Lost in the Renaissance

Every year, the dress would appear on her bed one afternoon. She was at the age when she measured time in seasons and school days, so she was never sure exactly when this would happen. But she knew it was always after school started and before the weather cooled and the leaves turned red and gold. She’d been waiting all summer for it. 

Finally, she came home from school one afternoon to find the dress laying on her bed. It was sheer and dusty pink, with frills at the bottom and long flowy sleeves. A deeper pink velvet vest went over it, to be tied across her chest with pink ribbon. A wreath of dried flowers interwoven with pink and purple ribbons lay next to it. Even though her school pants from last year came up to her shins, she knew the dress would still fit. It always did, somehow magically adapting to her ever-growing frame year upon year. 

That dress meant the next day they would attend the Renaissance Fair. Every year was an adventure back in time, filled with delicious food and people dressed in elaborate costumes, acting out scenes that had supposedly occurred centuries ago. She often heard her father grumble that it probably wasn’t even that authentic, but she didn’t care. She loved everything about the fair and looked forward to it all year. The only thing she didn't enjoy was having to tag along with her parents and older brother the entire time. But this year, the year she was eight, she was going to live it up at the fair on her own agenda. 

They left the house early in the morning, as they always did, determined to “beat the traffic”. Her father didn’t like traffic. She sat in the back seat, watching the cars on the other side of the freeway fly past, plotting her escape. She needed her parents for food, so she would wait until they had eaten once. After that, she had all her coins from the tooth fairy tucked into the purse Grandma had bought her last Christmas. She didn’t know how much food cost there, but she was confident it was enough to get her through the afternoon. 

When they were distracted cleaning up from that first meal, she would sneak off and head straight to the jugglers. Her brother hated the jugglers, probably because he was hopeless at juggling himself. Last year, he refused to go watch them, and she’d had a meltdown that had ended in an argument between her parents. Everyone spent the afternoon angry at each other and it had ruined the fair that year. But this year, she was going to get a front-row spot to watch the jugglers as long as she wanted. 

The day started with a slow wander around the fairgrounds. They stopped at the stalls to admire the crafts for sale, her parents commenting on things they wanted to come back and buy before they left. She asked for a beautiful silver bracelet, and they told her no, of course. She grimaced and stalked off, tempted to pull forward her plans. But she calmed herself enough to stay the course- she had been preparing for this day for an entire year, and she couldn’t let her plans be derailed by one annoying parental act. 

They watched the Knights of the New Order on their horses, fighting each other. She was always afraid someone would get hurt, but they never did. Her mother told her they were actors, and they knew how to fight without harming each other or the horses. She knew her mother often told her white lies to placate her, and so she doubted this was true. The crowd roared as one of the Knights fell off his horse and the other Knight raised his lance into the air, victoriously. To assure her, her family waited until the fallen Knight bounced back up before they moved on. 

Before long, her brother declared he was hungry. His stomach always timed their meals. That was another thing that annoyed her about her family. But this time, it suited her plan. “Me, too!” she shouted, with a suspicious amount of enthusiasm, though no one noticed. They ordered bread bowls and corn on the cob. She devoured her food and was grateful the rest of them did, too. While her father returned the trays and her mother threw out the last bits of rubbish, she waited until she was sure no one was watching her. She counted to three and then turned and ran as far from the tables as she could get. 

When she stopped to catch her breath, a woman in a long, green dress with bell sleeves edged in gold put her hand on her shoulder. “Hello, my lady. How are you?”

“Fine, thanks.” Her heart pounded in fear as she held the women’s gaze. She knew the woman was questioning whether or not to ask where her parents were. “Just going to the privy!” she finally said. The woman laughed at her attempt to immerse herself into the fair culture, patted her head, and walked off. The girl let out the breath she’d been holding and darted down a small path to another part of the fair. 

It was more crowded here and she blended in better. After a few minutes, she spotted a juggler entertaining a circle of guests. She climbed onto a rock to see better. The juggler wore tight red pants with a thick purple stripe down each side, tall boots, and a belt around his red and purple tunic. She clapped her hands in time with the crowd as he juggled several bowling pins. She could nearly hear her father grumbling that they wouldn’t have had bowling pins in the Renaissance period, but she pushed his grumpy attitude out of her head. The juggler moved on to knives as the crowd oohed and ahhed with a mix of fear and excitement. 

And then she heard her father’s voice for real, shouting her name. She jumped off the rock and ran back down the path she’d found earlier. When she couldn’t hear his shouts any longer, she slowed to a walk and followed the scent of turkey legs until she located the right stall. She smiled with anticipation as she pulled her coins from her purse. 

“Do I have enough?”, she asked the man behind the register hopefully. He counted the coins, nodded, and handed her a juicy turkey leg. She ate as she wandered around, deciding where to go next. The turkey leg dripped juices down her chin and onto the pink dress. No one yelled at her to be careful or get a napkin. It didn't matter anyhow, the dress not only magically grew to fit her, it also always came up clean again every year. 

She wished for a moment she was brave enough to attempt to pickpocket. Her size meant she could dart through the crowd unnoticed, and she would have loved another turkey leg. But she remembered she was going to be in enough trouble as it was. Better not to add to the pile of convictions facing her at the end of the day. 

She made her way back to the arena where the Knights had fought earlier. She snaked between the people gathered around to watch the Highland Fling. The bright colours of the costumes brushed past her face - red velvet, then blue satin, then green cotton. She escaped the kaleidoscope of fabric and climbed onto the fence, ignoring the man behind her shouting at her to get down. He wasn’t her father, he couldn’t tell her what to do. 

Through the men in kilts preparing to throw the tree trunks, she spotted her mother across the arena. Tears streamed down her face as she scanned the crowd desperately. The girl sighed in defeat. The fun was over, it was time to go home. She pushed her way back through the crowd and ran around the wooden fence, following the sound of her mother shouting her name. When their eyes locked, relief flooded her mother’s face. The girl let her mother engulf her and the pink dress into a heavy embrace, knocking the wreath of flowers to the ground. They cried into each other’s shoulders, each for their own reasons.