November 2014
Mary Duncan searched the crowd at the Louisiana Renaissance Festival for her husband.
He’d told her coming to Hammond would be fun.
Big fun, he’d said. So far, she’d ruined her new sneakers in a huge mud puddle, been briefly trapped in a horrendous Port-O-Let, and accosted by a court jester juggling flaming sticks.
She’d seen enough feathered hats, jingling scarves, and Irish wolfhounds for one day.
This was not her idea of fun. It was time to go home.
A large crowd filed through the sloppy makeshift street toward the back of the expansive property.
Mary joined them, opening the pamphlet in her hand.
The joust started in ten minutes. Of course.
That’s where Harold would be. She fought her way through the bottleneck of people at the crystal tent, then came to a complete stop by the food court.
Turkey legs and odd selections of meat were being advertised from every booth. Gross.
Mary searched for a way around the crowd.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” a man beside her said. “There’s a way through just over here.”
She looked where he was pointing and saw a gap between the sides of the tents.
“Thank you,” Mary said, relieved.
“Follow me,” he said.
But when she followed him, she found herself on the outside of the festival.
He stopped and faced her. “Say cheese.”
He took her picture with a Polaroid camera. “What are you doing?”
He leaned in like he was going to tell her a secret, and that’s when she felt something sting the side of her neck. She yelped and rubbed the spot. A wasp sting was exactly what she didn’t need right now. Her head swam; her legs started to shake.
“Here, let me help you.”
Mary leaned into his shoulder. Her vision blurred. And right before she passed out, she managed to say, “Thank you, Officer.”