," jeers Will.
Allan a Dale stands up. "This calls for a song!
Good Christian is a champion with a bow
He shoots it high. He shoots it low.
He turns the competition into a farce
And shoots the Sheriff in the—"
"Anyway," Robin interrupts. "As amusing as Christian's accomplishments were today, he cost us the arrow."
I cringe. He's mad at me. And I guess he's right. I didn't mean to screw up the competition, but I totally did. Ugh.
The men all turn and stare at me. I can feel my face growing beet red. "Uh, yeah," I mutter. "Sorry about that."
" Tis a shame," Will says. "That arrow could have fed a village for a month."
"Aye," Friar Tuck agrees. " ‘Twould have been a great prize to win."
Great. I suck. And here I thought I was totally cool because of that lock-picking thing. But there would have been no lock to pick if I hadn't screwed things up in the first place.
"Well, no matter," Robin says. He sighs then laughs. "We will have other chances to win treasure for the poor."
The men murmur their agreement. They're letting me off the hook!
"So Christian, tell us more about your lucky shot," Little John says, gleefully changing the subject.
"Well, first I had a mug or two too much to drink," I say with a grin. The gang, especially Friar Tuck, cheers. "And then I hit two bull's-eyes with my eyes closed. I still have no idea how. Lucky, I guess."
I proceed to relate the whole tale: the competition, my mis-- (or perfectly!) aimed arrow, our subsequent escape from Nottingham Castle. The men hang on my every word, cheering and toasting every narrow escape. I'm probably embellishing the tale a bit too much, but I don't think anyone minds.
Through it all, Robin sits on the outskirts, whittling a stick with his knife, looking sad and contemplative. Half of me wants to run over and throw my arms around him, pulling him into a warm hug and letting him know everything will be okay. Part of me wants to strangle him for not being able to forget Marion.
I'm exhausted and the men suggest I take a nap while they clean up from the meal. I've been through a lot today, after all. Thankful, I crawl into my tent and pass out almost instantly, and I don't wake up until the sun has set.
I scan the camp for Robin. I want to talk to him about what went on today—apologize for my jealousy as well, especially since it nearly got us killed.
The whistling of an arrow overhead interrupts my search—the signal that someone is entering the camp. The men scramble to their feet, drawing swords or grabbing bows. Robin motions for them to be silent as he steps forward.
"Who goes there?" he calls.
"Robin?"
The men gasp at the female voice addressing their leader, at its high-pitched Betty Boop-like tone. What the...?
The speaker steps from out of the shadows and into the illumination of the fire.
Oh no.
You've got to be kidding me.
Maid Marion.
She's dressed in a pale blue silk gown with a darker blue cloak covering her head. Her eyes catch the firelight and sparkle like a cat's.
What the hell is she doing here?
She steps forward again, nodding at Robin and then giving him a low curtsey. He's just staring at her, dumbfounded. And I thought the drool this morning was bad. Now, here in the camp, he looks like he's gone into cardiac arrest.
Oh, this is just great.
"Where... I mean... how? What...?" he stumbles, the cocky, often smooth-tongued man seemingly unable to form a sentence.
She laughs, and to my annoyance it sounds like Christmas bells tinkling in the breeze. Of freaking course.
"You left without your prize," she says, giggling a little as she reaches into a bag. She pulls out the arrow. The men all exhale a gasp, though I'm not sure if it's because of the sight of the arrow or the cleavage she revealed as she bent over to retrieve it.
The arrow gleams in the firelight, silver shaft flashing with an almost unearthly light. I try to remind myself how good it is that she brought it here. That it will feed many poor families who have nothing, and how that's more important than my petty jealousy.
"Thank you, milady," Robin says, bowing low before accepting the gift. " ‘Tis most kind of you to travel all this way."
Okay, cool. Arrow delivered. Now she goes home, right? After all, we've got that "no girls allowed at camp" rule, right?
"Would you like to stay the night?" Robin asks. " 'Tis not a safe place, this forest, for a lady."
What? What? I squeeze my fists together in fury. Now he's suddenly okay with women in camp? Oh, look, my long lost love shows up, so throw all the rules out the window. Sure, it's fine for Chrissie to pretend she's an effing eunuch indefinitely. But now that Marion's here? Oh, she's a lady and the boys better understand.
Marion smiles graciously. "Thank you, Robin. 'Twas a long trip, and my horse would be much appreciative of the rest."
I glower. Long trip my ass. She just wants to hang with my outlaw.
"How did you find this place, lady?" Robin asks as he escorts her to the fire and brushes off a log for her to sit on.
"One of your guards assisted me," she says with a smile. "When I told him of my mission: to present the arrow to its rightful winner—the true champion, Robin Hood of Sherwood Forest."
"He should not have done that," Robin says, but not in the Oh my god, I'm going to kill the guy type of way. If anything, he sounds slightly amused. "At least, not without a blindfold. The way to this place is secret, for many wish to do us harm."
"I am afraid 'tis my fault. I told him I have very sensitive eyes," Marion explains, batting the peepers in question. "He took pity on me."
"Ah," Robin says, taking a seat right next to her.
Uh, hello? Has everyone here developed hysterical blindness all of a sudden? Woman. In camp. Am I the only one here who remembers that this is supposed to be totally against the rules? The sacred oath? I wait for one of the men to jump in. To remind Robin he's breaking his own rule. But no one speaks up. Except Marion.
"Why did you not come back for me after the crusades?" she asks. Her voice is disgustingly soft and sweet, like sugar covered with chocolate covered with honey. I secretly hope that ants show up and stream down her throat. Where are those Sherwood ants? You can never find good ants when you need them.
Robin sighs. "I did. I... saw you in the arms of another man. I thought perhaps you had forgotten me."
Marion pauses, seemingly shocked. Then she laughs. "Another man? You must have seen me with my uncle!"
What? That's the oldest excuse in the book! That's, like, what a politician says when he's sneaking his intern into a function. Robin's not going to buy it, is he?
He is.
I look around, desperate for backup. Amazingly, it seems all the merry men have vanished. I feel a nudge at my arm and turn around. It's Little John. "Come, Christian," he urges. "These two have much to talk about. Let us give them some time alone."
"What?" I cry. "You guys are just going to turn a blind eye to all of this? What about your sacred oath? No women allowed!"
John looks surprised. "She's not moving in, lad. She merely wishes a few moments with our Robin. Considering he has been suffering over the lass for near a year, I think 'tis only right for us to be understanding." He pulls on my arm. "Come. Let us take a walk. Give him a chance to win back his chosen bride."
I take one more look at the cuddly couple. They're talking softly, faces only a few inches apart. I wrench my arm from John's grasp and run into the forest, not feeling the branches as they whip at my face, my legs. All I care about is getting away. Far, far away.
I can't believe she came back! What does she want from him? Will they fall back in love? Did he ever stop loving her in the first place?
I run and run and run until I realize I've come to the hideaway, the love nest that Robin built for us. Just looking at the structure fills me with fury and I kick and kick it until the roof gives way and collapses inward. I've destroyed the place where we shared that sweet night in each other's arms.
But that was just a lie, I remind myself. Me just fooling myself into thinking he actually loved me. That he actually cared about me. That I wasn't second place.
Selfish bastard. I can't believe he made me pretend I was a guy all this time, made me live a lie for him. All so he could keep his job. His dignity. And for what? When Marion showed up, his men seemed totally cool with him hooking up with her. If they only knew what a jerk he was.
I stop and look at the destroyed nest, now a blatant symbol of our shattered love. We shared so much. I told him things I haven't told anyone. And what am I left with? Nothing. Just like with Danny.
I collapse to my knees and let sobs overtake me. They wrack my body, stealing my breath. How am I going to learn to live without him? Whoever made up that bullshit about it being better to have loved and lost should get his head examined.
I hear my cell phone ring, followed by a crashing in the bushes as unseen animals flee the futuristic sound effects—they're clearly spooked by a sound they never should have heard in their short 12th-century lifetimes. Sorry, Arcade Fire. I really need to put the thing on vibrate.
I look down at the phone. At first I'm tempted not to answer. What do I have to say to Kat, anyway? Beautiful, vapid Kat who goes back in time and wins the legendary knight Lancelot without a care in the world. I bet Lance never lied to her, never cast even the remotest glance at Guenevere once she was in the picture.
But the phone keeps ringing and I realize if I don't talk to someone I'll probably go insane. So I reluctantly push the button and put the phone to my ear.
"Hello?" I croak. She's definitely going to know that I've been bawling like a baby.
"Chrissie? Is that you?" Kat's voice demands. "It doesn't sound like you. If you're some bad medieval person who stole Chrissie's phone, well, you'd better return it to her or I'll so time travel back there and kick your ass."
I start laughing. I can't help it. Kat's just so... so... well, Kat.
"No, Kat, it's me. Sorry. I've just been... I mean, I think I have allergies. Living out in the woods can wreak havoc on your sinuses."
"That doesn't sound like an allergy to me, girl," Kat says. "That sounds like you've been crying. So spill. What's going on out there in Sherwood Forest?"
Realizing she's the only person I have to talk to, I start spilling my story. The silver arrow. The contest. The accidental "I shot the sheriff, but I did not kill his deputy" moment.
And, of course, Marion.
"That bitch!" Kat squeals over the phone, so loudly I have to pull it away from my ear for a moment. "How dare she try to steal your guy?"
"Well, honestly I don't think she has any clue he's my guy. If he even is." I shrug. "She hasn't seen him in years."
"Uh, ye-ah. 'Cause she left him. Dun. She's got absolutely no right to show up now and try to take him back. That little Sherwood slut."
"Well, I mean, I don't even know if that's her goal," I protest, not having any idea why I'm suddenly defending Marion. "She came to the camp to bring Robin the silver arrow."
"Yeah, and the kiss she never got to give him, right?"
"You're not helping."
"Sorry. You're right. I'm sure it's fine. You just have to trust your man."
"Easy for you to say. You have the most loyal knight in the history of knights. And you haven't seen how Robin looks at Marion. It's like he's some lovesick cocker spaniel."
"Are you sure? Or are you just imagining it 'cause you're being insecure?"
"I'm sure." Am I? Am I really sure? Or have I been projecting? I try to think back to Robin at the tournament. No, I've got to be right.
"Have you talked to him about it?" Kat presses. "I mean, I totally accused Lance of cheating on me with Guenevere. They went to this cottage in the woods together and everything! And, like, with medieval cheating you can't even do a condom search, you know? But it turns out he was just protecting her out of a sense of duty. He never even thought of her in that way."
"But my situation is different. Robin and Marion were lovers."
"Uh, yeah, like a billion years ago. We all have exes, Chris. Even you. How do you think you'd react if Danny showed up at the camp?"
Ugh. She's got a point. How would I act if Danny had been the arrow delivery boy? Would I immediately tell him to fuck off? Or would I want to spend a few moments alone with him to talk?
Whoever thought Kat Jones would be the voice of reason?
"You're right," I relent. "Maybe he just wants to get some closure or something, find out why she jilted him like she did. Who knows, maybe he's dying of boredom back at camp as she titters on and on. Maybe he realizes what a self-absorbed wench she was all along and doesn't remember what he used to see in her."
"Yeah. Sometimes that's all it takes," Kat says. "I know when someone dumps me, I always end up putting them on this stupid pedestal in my mind. Every time I think of them they get more god-like and grandiose. And why? Not because they were anything special. I mean, you should see the losers I dated before Lance. Can we say, 'Living at home in their parents' basement playing videogames all day 'cause they're too lazy to find employment' much? But because they rejected me, I immediately filed them in the Better Than Me category in my brain. And then, when I finally run into them again, I'm like, what the hell was I thinking? This guy's a total dork. He has no power over me."
I wonder briefly if I'll think that about Danny when I see him again. Have I built up our relationship as something more special than it was just because he betrayed me? How much did we really have together? Sure, we dated since high school, but we barely saw each other the four years I was in college. And when we moved in together after graduat
ion my day shift and his night shift completely conflicted.
With Danny there were no long talks, no shared emotional or intellectual ties. We had great sex and he made me laugh and together we were able to cohabitate. But did he ever take the time to know the real me? Did he even care about my hopes and dreams? Did I ever care about his?
Maybe Kat's right. Maybe it's the same with Robin. One talk with Marion and he'll realize he outgrew his childhood crush long ago. That now he wants to be with someone who he can really connect with. Who won't leave him for a jeweled necklace. What Robin and I share is special. We have long, deep discussions. We bond on a higher plane than I ever did with Danny. Surely he feels that way about me as well.
I hope.
"So, uh, I guess I shouldn't even bother asking about King Richie, then," Kat says, bringing me back to the conversation.
"Uh, oh, sorry," I apologize, realizing I've been lost in thought. "No, no sign of the guy."
"Totally lame. But okay. Well, we'll keep hanging here in the twenty-second century, I guess."
"Sorry."
"Meh, it's not all bad. I've gotten this great job as a fashion designer for this really amazing company. I'm bringing back a little twenty-first century to the masses. And trust me, they need it! These people think acid-washed jeans are the latest in couture."
I laugh. "Sounds like you've got your work cut out for you."
"You too, babe. But don't give up on Hood Boy just yet. I'm telling you. From what you say, he sounds pretty special. You don't want to let something like that go."
"Thanks, Kat," I say, almost reluctant to let her off the phone. It's so odd how this adventure has totally bonded me to a girl I used to hate. But she's different now. Or maybe I'm just finally giving her a chance.
We say our good-byes and, much cheered, I head back to camp. I can't wait to see Robin. To tell him how much I care about him. How I'm excited about our relationship and I want to make it work. How I totally understand why he'd need some closure with Marion.
But when I get back to the camp I'm dismayed to see that they are still talking. Eesh. How much closure does this guy need? From the outskirts I watch as they whisper, nearly face to face, in low voices. Then, to my shock and horror, Marion leans forward and plants a small kiss on Robin's lips. Worse, he doesn't get mad or pull away or anything remotely smart and deserving of my love like that.
