Chapter 25 #2
“A what, Daniel?” My mother took a step closer, and despite being a foot shorter, somehow seemed to loom over him. “Choose your next words very carefully. I still remember your abysmal performance on your final paper about prejudice in ‘To Kill a Mockingbird.’”
A few onlookers tittered nervously.
“But Mrs. Bellweather, he’s not… he’s not human.”
“And that affects you how, exactly?” She raised an eyebrow in the expression that had terrified generations of students. “Is he taking your job? Dating your wife? Eating your children?”
Danny flushed an even deeper red. “N-no, but—”
“Then I suggest you focus on your own business and let others enjoy the festival in peace.” She glanced at his craft booth, which displayed wooden birdhouses of questionable quality.
“Though judging by your crooked joinery, you might want to focus more on your craftsmanship and less on policing who attends public events.”
A few outright laughs emerged from the gathered crowd. Danny’s shoulders slumped in defeat.
“Yes, Mrs. Bellweather,” he mumbled, the conditioned response of a chastened student.
“Good.” She nodded sharply. “And Daniel? The next time you feel the urge to publicly judge someone based solely on their appearance, I recommend you take a long look in a mirror first.”
With that parting shot, she turned and walked back towards us, my father trailing behind her with a mix of pride and amusement on his face.
“Mom,” I breathed as she rejoined our little group. “That was…”
“Necessary,” she finished for me, though her hands were shaking slightly. “Bullies never change their tactics, only their targets.”
Rion was staring at her with something like awe. “Thank you, Mrs. Bellweather. No one has ever…”
“Stood up for you like that?” she asked gently. “Well, get used to it. You’re family now.”
My throat tightened with emotion. In that moment, I loved my mother more fiercely than I could express.
My father clapped his hands together. “Well, I don’t know about the rest of you, but I could use something sweet after all that excitement. I heard the Wilson family’s apple fritters are exceptional this year.”
As we gathered our things, I noticed something strange happening throughout the crowd. The ripple effect from my mother’s confrontation seemed to be spreading, but not in the way I’d expected. Instead of increased tension, there was a subtle shift in the atmosphere—a relaxation, an opening.
And then I saw them.
Near the balloon animals booth, a woman with delicate, pointed ears was removing what must have been a prosthetic covering, revealing their true leaf-like shape.
By the face-painting station, a man with faintly green-tinged skin was rolling up his sleeves, exposing the moss-like pattern that extended up his arms. At the edge of the food area, an elderly couple with eyes that reflected light like a cat’s at night were openly holding hands.
“Rion,” I whispered, nudging him. “Look.”
He followed my gaze, his breath catching as he noticed what I had. “They’re showing themselves.”
“They must have been hiding in plain sight all along,” I realized. “Just like you were, before we met.”
All around us, subtle changes were taking place as non-human beings cautiously revealed small aspects of their true nature. Not dramatic transformations, but the quiet shedding of carefully maintained disguises—a pair of small horns here, slightly scaled skin there, eyes with unusual pupils.
“There are so many,” Rion murmured, his voice filled with wonder. “I had no idea.”
“None of us did,” my father said, watching the subtle revelations with interest. “Hiding in plain sight, as Clara said.”
A middle-aged man with a slight shimmer to his skin approached us hesitantly. “Excuse me,” he said to Rion. “I just wanted to say… Thank you. For having the courage to come as yourself. I’ve been hiding what I am for twenty years in this town.”
Rion seemed at a loss for words, so I squeezed his hand encouragingly.
“You’re welcome,” he finally managed. “Though I can’t take all the credit. It was Clara’s idea, and her parents’ support that made it possible.”
The man nodded to all of us. “Well, however it happened, it means a lot. To all of us.” He gestured vaguely to the others who had revealed themselves. “Maybe things can be different now.”
As he walked away, I felt a tug on Rion’s sleeve. Looking down, we found Jeremy had returned, this time with another small boy in tow.
“This is my friend Ethan,” Jeremy announced. “He didn’t believe me that you have real horns. Can he touch them too?”
Rion’s expression softened into a genuine smile. “Of course he can.”
As he crouched down again for the boys, I caught sight of Jeremy’s mother watching from a short distance away. She gave me a small, tentative smile, which I returned gratefully.
“Your boyfriend is very kind,” she said as she approached. “Most adults would have been annoyed by Jeremy’s questions.”
“Rion understands curiosity,” I told her. “He gets a lot of it.”
She nodded. “I can imagine. It’s… it’s good for the boys to learn that differences aren’t something to fear.” She hesitated. “Though I admit, I was surprised at first.”
“Most people are,” I acknowledged. “But he’s just a person, trying to live his life like anyone else.”
She considered this, then extended her hand. “I’m Laura, by the way. Laura Chen.”
“Clara Bellweather.” We shook hands. “And you’ve already met Rion.”
“Mom!” Jeremy called. “Rion says his horns grow like fingernails and he has to polish them! Isn’t that cool?”
“Very cool, honey,” Laura replied, her initial awkwardness giving way to something more genuine. “But I think we should let Rion enjoy the festival now.”
“Okay.” Jeremy looked up at Rion with undisguised admiration. “Will you be at the festival tomorrow too?”
Rion glanced at me, and I nodded encouragingly. “I think I might,” he told Jeremy. “Would you like to say hello if you see me?”
“Yeah!” both boys chorused.
After Laura led the children away, promising them a turn on the small Ferris wheel, Rion straightened and gave me a bemused look. “I appear to have fans.”
“Children recognize genuine kindness,” my mother said, rejoining us after having wandered a short distance to examine a display of handmade soaps. “They’re excellent judges of character.”
“And they haven’t yet learned to fear what’s different,” my father added. “That comes later, from adults.”
“Speaking of,” I said, nodding towards a group approaching us.
Three people were walking purposefully in our direction—a woman with the cat-like reflective eyes I’d noticed earlier, a tall man with what appeared to be small antlers partially concealed by his hair, and another woman whose fingertips seemed to emit a subtle glow when she gestured.
“Mr. Asterion?” The cat-eyed woman spoke first. “I’m Lydia Barnes. I own the bookshop on Maple Street.”
Rion nodded cautiously. “I know it. You have an excellent architecture section.”
She smiled, revealing slightly pointed canines. “Thank you. We… That is, some of us in the community wanted to introduce ourselves properly. Your presence today has been… significant.”
“The community?” I asked, though I already suspected the answer.
“Non-humans,” the man with the antlers clarified quietly. “We’ve maintained a low profile in town for generations. Some of us were born here, others moved here because it’s relatively accepting, as small towns go.”
“I had no idea there were so many of you,” my mother said, her academic interest clearly piqued. “How fascinating.”
The glowing woman laughed softly. “We’re everywhere, Mrs. Bellweather. Your impassioned defense earlier gave many of us the courage to be a little more visible today.”
“Oh.” My mother looked slightly embarrassed. “I was just doing what any decent person would do.”
“Nevertheless,” Lydia said, “it meant something to us. As does your willingness to be seen, Mr. Asterion.”
“Rion, please,” he said, shifting uncomfortably under the weight of their gratitude. “I’m not trying to be any kind of spokesperson or pioneer. I’m just… living my life.”
“Sometimes that’s revolutionary enough,” the antlered man replied with a knowing nod. “Especially for those of us who can’t pass as human, even temporarily.”
A silent understanding passed between them—the shared experience of being visibly “other” in a human-dominated world.
“We won’t take up more of your time,” Lydia said after a moment. “We just wanted you to know you’re not alone here. There’s a community, if you’re interested in connecting with it.”
“I… thank you,” Rion said, genuine emotion in his voice. “I would like that.”
They exchanged contact information before the three moved on, melting back into the festival crowd with the practiced ease of those accustomed to not drawing attention.
“Well,” my father said once they’d gone, “this day has certainly been educational.”
“That’s one word for it,” I agreed, still processing everything that had happened. “How are you doing?” I asked Rion, searching his face for signs of stress.
He considered the question seriously. “Overwhelmed,” he admitted. “But not in an entirely negative way. I never expected… any of this.”
“The confrontation or the community?”
“Either. Both.” He gestured vaguely at the festival around us, where non-human beings were cautiously interacting more openly than before.
“I’ve spent so long assuming isolation was the only safe option.
To find out there were others here all along, living hidden lives parallel to the human population… ”
“It changes things,” I suggested.
“It does.” He looked down at me, his dark eyes filled with emotion. “You were right, Clara. Hiding isn’t the answer. Not completely, anyway.”
My heart swelled. “Does that mean you’re ready to be seen with me in public on a regular basis? Even knowing there might be more Danny Pruitts out there?”
“As long as there are more Mrs. Bellweathers to put them in their place,” he said with a small smile.
My mother preened slightly at this. “Count on it.”
“And more children like Jeremy,” my father added. “The next generation often gets right what the current one gets wrong.”
Rion nodded. “It won’t be easy. One festival doesn’t change decades of prejudice. But…”
“But it’s a start,” I finished for him, taking his large hand in both of mine. “A good beginning.”
“A good beginning,” he echoed, and for the first time since we’d arrived, his posture was completely relaxed.
We spent the rest of the afternoon exploring the festival with decreasing self-consciousness. My parents drifted off occasionally to greet old friends or examine crafts that caught their interest, always returning to our orbit like moons around a planet.
The stares continued, of course. Change doesn’t happen instantly. But they seemed less hostile, more curious—and in some cases, openly appreciative, as other non-humans recognized Rion for what he was and what his presence represented.
As the sun began to set and the festival lights came on, casting a warm, magical glow over the park, we found ourselves back near the entrance, considering whether to stay for the evening music or call it a day.
“I think we’ve accomplished quite enough for one outing,” my mother declared, looking tired but satisfied. “What do you say we get dinner at that nice Italian place on the way home?”
“I’m in,” my father agreed readily. “Rion? Clara? Up for some pasta?”
Rion glanced at me questioningly. I nodded, equally ready for a quieter setting after the emotional intensity of the day.
“That sounds perfect,” he said. “If they can accommodate us.”
“Oh, I already called ahead this morning and asked for a table that would work for someone of your height,” my mother said casually. “I assumed we’d want dinner after, regardless of how the festival went.”
Rion looked touched by this thoughtful preparation. “Thank you, Mrs. Bellweather.”
“Ellen, please,” she corrected him. “I think we’re well past formalities at this point.”
As we walked towards the exit, a familiar small voice called out.
“Bye, Rion!” Jeremy waved enthusiastically from where he was waiting in line for cotton candy. “See you tomorrow!”
Rion waved back, a genuine smile spreading across his face. “See you tomorrow, Jeremy.”
The simple exchange—so normal, so unremarkable in its normalcy—nearly brought tears to my eyes.
This was what we’d hoped for: not grand gestures or dramatic societal shifts, but small, human (and non-human) connections.
A child waving to a new friend. A restaurant making accommodations without fuss.
A community beginning to see beyond differences to the individuals beneath.
As we reached my parents’ car, Rion paused, looking back at the festival glittering in the twilight.
“What are you thinking?” I asked softly.
He was silent for a moment, then said, “That I’ve spent so much of my life designing spaces where I could hide. Maybe it’s time to design spaces where all of us can be seen.”
I leaned against his solid warmth, feeling the steady beat of his heart. “I like that idea. A lot.”
“Tomorrow, then?” He looked down at me, hope and vulnerability mingled in his expression.
“Tomorrow,” I agreed, stretching up to press a kiss to his jaw. “And the day after that, and the one after that. One day at a time, building something new.”
“Together,” he added.
“Together,” I echoed, feeling the word settle between us like a promise.
As we drove away from the festival, the lights twinkling behind us like earthbound stars, I knew there would be more challenges ahead. More Danny Pruitts, more awkward questions, more moments of discomfort. The road to acceptance was never straight or simple.
But today had shown us something important: we weren’t walking it alone. We had my parents, Jeremy and his mother, Lydia and her friends, and who knew how many others, taking steps alongside us.
A good beginning, indeed.