I knew him once

The day was hot but pleasantly dry, as are common in June. I had been invited to a festival out in the country, a spot miles away from the supermarkets and urban sprawls. I went because it was a nice excuse to spend time with my friend and flatmate, and also because I relished the opportunity to get away from the haze and the bustle of the city if only for a few hours. So I put on a bit of dark silk, too dark for the season I quickly learned, picked up an umbrella to serve as a parasol, and rode with my flatmate out through the hills and farms to the decorated fields far to the west.

The event was something else; a celebration of fairie folk and wood spirit types, though it was as much an excuse to dress up as it was a tradition. I set myself beneath the shade of large oak tree, watching the revelers pass by with smiles and chirps of laughter. The girls there were beautiful waifish things with sparkles over their eyes and gossamer wings strapped to their backs, or else they were voluptuous women with corsets and lovely long skirts. There were men dressed as the Green Man and just as many in suits and top hats, and they looked splendid carrying the little fairie women along on their arms.

After a time, I left my shadowy post to follow the sound of drums beating savagely in the heat. Below me at the bottom reach of a hill was a large circle of men and women, looking as much like barbarians and amazons as regular folk. They were beating out a long primal rhythm and dancing with their hands in the air, swaying around tubes and trunks and round carvings of wood covered with the skins of animals. It was quite a sight, and I found myself unable to resist the urge to sway and stomp my feet and the drums pounded out a tune neither contrived or planned, but simply free.

Before long the drummers took their leave of the open space and retreated toward the tree line to escape the sun. I took this opportunity to wander around the booths and stalls filled with glitter, bright stones and shiny bits of metal. There were a number of merchants selling rich foods and beverages, and I helped myself to a bit of sharp cheese and a frozen drink. My flatmate waved to me from across the booth of a vendor selling antique jewelry from the lands that once made up the Ottoman Empire, and I stepped over to greet her.

“Hey, I want you meet someone. This is my friend, his name is ...”

His name hung in the air like a feather on a string as he reached out a gloved hand and took mine, drawing it slowly to his lips to leave a gentle kiss. I felt suddenly flush, and smiled, inclining my head toward him.

“Excuse me?” A gentleman with thick gray hair and a large camera cut into our conversation. “Could I get a picture of the two of you? You look great, did you plan your costumes together?” Sure enough, I looked at my flatmate's friend and noticed that we seemed to match in color, cut and style; we were wearing outfits that were completely complimentary. I laughed a little and nodded, sidling up next to the young man and smiling as the older gent snapped a picture. I turned, and took a better measure of my friend's friend.

His hair was longer than his shoulders, and very dark, like the spent embers of a fire. His eyes were golden green, neither color alone but an overlaid combination of both, like the wing of some exotic bird. His skin was an uncommon shade of pale, pale brown, the kind of creamy tone that only occurs when a dozen or so ethnicities commingle. He was tall and hale with a glimmer in his smile that betrayed a clever mind, and by my reckoning, he was beautiful. He looked for all the world like the kind of man I could just fall for.

And surely, I did.

Only too quickly, for just as soon as I had made his acquaintance, he was gone. There I was, pretty fool, alone on a parched hill holding an umbrella in the sun.