as they dance in the street. I study the couple closest to me as they dance in tandem and smile at the other as if they’re sharing a secret. And as I observe their wordless connection, all I feel is envy because I had that with both of them.
I had that.
And my secrets I’m forever obligated to keep. I’ll never be able to share them. But I’ll keep them because no one could truly understand their gravity or grasp their truth fully. The story itself would sound like some unrealistic, twisty, sexually provocative fairy-tale with a bad ending or worse, no ending at all.
When I got here, I wanted to suspend my strict morals and loosen my chastity, to thrive amongst some chaos.
I got my wish.
I should be grateful.
But I’m not, so I mourn.
And I can’t do it here.
One foot in front of the other, I push through the crowd to get away, away from all of the smiles, and the laughing and the content people who have no idea of the battle I’m fighting not to scream at them to wake the fuck up.
Which would make me just another quack. The irony not lost on me. But if they only knew how much these men are risking daily, maybe they’d listen. Perhaps they’d band with them, join their cause.
Or maybe they’re the intelligent ones, aware of the tyranny but have purposely chosen to ignore it. It wasn’t long ago I was blissfully unaware.
The battle of good and evil isn’t news. In fact, it’s broadcast in plain sight every day. But at this point, even the news is unreliable, often projected in a way that requires deciphering fact from agenda-related fiction. But we choose to acknowledge what we want, and these people seem to have chosen wisely. Maybe my answer isn’t to get away, but become one of them, to blend in and play ignorant to all that’s wrong in this fucked-up world so I can breathe a little easier, so one day, I can mindlessly smile again. But as time passes, it’s becoming more and more apparent that that’s wishful thinking, because I can’t go back.
The men in my life pried my eyes open, made me aware of the war they’ve declared. And I know now if I were faced with the choice, I would scream my decision-all in. Forever in.
On the edge of the crowd near an alley between buildings, my attention gets diverted to the band whose lead singer greets us, some ear-piercing feedback coming out of the mic before he apologizes. “And now that we have your attention,” he chuckles as the sound clears before he cues the drummer, “let’s start this off right.” As the music starts to play and the ring of guitar and bass kicks in, I blot my face and nose into the arm of my thin sweater.
I’m an emotional mess in the fucking street at the apple festival.
I can’t do this. Not yet.
The lead starts to belt out some upbeat lyrics and I absorb them out of habit as he sings of being lost, falling on hard times, and encourages us to keep on smiling. I can’t help my ironic laugh as another warm tear slides down my face, and I wipe it away with my sleeve.
Yeah, I’m out.
One day.
Turning in the direction I parked, I’m captured by a hand on my hip. I dart my gaze behind me just as the scent of cedar and nicotine surrounds me. A shocked exhale bursts out of me, and I use it to my advantage and take a huge inhale, melting into his chest just as warm breath hits my ear. “Good one.”
His hand slides down to grip the wrist dangling at my side, and in the next second, I’m turned and standing chest to chest with Sean.
“Hey, Pup.”
Fresh tears fill my eyes as I gape at him, his sparkling eyes dimming when he reads my expression.
“What are you—”
Before I can get my question out, he snakes his arm around my waist and clasps his free hand with mine before leading us to the edge of the crowd.
“What in the hell are you doing?” I whisper shout. He wedges his knee between mine and dips low, one bounce, two. I stand limp in his arms as he squeezes our clasped hands.
“Come on, Pup,” he pleas as we start to gather attention. He rocks us in perfect time, dipping and swaying, urging me to do the same. “Come on, baby,” he prompts, his smile