Maybe…just maybe…
I shake my head, fear rearing up inside of my chest. “I don’t know how to do that—have faith.”
Cecile draws in a breath, as if she’s about to tell me something, but instead, she rises, angling her head toward the door...listening. Then Cecile turns back to me with a sense of urgency, as if we’re running out of time.
“Everyone has faith in something,” she promises. “You have faith that the sun will rise. That gravity will prevent you from floating away. That there are terribly cruel people in this world and also very, very good people, too.
“For your whole life, my dear, Charaxus came to you in dreams. Last night, she came to you in real life. And she’ll come to you again, because she must, because you two share a connection that the laws of nature must obey. Just believe in her, sweetheart. She will come back to you.”
My fingers brush against the gold pendant at my throat, the pendant that has so many bad memories attached to it. My parents gave it to me; it's one of the only gifts they ever gave me.
And I wear it for all of the wrong reasons. Its existence makes me unhappy, reminds me of things I'd rather forget. I grimace now, fingers closing around the pendant, gathering my thoughts, about to respond to Cecile...
But then there’s a knock at the door, a dull sound that echoes off of the metal walls. Cecile smiles, laying her finger across her nose as she winks at me, before crossing the room. She already knew someone was coming, even though there were no sounds from the hallway. Sometimes I wonder if Cecile, herself, is made of magic.
She's always known things, always had this uncanny sixth sense.
But as I stand, as Cecile opens the door to Toby, who’s dressed to the nines in a plaid suit, Rod standing behind him in cut-off shorts and a t-shirt, holding a six-pack of beer, I wonder about what Cecile said. I wonder if Charaxus and I really do have a chance at happiness.
“We’ve got to get going now to snag a good spot by the stage,” says Rod, checking his watch.
Then Toby and Rod both notice me, and their eyebrows lift. I’ve been crying; my face is probably a ruddy mess. I sniff a little, running my fingers over my eyes, self-conscious.
“Hey, Mara. Where’s that hot lady from last night?” Toby asks, his voice soft, almost tender. “Are you...okay?”
“Charaxus is out right now, Toby—but she’ll be back,” Cecile states, answering for me, before glancing back over her shoulder. “Toby’s right, doll. It’s the opening night for Macbeth, and we don’t want to be late for Miyoko's performance.”
“Yeah… Of course.” I stand up, tucking an errant curl behind my ear.
“Let’s get going!” Toby says with a wide grin.
Chapter 11: Screw Your Courage to the Sticking-Place
Nothing ever goes quite according to plan in the Ceres, and while Iris and Emily swore they’d meet up with us at Delaware Park, where the outdoor stage is set up, Cecile has to get changed…and I should put on something prettier, too. I obey glumly as Cecile shoos Rod, Toby, and me out of her room.
“I’ll be quick,” she promises. “We’ll meet down in the common area, all right?”
“Yeah,” I tell her quietly.
Then Toby grips my elbow, and he’s leaning down toward me with a little grimace, adjusting his plaid bow tie. “Okay, you’re definitely not dressed up enough for the theater,” he observes dramatically. Rod is about to protest—he’s wearing a t-shirt and jeans, after all—but Toby waves his hand, dismissing the opinion of his boyfriend, and all but drags me down the hallway, toward my bedroom.
“Now, I know there is something seriously wrong,” he insists, after he’s shut my bedroom door in his boyfriend’s face. “Sweetheart,” he calls to Rod, “just go downstairs and play Candy Crush on your phone for a minute! We need some time to ourselves!”
I hear Rod grumbling, but he, apparently, complies.
“Okay, spill,” Toby demands, turning back to me, his hands on his hips, his mouth drawn into a thin line.
“Toby…” I stare at him, shaking my head. “You wouldn’t believe me even if I told you.”
“Fine. You don’t have to tell your brother-in-arms anything you don’t want to.” He sniffs, as if his feelings are hurt, but then he holds up his hand. “However, I do remember your coming into our bedroom earlier and borrowing some of my clothes. So? Were you doing some sexy role-playing that required men's sweatpants?” He waggles his eyebrows, smirking, and I punch him in the arm—hard. But I guess it’s not as hard as normal, because his joking subsides, and Toby stares at me with an expression of quiet expectation.
“Look, I need to change.” I open my wardrobe, riffling through my summery dresses. But Toby catches my arm, spinning me back around a little more theatrically than necessary—but this is Toby, after all.
“I’ll just weasel it out of Iris if you don't tell me yourself.”
“Iris doesn’t know anything about this.”
His mouth falls open in shock. “Okay, now you have to tell me.”
But I shake my head stubbornly—until he gives me the puppy-dog face.
Sammie, sprawled on my bedroom floor, is also giving me a puppy-dog face, but that’s because Sammie is actually a dog and just has soulful eyes. And because I haven’t fed him his vitamin treats yet today. I drag the box of treats out of the back of my closet and pop open the top of the box. Sammie trots over, his big claws scraping on the floor, and he sits down patiently, his big tail sweeping back and forth.
The thing is, we're pretty open with each other in the Ceres. Few things remain secrets for long. So as I toss Sammie a few dog biscuits, I begin to tell Toby the story of last night—abridged.
And, because Toby has been to a few Burning Man festivals and genuinely insists he was Elvis Presley in a past life, he believes my story, no questions asked.
“Why did you let her go?” Toby moans, slumping down onto my bed with his arms flung above his head.
I’m digging through my closet now, intent on finding my favorite black maxi dress, but at his question, I freeze in place, gripping the closet doors with white-knuckled hands.
I know why I let her go.
I let her go because, like Cecile said, I was afraid.
I know that. I know that in my bones.
I was afraid of experiencing something wonderful.
I was afraid of love, because love hurts. And my feelings for Charaxus are too strong; they make me feel vulnerable, my heart exposed...
I start to cry. Not loudly. I try not to make a sound. I only curve forward, sink down to the floor.
“I was so stupid.” Quiet, quiet sobs rock my body; my heart feels as if it's been stabbed.
Toby leaps off of the bed and races across the room, wrapping his long, lanky arms around me, squeezing me with a profound gentleness that only makes me cry harder. “Oh, honey,” he murmurs, as I hiccup sobs against his shoulder. “You know you’re gonna find Charaxus again.” He sounds fully convinced.
“God, this is the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.”
Toby snorts at that, moving his hand in soothing circles over my back. “I'd like to point out that the stupidest thing you’ve ever done was try to walk that tightrope on Delaware after you got drunk at the Summer Solstice party last year.” I can hear the grin in his voice.
Sighing heavily, I lean away from him, smiling a little in spite of myself. Toby always knows how to make me smile. “Yeah, and I got halfway across,” I say defensively, but he’s already gesturing up to the ceiling.
“And if I hadn’t hooked that safety harness on you? They’d still be mopping you off of the pavement, young lady.” After a few moments of mock sternness, his expression softens. “So, yeah, this is not the stupidest thing you’ve ever done. Because this? This is fixable,” he tells me sagely.
I draw in a deep breath; my lungs ache.
Why do Cecile and Toby seem so certain that I’m going to see her again, and it’s so difficult for me to fathom it? I f
eel as if I’ve made an irreversible mistake. But maybe that’s it: I always believe that my mistakes are irreversible, that what I’ve done can’t ever be repaired.
But the people who love me…they think I can fix anything.
I wish I had that kind of faith in myself.
Toby rises and offers a hand to me, helping me rise to my feet. “You’ve got this,” he promises, opening the bottom drawer of my dresser and dragging out the black maxi dress that I was searching for. “And voila.”
“How did you know—” I begin, but he holds up a hand.
“Because you always wear black to plays—and I borrowed this dress for my drag performance last weekend.” He shrugs his shoulders sheepishly. “Sorry, boo.”
I pretend to groan. “Just ask me next time, you jerk.” I move quickly into the bathroom, closing the door behind me. For sanity's sake, I need to stop thinking about Charaxus. I clear my throat, peel off my clothes, and toss them into a little pile. “Did you speak to Miyoko before she left?” I ask as I dive into the dress. God, we’re going to be so late if I don’t hurry. I can already hear Cecile’s voice in the common area; she’s ready to go, which means I’m the one holding us all up.
“So, here's the thing. We kind of have multiple crisises going on in the Ceres right now,” Toby begins conversationally. “Wait—would that be ‘crisises” or, like, ‘criseese'? What’s the plural of ‘crisis'?”
“Don't ask me. I’m an artist,” I smile, smoothing the dress over my hips.
“We’ll go with ‘crisises,’” he says flippantly.
I examine my hair in the mirror, and, judging it too messy to salvage, I attempt to pull it into a ponytail.
“Anyhoo,” says Toby from the other side of the door, “Miyoko's super nervous. Before she headed out this afternoon, she was blathering on about how Macbeth is the most infamous Shakespeare play, and everyone's worried that something awful is going to happen on opening night. Like, something tragic. Have you ever done any research about the curse of Macbeth? Because she was telling me all of the stuff that's gone awry during performances over the centuries, and, seriously, Mara, that’s some spooky shit.”
I sigh, forcing a bobby pin into my hair. “There’s no such thing as curses, Toby.”
“Ha! Says the woman in love with a chick from another planet,” he laughs. “I mean, how can you be so myopic?” he snorts.
I stare at my reflection, biting my lower lip.
Toby’s right. But…it’s hard to change your worldview in a day. I’ve always been the Scully to the rest of the world's Mulder. I would be the one on Scooby-Doo telling the gang that, no, a monster had nothing to do with the disturbance; it was just some idiot in a mask.
I just thought I knew how the universe operates. Up until yesterday, I'd been able to fit my experiences into neatly labeled boxes. But now… My boxes are overturned, and all of my hard-earned observations are blowing out the window.
And that’s impossibly strange.
I open the bathroom door, and Toby’s standing on the other side, his plaid-clad arms crossed over his chest, his brow raised triumphantly.
“You have the thinky face on,” he points out. “What are you thinking about?”
“I think we’re going to be late. And Miyoko really needs our support tonight. And there are no such things as curses.” I hold up my hand before he can protest. “But...if enough people get nervous, then there’s a possibility that something will go wrong. So we need to be there to support her. Let’s go.”
We all pile into my car (Sammie, too; there are all sorts of dogs getting their culture on at Shakespeare in the Park performances), and we head out onto the 190 toward Delaware Park. But as I drive along the water’s edge and glance out at Lake Erie, my heart rises up into my throat.
There, along the horizon, over the water, is a dark cloud bank that flickers with ominous lightning.
Shakespeare in Delaware Park has been going on for thirty years now, and I’ve been to many of their summer productions. The troupe has a pretty strict rain-out policy: if it starts raining, they wait a little while to see if the sky clears up, but if there's a downpour, they cancel that night’s performance.
The organization wants to do right by the actors—performing in the middle of a storm just isn’t safe—so I understand, but I also know that Miyoko, along with the rest of the company, will be sorely disappointed if the first performance of Macbeth gets rained out.
I pull into an open parking space along Lincoln Parkway, and we all tumble out of my Beetle, stretching and then unloading the trunk. The stage is set up along the lake in Delaware Park, and it gets chilly at night, so we grab some blankets, pillows, and the lovely dinner picnic that Cecile packed earlier this afternoon. Rod and Cecile carry the picnic basket between them, and Toby and I struggle with the heaps of blankets and pillows. With Sammie’s leash looped around my wrist, I follow my friends toward the hill.
It’s imperative to arrive early on an opening night, because the people of Buffalo love these performances. The plays are free, after all, so a lot of cash-strapped students come, along with families and couples.
As we crest over the lip of the hill, we all, as a group, sigh.
It's five minutes until showtime…and the entire hill is full with spectators. We’re going to have to spread our blankets along the treeline to the left, or out in no-man’s land on the right, where we might (might, might) catch a glimpse of a performer...occasionally.
“This is crap,” sighs Toby, voicing what we’re all probably thinking.
“But it can’t be helped,” Cecile says brightly. “Let’s just pick a spot, kids, get set up. I don’t think Emily and Iris are here yet—”
“Hey, guys!” someone screams at the top of her lungs.
And there, right in front of center stage, is Emily. And she’s lying spread-eagled on the grass, covering as much of the lawn as she physically can.
Cecile laughs, and we make our way down the hill, dropping our blankets around Emily, who grins at us cheekily before getting up.
It’ll be a tight squeeze, but we’ve got the best seats on the lawn.
“You saved the day, darling,” says Cecile, brushing a kiss upon Emily’s cheek as Em flutters her eyelashes and deepens her grin.
“Hey, I went back to check on Miyoko, like, an hour ago. She’s got a bad case of the nerves. Somebody else needs to see her before the performance starts and, like, give her a really tight hug...or maybe some weed.”
Cecile gazes at Emily with raised eyebrows, and Emily shrugs, grinning.
“Hey, it’d relax her.”
“Yes, but she needs all of her wits about her.” Cecile purses her lips, and then she glances at me. “Mara, would you do the honors while we set up the picnic? Go tell her we’re all wishing her luck.” Cecile takes Sammie’s leash from my hand and points down to the blanket; Sammie curls up companionably between Toby and Rod, who were about to make out. Rod laughs, tousling Sammie’s ears, and then he feeds my dog a cracker, which Sammie munches on happily.
“Yeah, sure,” I say, wandering back toward the trailer where all of the actors are currently waiting for the show to begin. I knock on the door, and an intern comes running at me, waving her arms, prepared to tell me that I'm not allowed back here, but Miyoko opens the door and pulls me up the last few steps, right into the trailer.
“Oh, my God,” she whispers to me, her eyes wide, her lower lip quivering. “Mara, I have such a bad feeling!”
I look past Miyoko’s shoulder to take in the rest of the inhabitants of the trailer. Miyoko has been in several productions with different theater companies here in Buffalo, and I’ve visited her backstage at most of them. And backstage, right before a performance, there’s this atmosphere that you come to expect. The actors are high on adrenaline, and they go through their pre-show rituals—warming up, doing stretches, dancing and singing together; some crack jokes. There's always an air of joyous expectation, despite the nervous energy pumping
through the performers' systems.
But here, tonight, it feels...different. Oh, the nervous energy is present, all right, but the actors are sitting in silent, tight-knit groups, or leaning alone against the walls, brooding.
No one, absolutely no one, is talking. And, to be honest, being surrounded by a bunch of normally extroverted, effervescent actors who have fallen as silent as the grave is a little unnerving.
“What’s the matter?” I ask Miyoko, but she shakes her head, puts her finger in front of her lips, and then she pushes me back out the door, following at my heels, though she has to go sideways to get down the steps in her hoop skirt. She shuts the door behind her, and then she glances up at the full hill anxiously.
“Big crowd?” she asks, folding her arms in front of herself.
I nod, mystified. “Why is everyone acting like they’re at a funeral in there?” I gesture back toward the trailer. “Did something happen?”
“No! It's because of the curse,” she whispers, her eyes as round as saucers. And because Miyoko is a really, really good actor, her pronunciation of the word curse sends a chill up my spine.
“There wasn’t supposed to be rain tonight,” she goes on, her chin quivering, “and there’s still no report from any station that there’s going to be a storm—but did you see what’s brewing over the lake?”
“It’s summer. Storms just...happen in the summer,” I tell her in my most soothing tone, but she shakes her head so adamantly that some strands escape her perfect coiffure.
“We all feel it, Mara. Something really bad is about to go down.”
She speaks with so much conviction that I can't help but wonder if she might be right. Stranger things have happened, after all...
Don't think about Charaxus.
I cross my arms over my chest, clear my throat.
“Mara, I'm scared.”
“Listen, it’s going to be fine.” I gather Miyoko into a tight embrace, and she rests her chin on my shoulder for several moments, hugging me back.
A Dark and Stormy Knight Page 17
