by Allison Moon
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?”
“Oh really?” he said, drawing out the syllables of the word in playful mockery. “Then let’s get you started on learning a little about our own culture here.” Otter opened his hand, presenting a small pile of shriveled, brown . . . somethings. Archer raised an eyebrow. Otter grinned. “Once in a blue moon, then?” he asked with a wink.
Lexie took a guess at what was going on. “I’ve never . . .”
“It’s only Mother Nature,” Otter said as he held his open palm in front of her. “Dionysus wasn’t only the god of wine but the god of mushrooms, you know. Festivals like this one are all about celebrating the mind and the body together. The rhythms of nature are the rhythms of the self. To feel it all happen, you have to . . .” he made whoosh sound with his breath while using his hands to imitate a door opening from the center of his belly, “open up, you know?”
Lexie wasn’t quite sure opening up was what she wanted; it carried with it a near certainty that all that had been shaken up inside her over that past few days would spill out.
“It’s completely up to you. I’ll be right here, no matter what,” Archer said. The squeeze she gave Lexie’s hand bolstered her ego, inspired her curiosity, and offered a risk to be taken. The warmth of Archer’s body and the ebullience of Otter’s smile, Lexie couldn’t help but grin with a small wisdom. It was as though she were looking back upon her young self from a distance of a lifetime. This was a moment of choice that would inform all those that followed it in small yet cumulative ways. She considered her promise to herself, and with the furrowed brow of a concentrating toddler, Lexie grasped two of the fungi and tossed them into her mouth. As she chewed the meat of the mushrooms, she tasted earth,
cool and moist. The taste was deep green, healthy and fecund, like river mud.
“What will this do?” Lexie asked.
Archer stroked the loose auburn spirals that curled behind Lexie’s ear. “It will change the way your senses talk to you, that’s all. Just be open-minded and let them play. Don’t worry. Mama Moon is in control now, and I’ve got your back.” Her fingernail scratched along Lexie’s scalp, sending bright tingles skittering up her spine. Archer reached forward and snapped two caps off the mushrooms and tossed them in her mouth, closing her eyes as if saying a silent prayer as she chewed.
“Blessed be, you beautiful critters,” Otter said with a wide, kind smile before he skipped away to the drum circle.
“Lexie,” Archer said, pulling Lexie to her feet, “I think I’d like to dance.” Before Lexie could protest or agree, Archer led her to the dance floor.
The girl with the flaming poi had taken off her shirt, and the luminous balls gilded her bare breasts in bright bursts of orange light. The dancer bent backwards, chasing the flames across her chest. A lithe young man joined her, spinning a staff lit on both ends. He moved with the precision of a martial artist, wielding the staff like both a weapon and a dance partner. The two fire dancers were rapt with their own energy, yet somehow moved in synchronicity.
On the muddy dance floor, some of the dancers were spastic, flailing like they were trying to dislodge their limbs from their torsos. Others indulged in sensuality, running their hands over their bodies as they swayed. Lexie thought she recognized the song playing, but in a few beats it shifted to something new and her disorientation grew. The moment Archer found them a spot on the dance floor, the beat dropped to a slower groove that Lexie wasn’t sure how to dance to. She wiggled her hips and shuffled from foot to foot, glancing around at the others, hoping to take a cue. To her right, a pair of hairy, beefy men kissed fervently, their beards rubbing together like Velcro repeatedly affixed and dislodged. The hula-hoop girl gave herself over to the music, tracing slow undulating circles with her hips such that the act of hooping became more a dance of seduction than a playground game.
Archer pulled Lexie close, pressing their hips together and guiding Lexie’s hands around her shoulders. They rocked back and forth. Lexie gave control over to Archer. She closed her eyes, and lightning bolts of purple traced across the blackness behind her eyelids.
She opened her eyes to see the same purple trace against the black sky. The stars glowed like Christmas lights in fog. As she blinked they reached out to one another, resembling nerve cells, drawing a glowing, intricate network across the sky.
Archer pressed her hand against Lexie’s back, pulling their bodies so close that they had no choice but to move to the music as one. Archer’s hot breath caressed against Lexie’s neck. Jagged bolts of longing ran up and down her center, and every point at which her body met Archer’s burned like hot coals. She pulled away, too warm, and desperate to catch her breath and calm her mind. Archer’s amber and blue eyes bored into Lexie’s mind. Lexie swallowed, wanting to stagger back to where she had been sitting, where she had last felt safe and certain about so many things. The distance they covered, while only a few yards, now felt like a universe of experience, and Lexie no longer knew what she wanted or expected. Archer licked her lips and Lexie knew. She knew what she wanted, she just didn’t have the language for it yet. She yanked her outer shirt above her head. Beneath she wore only a white tank-top.
Archer tracked her movements and pulled her close again, pressing her nose into the crook of Lexie’s neck. Archer inhaled, pulling the cool air in rivulets across Lexie’s skin. The foggy damp of the night wrapped itself around them like a third dance partner. Lexie’s skin dewed with sweat.
Archer whispered into her ear, her breath puffing against the tiny hairs at her temple. “You look delicious.” She traced Lexie’s jaw with her fingertips and pulled her into a kiss. Lexie moaned as anticipation dashed into satisfaction. Her body grew hot, and her skin tingled with the promise of touch. Joy rippled up Lexie’s spine, bursting into colors in front of her closed eyes. Archer’s breath tasted like lilacs. Yellow and lavender circled their heads. A cocoon of electric warmth enveloped them, and lust sizzled from Lexie’s fingertips as they dug into Archer’s powerful shoulders. Lexie relaxed, lips parted, desperate for Archer’s lips.
It was then that Lexie’s stomach recoiled. She fell back, catching her weight on her ankle. She slammed her hand over her mouth to prevent losing the contents of her stomach, looking up to see Archer peering down at her. In place of the striking, golden face Lexie was just beginning to memorize, thick shadows of grey slid down the long contours of Archer’s skin. Panicked, Lexie’s gaze swung out to the crowd. It didn’t help. The dancers faces and bodies twisted through forms of bestial transition. Like a living nightmare, Lexie couldn’t recognize a single face nor suss out the layers of reality from her hallucination. Creatures stood in place of people, faces of fur not flesh.
Archer’s muzzle moved out of sync with the words she spoke, “Lexie? Are you okay?”
Her fangs glinted in the bright blue moonlight. Lexie staggered back another step, her heart pounding and her balance off. As she fell back in slow motion, Archer’s hand caught her wrist and pulled her upright. Lexie looked to her arm and saw a furry paw wrapped around it. Another jolt of pain rocked through her body. Lexie jerked her arm free, turned on her heels, and ran. Her balance remained true, but the horizon lied. The trees were closer than the people, the music’s beat was her heartbeat, or maybe the other way around. The lights molded the air, directing the breeze like heavy traffic. She needed distance and solitude. Her feet traced arcs in her peripheral vision. The damp ground gave beneath each footfall. Her breath thrummed in her ears, overpowering the still, steady beat of the music. The tree line was near; the forest would hide her until her wits returned.
Her throat seized the cold air and struggled to warm it. She coughed, harshness clawing up her throat.
The trees. The trees would care for her. She ran. Behind the first trunk, the earth softened. Muddy grass gave way to a plush carpet of pine needles. She staggered to a stop and fell to her hands and knees. A thorn lodged itself into her palm. She yanking it out, a tiny ruby of blood welled up to fill the void. The bass no longer overwhelmed, rather it was the subtle heartbeat of the forest, a strong steady rhythm that overpowered the speakers with its stoicism.
Lexie breathed deeply for what seemed like the first time since Archer’s lips pressed against hers. She coughed again. Her throat burned, desperate for salve. She clutched her abdomen as the coughing worsened, each resonating on the former, exacerbating the pain in her throat. Her stomach threatened to expunge its contents. Water. Her brain screamed and her throat burned. Water. Like struggling to the surface while drowning, she begged for breath with all of her life. She would find breath if she found water. Lexie lifted her head and saw moonlight reflecting off a puddle a few inches from her head. The reflection of the full moon shot bolts of blue splendor into Lexie’s heart. She loved this water, the soil it fed from, the pine needles cushioning her palms.
She crawled to the puddle and put her mouth to the surface. Water caressed her lips, clean and cool. She drank. Streams of silver danced into the air around her forehead, feeding her soul. The water tasted like pine and sage, autumnal and fresh. Her throat calmed, and her cough subsided. She felt nourished and at peace. The overbright colors ebbed to muted beauty, and Lexie’s senses regained equilibrium. She rolled onto her back and greeted the stars peeking at her through the tall pines. Thin lengths of shiny spider silk spanned between them, brightening and dimming, mirroring her own neurons. She puffed a breath into the night and marveled at the swirl of colors as she exhaled: pink and blue smoke drifting into the night sky.
The river rumbled. Here, at the southern end of town, it was strong. Her mind wandered, tracing the lineage of this forest. She considered the Yacquina tribespeople, about whom her mother had once told her, settling near th
is spot on the shores of the river connecting Lexie’s new home to her old one. Their language and lineage now extinct, her own people would someday join them. Lexie pushed her fingers into the soil, feeling the earthworms in their blind passages sending tiny vibrations of greeting to her fingertips. The full, fecund moon peered through the branches, casting aubergine patterns of leaves on the pine needle carpet and shining a bold, silver light on her face. A sense of profound gratitude swelled tears in her eyes. She thanked the moon for allowing her to look directly at it and soak in its luminescence, safe from the callous brightness of the sun. She thanked it for draping the ominous forest with sterling richness and shedding light in unfamiliar places. She thanked it for connecting her body to it in the passage of time, for the tides that brought the mussels she harvested with her father as a child on the shores nearby. Her heart poured forth like the river rushing by her, sending thanks to the moon for her very existence. She wanted to give it her self, her voice, her breath. She wanted to warm it in her arms and tell it how beautiful it was in every language on Earth. She wanted to orbit it herself, to prove her devotion. The moon rays penetrated her skin, trickling over her like balm, finding tiny recesses of pain she had long forgotten about. She felt renewed. Reborn, even.
Lexie opened her arms and her heart as far as they could go. The center of her forehead throbbed with warm intensity. She inhaled deeply, taking the moonbeams deep into her lungs, her diaphragm, her abdomen, her uterus, her root. Their glimmer stayed inside as she exhaled, all the trauma, the pain, the rage of her life until this moment. She scanned her body with her mind’s eye, filling the nooks with rivulets of silver magic where there once had been was rough, hidden harshness. She’d been remade, new and bright. Embedded in her body was the moon.
“Lexie!” A shout from the edge of the trees. It was Archer. She dropped to her knees and cradled Lexie’s head in her lap. “Are you okay?”
Lexie couldn’t speak. She had been speaking to the moon without words for what seemed like hours, now words seemed too far from reality to utter. Archer’s knee sank into the puddle next to Lexie’s head, and she stilled. She sniffed twice. She shook her hair back, as if she was listening to the breeze. Her chin rose, tracking something beyond Lexie’s body. Her fingers skimmed the puddle, discerning its shape. Large and heavy, the imprint of toes and claws. A wolf.