“What do you think?” said Chris, his eyes bright with excitement. “We’ve got so much planned in this space this weekend. Weird science fair, a couple of science talks, a Pan-Galactic Gargle Blaster happy hour, we’ve even got a futuristic medicine show.”
“It’s really cool.” I circled it, enjoying the chance to stretch my legs and admiring the glow-paint symbols even if I didn’t understand most of them. It was bigger than some apartments I’d crashed in, in recent memory.
“You need to check it out tonight when it’s done. It’s going to look amazing.” Another voice came from my elbow. I turned to see a willowy woman about my age, with short, rumpled auburn hair and a very angular face and cute-nerdy glasses framing friendly light gray eyes. She reminded me of a gentle woodland creature, with her radiant smile and lanky grace.
“I sure will,” I said. “Hi, I’m Mari.”
She shook my hand, but glanced at our handshake with amusement. Dammit. I wasn’t used to this hugging thing yet. “I’m Vivi,” she said. “Welcome home!”
“Vivi’s a new member of our camp this year.” Dove slipped an arm around her. “We’re lucky to have her.”
Vivi shrugged. “I’m not a genius like these guys, but I’m tech-adjacent so they let me scooch in anyway. Is this your first burn?”
“Second, but my first time at this one. How about you?”
“I’ve been to a handful, but I’m still new to the burner scene. Next up is the pilgrimage to Black Rock in August and then I’ll feel official.” She turned to Chris and Dove. “I’ve been working on setup for a few hours now, so I’m going to go hit the pond for a break. That okay?”
“Go, have fun,” said Chris.
She turned that warm gaze on me again. “You should drag these guys down there after you get settled. See you there?”
“Maybe, sure.” I was startled that anyone would care about me joining them to hang out.
I was invited to camp near Science Faction, which I recognized as different from being part of their camp. I thanked Dove and Chris-- yet again--for all their kindness, but I wanted to put myself a little farther away from the center of the action so that I could sleep better. I promised to come back when I was set up and see if they needed any help.
The campsite was vast. It was, according to the web page, an event of about two thousand people. The site was organized loosely in a grid, with “streets” roped off and marked with actual street signs with names--not just whimsical, but practical. The whole place pulsed with activity, every available square foot swarming with people setting up camp. I walked along with my pack, noting things as I passed them, like porta-potties and showers and a free-standing spigot with running water. The pond Vivi was heading toward, where people could swim, was somewhere toward the front of camp. Swimming sounded heavenly, if the current temperature was any indication of what I could expect this weekend.
I staked out a spot a few blocks back from Science Faction, where there were scattered groupings of trees with fairy circles of tents mushrooming around them. Since my tent was so small, I was able to squeeze into a shady spot between two large gnarled tree roots. To my right, in a similarly small patch of shady ground, a free-standing hammock had been put up and currently cradled a guy in baggy shorts and an open shirt with a straw fedora over his face. Just beyond him was a cluster of smallish tents circled around a large makeshift shade area constructed of assorted tarps and poles.
Partway through putting up my tent, I heard someone say, “Need any help?” I looked around but saw no source for the voice, until the guy in the hammock tilted up the brim of his hat.
“Oh,” I said. “Thanks, I’m okay. This thing goes up real quick.”
“Good. Didn’t really feel like getting up.” He grinned at me. His accent was a combination of Latino and big-city. He looked older than me, with some gray threads in his shaggy dark hair and a weathered face.
“How about you guys?” I asked after a couple more minutes, gesturing to what I assumed was his camp.
“It’s good. Not too much left.” He yawned and stretched.
“Good, ‘cause I’m ready for a nap too.”
He laughed and slung his legs out of the hammock. “Still, I better finish up.”
I caught sight of him again a few minutes later, leaving his camp. “Hey,” I called. “That offer still stand?”
He stopped and looked back at me and then in the direction he’d been heading. “What do you need?”
“I’m sorry to bother you. I’m just struggling with this pole and more hands might help.” God, I hated feeling like I couldn’t take care of myself.
He came right over, though. “Yeah, sure, no problem.” Together we tried to fit the ends of the pole into the pegs, but the tension was off. He inspected it. “Here’s the trouble. This piece, it’s cracked. The string’s coming through.”
I joined him. He was right-- the plastic of the pole segment had started to split. Well, that was just fucking great. Like I could afford to replace it. “Shit.”
“Hey, no worries,” he said. “I got tape, we can fix it at least good enough for the weekend.”
“Thanks.” I watched him amble off to his camp. I didn’t need to tell him that it wasn’t this weekend that was the problem. I tried to shake off that familiar dread that rose up anytime something I owned started to give up the ghost, and worked on just being grateful for his help.
He returned with a heavy roll of duct tape--the good stuff--and I held the pole segment intact while he taped it several rounds over with the skill of a field medic triaging a broken bone. “There we go. That’s good for a few days at least.”
“You’re the best,” I said. “Oh, I’m Mari, by the way.”
He didn’t try to hug me, which was oddly refreshing. “Teo,” he said. “Glad to help. Let’s get you done here, huh?”
With his help--and the rubber mallet he fetched to embed the tent spikes in the tight-packed earth--we got my tent finished in a couple of minutes. “I wish I had some booze or goodies to offer you,” I said, “but my rations are a little thin. Let me know if I can help with anything in your camp, though?”
“Sure,” he said. He seemed distracted all of a sudden. “See you around.” He took off, wherever he’d been heading before, leaving the tape and mallet behind. It seemed like he was in a hurry, and I felt bad for keeping him. I picked them up and brought them over to his camp, leaving them in a lounge chair beside a black metal fire pit with a dented cover.
When I’d unrolled my bedding and arranged my bed and unpacked my food and a few other necessities into a corner, I half-dragged myself back to Science Faction. It was the last thing I felt like doing, but I owed Dove and Chris big-time.
I spent maybe an hour there hauling some bins, staking a few tents, and raising a shade structure. At that point, everyone decided that the main stuff left to do was sorting and organizing things and putting up personal tents, so I was cut loose.
It was time to hit the shower. Back in my tent, I sat on my bed and unlaced and yanked off my battered army surplus boots. They were, not to put too fine a point on it, rank. All my clothes were disgusting, though. I peeled everything off, wrapped a towel around my torso, and set off barefoot with a plastic grocery bag of toiletries in hand.
The grass and dirt under my aching feet felt so good, like a massage. Even the little rocks and sticks felt nice. The late afternoon sun, now past the hottest part of the day, was deliciously warm on my bare shoulders. No one paid any mind to my barely-clad state, since Morph like most burner events is clothing-optional and many people were foregoing the option. It was a little weird, but I liked it. Being on the streets and squatting as I’d been, remaining clothed was a matter of safety, and the only privacy I often had. I liked the fact that here, a person could walk around partly or mostly nude and not only would they not be harassed, but for the most part no
one would even pay attention to it.
The showers were just a row of shower heads attached to the outside of a barn on a low concrete platform, encircled by a wooden fence. I thought Dove had mentioned that there were indoor, gender-segregated showers elsewhere on the property, but I didn’t care enough to go looking for them. There were a couple of unclaimed showers, a couple of guys washing under other ones, and at the far end a cluster of giddy naked people squirting each other with water guns and having a shower party to get cool. Beside me, one of the guys started singing a tuneless but happy little ditty about the joys of a clean taint.
The water was shockingly cold at first, but I braced myself, and eventually got just enough warm water to raise the temperature to merely cool. From the first splash, I started to feel like I was being brought back to life. I luxuriated in it, scrubbing twice from head to toe with my wash rag and my trusty bottle of Dr. Bronner’s peppermint soap (useful for washing just about anything). I hated to get out, but even the shower party was breaking up to allow others in.
Back in my tent, I dressed and spent a long time combing out the snarls in my hair. By then, I was yawning and almost nodding off sitting up, so I tossed my comb aside and stretched out on top of my sleeping bag and blinked out like a blown fuse. For the first time since I’d left New Orleans, I felt safe.
CHAPTER FIVE
It was dark when I woke up. For a while--who knows how long--I lay there drifting in and out of a doze, aware of music in the distance, stretching and snuggling down into my bed like a cat kneading a blanket. My head was empty and I felt so peaceful that I just wanted to float in this contented warm sleepy state forever.
At the same time, I didn’t want to waste the whole night when I could sleep late in the morning. I pushed the button on my watch to illuminate the face and squinted at the time. It was only about ten-thirty. The party side of the festival would just be hitting its stride. I made myself get up.
Traveling light has many advantages, but this was one of the times I wished I had a little more than the bare minimum of clothes. I didn’t have much of anything colorful or festive or even that showed much sense of style. The best I could do was a clean pair of faded jeans into which I’d sewn pieces of thrift-store brocade curtain to create bell bottoms, and a plain white tee with the neckband cut out into a deep V. I had a long multicolored scarf wadded in the bottom of my bag that was thin enough to thread through my belt loops, and I wove my hair into two high braids that I looped into fat knots on top of my head. In my toiletry bag, I had a black eyeshadow and a burgundy lip gloss, both on their last legs, both of which I applied without a mirror. A pair of worn canvas sneakers--my only shoes besides the stinky boots--and I was as ready as I was going to get.
I picked my way out to the nearest path and headed toward the music and lights at the center of the campsite. Overhead, the balloon arc was now illuminated, each balloon carrying a tiny white LED light that twinkled across the night sky. The air was cool but not cold, with voluptuous breezes. A nearly-full moon was rising over the trees. I realized I was smiling fit to split my face with this sheer sensory pleasure, with the feeling of freedom and peace and the little thrill of anything-could-happen.
Not everyone was out partying. A few people were still putting up tents in the darkness. Other camps had fires going, with people clustered around in chairs talking and laughing. A drum circle boomed beside me, the sounds receding as I walked on. There was a hookah lounge in a big tent, with hanging lanterns and filmy curtains and lots of rugs, with people sprawled or cuddled up all over. Another was a tea house, with little tables and inflatable furniture and furry throw rugs, where people wrapped their hands around fat mugs and talked intensely. I passed a pub, an enclosed yet temporary building that, from a glimpse through the doors, had a whole bar, tables and benches, and even an electric fireplace running on a generator.
I kept going, to the actual center of the site, where there were dance floors and DJs and lots of people, burn barrels made from oil drums with elaborate cutouts, string lights and disco lights and lanterns, noise and rowdy laughter and loud music. It was like a post-apocalyptic carnival, surreal and wild and a little overwhelming. Girls walked by with blinking LED-lit ponytail falls. Glow bracelets seemed to float on raised arms in the darkness. A naked woman wearing a robot helmet danced in the middle of the road with someone in a giant plush minotaur costume, to no particular music. A shirtless man expertly spun a rope with flaming darts at either end. A vinyl-clad woman demonstrated an antique violet wand, zapping a tattooed girl in a feathered bikini, who yelped with delight with each purple-sparked static shock. A guy in full Victorian regalia slowly piloted a penny-farthing bike with a giant front wheel and a rear-mounted canister that farted fireballs at regular intervals. A body-painted dancer undulated while contact-juggling two glowing spheres.
This was what I wanted, this crush of humanity at its strangest, this anonymity. I wasn’t ready to visit the quieter camps, or to spend social time at Science Faction; I was feeling unusually shy and I didn’t want to talk to anyone yet. I just wanted to be enveloped in this intense pulsing energy and to let my senses overload and to lose myself for a while.
Before the accident, I used to say things all the time like “I really need to go out dancing”, but of course I never really got around to it, because what I wanted wasn’t available at trendy nightclubs full of after-hours douchebros cutting loose. I got close a few times to it in atmospheres like Morph; it was like I sensed this whole other level of civilization under the surface of civilization, even caught glimpses, but whose secret doors I could never find.
Somehow, in the dark days after my recovery, I found myself at last stepping sideways into the realm of the glorious freaks, the outcasts, the mad geniuses, the playful artists. Like I’d gone through the mirror, everything about my “normal” life got left further behind the deeper I went into this new world. Before the accident, being an adult felt like a slow suffocation, a punishment that just got more severe as each year slipped by. It wasn’t until my old life was destroyed that I was able to discover that life could be anything else. There were plenty of people who knew that secret without almost dying, but for me, it was a revelation. It made the struggle and the scary parts worth it.
I made my way to an open wooden structure made to look like the skeletal prow of a sunken ship, hung with ragged scarves and curly seaweed, full of black lights and fog with other lights lending a ripply water effect. The music here was trancelike and seductive. It was just what I needed. Shadowy bodies moved alongside me in veils of fog rolling out from a machine and music penetrated my veins, pulsing with the tide of life within me. I moved, I closed my eyes, I sweated, I stretched my arms to the skies and flung my head back. I felt like the rhythm of this place was in me now, like I’d tapped into the source of the energy here. I felt more at home, more connected.
It was time to explore; there was so much to see. Everywhere, there were people dancing or spinning things that glowed or burned, or hula-hooping, or showing off circus arts. I found the pond, which was full of people dancing in the water, complete with their own DJ. I passed a colorful medicine show wagon with one of the wide sides lowered to create a stage, and a troupe of people were performing what appeared to be a bawdy puppet sex show. In the big open field, there were several huge wooden art installations that would be burned over the course of the weekend. Costumed people bounced on a trampoline in one camp. There was an “art playground”, with giant swings and slides and a ball pit and a fort, people swarming it and whooping like kids.
At a camp called Bar Nothing, which appeared to be a mashup of 1940’s Hollywood glam and spaghetti westerns, a foul-mouthed bartender was slinging drinks and verbal abuse. Free, of course, because nothing here was for sale, not even alcohol. Or abuse. The sign taped to the bar said, “Drinks served at the bartender’s pleasure. Warning: He is rarely pleased.”
“What the fuck do you
want?” he roared at me as I approached.
“Something with rum?” I said, a little timid even though I knew it was an act. “Surprise me.”
“Oh sure, she wants me to think. You’re taking your life in your hands, lady. I suppose you want a cup too?” He glared me over, noting my empty hands.
Oh, right. In order to minimize waste, people were supposed to carry their own dishes with them. Well, in fairness, I didn’t have any food or drink with me that required dishes. I gave a hopeful smile. “If you’ve got one? I would really appreciate it.”
He slapped a red Solo cup down on the bar. “Don’t fucking lose it. I’m not mixing the next one in your mouth.” He poured a bunch of things into a shaker, mixed it, scooped ice into the cup, and poured out the drink. “And don’t ask me to repeat it. I have no idea what I just did.”
I tasted it--strong enough to punch me in the mouth, yet delicious. “That’s a shame,” I said. “You’re a genius.”
“What fucking ever.” But he couldn’t entirely hide his grin.
I wandered away and discovered Captain Benji’s Junkyard Drive-In, a camp close to one of the drivable roads that was full of whimsically-decorated Burning Man art cars facing a huge projection screen. Apparently the cars were open for anyone to sit in or on. One of them was a pickup truck decorated in an ocean theme, where the truck bed in the back had been converted into an actual Jacuzzi, full of naked people. There was an old-fashioned style popcorn machine where you could scoop yourself out some popcorn. I filled a bag, feeling my stomach rumbling for the first time since my giant lunch.
There was a plush-covered van with a few people sprawled on the top. “Wanna come up?” one of them said to me, indicating the ladder up the back.
I thought of Charlie and felt a little sick. “No thanks,” I muttered and hurried toward the front of the cars, where there were scattered chairs set up.
Captain Benji’s specialized in schlock--bizarre cartoons, vintage shorts, midnight movies--judging by the schedule written on a sandwich whiteboard. I settled into a chair to watch as I enjoyed my popcorn and drink.
MetamorphosUS: Book 1 of the Mythfit Witch Mysteries Page 7