Cody

The pain is really starting to get to me now, crawling up from my shattered knee into my hip and pooling there, nagging at me. The slow, relentless pounding of a headache is starting up in my temples.

The leg pain is probably because I've been stacking hay bales and assembling stalls all week. I might have overdone it a little bit. Up until a moment ago, I was unloading the truck and carrying baskets and bags to the various stalls. I swear, Gramma baked and built and made something for every single stall.

The proceeds of the festival go into the fund created to help farmers survive during disasters like floods, fire and drought. Sometimes when a family in the community falls on hard times, the fund is used to save them, whether they're farmers or not.

If there's one thing about the citizens of Weirdville (I think I now remember the name and am gonna stick with it) that I know and respect, it is that they leave no calf in the pit, ever. They take care of each other. They disagree on a lot of things, they argue about the most insane garbage, and they even have a few brawls from time to time, but when push comes to shove, they don't shove each other, they take hands, and they overcome together.

I've seen two men hell-bent on killing each other one moment, suddenly working together to save a burning barn the next. If I'm asked to describe the assortment of characters living in this town and on the farms around it in one word, that word would be real.

Something else that is real right now is the pain I'm in. I would love to take some of my strong painkillers, but the doctor warned me about the dangers of addiction, so I usually try to tough it out for as long as possible. Right now, the anxiety of being surrounded by a massive crowd of healthy, happy people is making the toughing-it-out process pretty hard.

I used to love crowds. I used to enjoy fun. I was the idiot who thought life was just one big fat party.

I'm starting to feel nauseous and plop myself down on an empty bench, trying to catch my breath. The headache is partially caused by the snatch of conversation I overheard between Gramma and my mom; it's been resonating with me ever since, but in a discorded way, chafing at my nerves. The other cause is the fact that I'm trapped in Happyland when I really just want to be on the log in the field at the foot of the hill. Even if it is by myself and the girl (real or hallucinated) doesn't show up again.

I've considered taking the medication again, just so that I can see her. Nuts, I know.

I lean back against the backrest of the bench and run my eyes over the branches, small orange fruit and deep green leaves of the large loquat tree hiding me from the fading sunlight. Christmas came, and forgot to take its glitter and lights when it left. There is not a spot in this tree, or rather, this town, that is not covered in fairy lights or paper lanterns and around me, people are excitedly milling about, carrying candles in small glass jars. Some are lit, and some are not. It seems to be a trend.

I attended this festival with my grandmother when I was a kid, but I only remember bits and pieces of it.

I'm sure the town square is visible from outer space right now. The Martians could look down with their telescopes and play Where's Wally, trying to find the one person who doesn't belong in this glittering, active, happy scene... that would be me. Just call me Wally.

"Here you go, Liefie," Gramma says, sitting down next to me and handing me a pie. It's one of those with the flaky crusts, stuffed to bursting with savoury mince. "I figured your oxytocin levels will be taking a dive around now. Thank you for working so hard, my love."

My oxy, what now? The only level I have that has taken a massive dive is my level of fitness. I am unfit and weak after many months of inactivity. I need to get back into shape... I just don't know what for...

"Thanks, Gramma; I love Aunt Suzie's pies."

"I know you do, and so does she. She gave me an entire Tupper container full of them the minute she saw me. She kept them aside, especially for you to take home."

I smile, savouring and swallowing the first bite of beefy goodness. "That's really kind of her; I'll find her and thank her."

I take the flask of iced tea my grandmother holds out to me and thirstily gulp down a couple of swigs. She makes the best peach iced tea I've ever tasted, and I'm not exaggerating... it seriously doesn't taste like tea at all! 

Eating the warm pie and drinking the icy tea, I can feel the headache slowly retreating, the drills and hammers being turned to the lowest setting. Perhaps my oxy-whatchamacallit levels were taking a dive after all.

We eat our pies and watch the scurrying going on around us in the companionable silence of two people who enjoy being together, each busy with their own thoughts and their own activities, just happy to be in each other's presence.

"Thanks, Gramma, that really hit the spot," I tell her when I'm done, taking a serviette from her to clean my hands and face. Aunt Suzie's pies are really saucy.

"You're welcome, Bun," Gramma says, wiping her own mouth and rising from her seat. "Oh, and here is yours," she says, taking one of the three glass candle jars from her side of the bench. I didn't even see her put them there when she joined me. Two are lit, and one is not.

"My, what exactly," I ask, narrowing my eyes, looking at the dancing flame in my jar.

"I entered you in the ceremony; you light your bride's candle with it. Don't you remember how this works?"

I sigh, shaking my head, irritation starting to bubble somewhere deep inside where I can still occasionally feel some emotions stirring. "Gramma-"

"It's okay, Codester," she says, placing a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "I entered you so that you can have the option of joining in if you change your mind. Rather have the option and don't join than not have it at all." 

That sounds reasonable to me, but if she shows up in a few minutes with a bride on a leash, I'm running home. 

"When the ceremony is over, and you're still the hottest bachelor here, you can keep the candle for your room or throw it away... just don't set anything on fire with it... except for your bride's candle, of course."

"It's really weird when you call me hot," I grimace, making her laugh that happy, bubbly laugh of hers. Her new hairstyle matches her laugh perfectly. She'd cut her steel grey hair in a cheeky pixie-like style that reminds me a little of an acorn cap. It looks great. I always thought my grandmother fell out of that old Enid Blyton Pixie Tales book she used to read to me when I was little.

I think I was right.

 "I promise to only think it quietly from now on," she grins, and I know she's lying. 

~~~