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The air was thick, the sun was low in the sky.
A breeze brushed through the crowd, pushing through plastic cups and paper napkins, rustling hair and thin dresses, cool night air breaking through the miasma of body heat and festival food.
Mel tilted her head back, eyes closed. Wind like that all night, and she’d be just fine. But before she could relax, it was gone. Warm air closed in.
She unclenched her hands, feeling the clammy sweat between her knuckles. Cracked her neck, flexed her toes. Scratched her nose.
No one really enjoyed music festivals, she licked her lips, they were just something to be endured.
“Hey.”
She looked up, wincing as the sun glared into her eyes. Shading herself with one hand, she squinted.
Langdon stood, holding something in his hands. The light filtered through his cotton shirt, making it transparent where it fell away from his waist. She sat up, “Hey yourself.”
“Got you something.”
“You didn’t have to do that!”
“Relax,” he said, “It’s in my best interest anyways.”
He handed her a tall cup of something iced. She sipped cautiously through the straw.
“Coconut water?”
“Mhmm,” he nodded, sitting down heavily next to her, “You looked pretty flustered in the heat, and I know you hate bottled water–”
“Because Arrowhead tastes like pennies.”
“Uh-huh, so I wanted a challenge,” he drank deeply for a moment, wiping the sweat out of his eyes, “No bubbles, because carbonation makes your mouth itch. No energy drinks, because the flavorings are disgusting. And no alcohol because–”
“Work.”
“Right, exactly, so…” he nodded, “Coconut water. Electrolytes and sugar, something natural.” He smiled, a little smugly, “And I got it iced.”
She took another sip, “With a straw.”
“Still don’t get that,” He muttered, “But it’s good? It’s fine?”
She nodded, “It’s really good. Thank you, by the way. I didn’t say thank you before. What do I owe you?”
“Nah, it’s fine,” he waved his hand, “Thanks for coming.”
“Sure,” she held the cup to her neck, cooling herself down, “You asked, so…”
“I know, but I usually do this with Robby,” he said, “Which isn’t bad, obviously. But he’s not a fan of the music, likes the oldies.”
“Not really oldies to him.”
“True,” he sighed, “He was going to go with Jake, but he’s got a thing with his girlfriend, and Collins didn’t want him to waste the tickets–”
“Who’s Jake?”
“I forget sometimes that you’re fairly new,” he said, “Robby dated this woman for a while, and even though they split up over some workplace bullshit, he still hangs out with her kid. Father figure bonding, yadda yadda.”
He sat up straighter as a woman stumbled over a crack in the pavement, but she caught herself and laughed, flipping her hair back. Mel poked at ice with her straw, “Father figures are important to early childhood development.”
He relaxed, “What makes you say that? I agree, I just want to hear why.”
The ice floated back up, she stirred slowly, “My father struggled with having an autistic daughter. My sister is a wonderful person, but she did not fit into his idea of what people should be.”
“Partier?”
She raised her eyebrows, “The opposite, actually. Very academic. Heart surgeon.”
“Heart surgeon?” He cocked his head, “Wait, your dad is Dr. Terry King?”
“Mhmm,” she nodded, smiling politely, “Heard of him?”
“Yeah,” he exhaled, “I’m surprised you didn’t go for Presby.”
“Oh, I avoided it,” she said, taking another sip, “He was very upset when I didn’t want to go into surgery.”
“Well, you’ve got time,” He said, “You can still–”
“I’ve decided,” she said, flatly but not angry, “It’s…very important that I do something else with my skills.”
“You have skills,” he agreed, “And we’re all lucky that you like emergency medicine so much.”
“Thanks.”
They sat in peaceful silence for a while, watching the crowd. The sun had vanished behind the stalls and stages, no longer directly blinding her. It was a rosy glow, one last gasp of daylight before the festival went into full swing.
“We just sit here?”
He kicked his feet up on the table, “Reserves team, baby. It’s a cushy job.” He pointed to where everyone was walking, “Medics stay close to the barriers, mingle with the crowd. They’ve got bandaids, water, narcan, the usual supplies for the usual shit. Volunteers and EMTs, it’s cheaper and simpler to let them handle 98% of cases.”
“What about the–”
“The 2%?” He folded his arms, “People get riled up, get in fights, maybe crush someone’s face into a barrier. Mosh pits can get pretty nasty if you have douchebags in them. Someone can pop a few too many tabs of acid and go into psychosis. Heart attacks, epileptic seizures, allergic reactions.”
She rubbed her arms uncomfortably, “Seems like a lot can happen.”
“Yeah,” he leaned back, “Hey, maybe there’s going to be an Ebola outbreak.”
She thought about it, “Especially with the sweating and touching and sharing their drinks–”
“And all those other fun fluids people like to share.”
She glanced at him, continuing, “–they’d die in a week.”
“I’ll be sure not to share fluids with you,” he said dryly.
She pointed at him, “Joke?”
He smiled, “Yes, Mel, that was a joke.”
“Good.” She folded her hands in her lap, “That’s good.”
He seemed so at ease, so lax and casual in the heat. Drinking from his cup, wiping the condensation off it. Under the glaring LED lights, he seemed hollow, almost manically animated. But here, he was very slow. Not shifting in his seat, not jogging his knee, not looking around for something, anything. Just slumped back his chair, one arm over the backrest, leg propped up on the table. Head still, gazing into the dying glow. Details, parts of him she had never noticed, standing out.
He had a white streak in his hair. Small, but there, hidden right by his temple. Prematurely graying, a sign of stress. The blue of his eyes, pupils pinpricked in the brightness, was wholly blue. There was no variation in them, no sudden flash of green or brown. It was almost a relief in a way. It would have bothered her. It would have made her stare.
He glanced over at her, “Still too warm?”
“Hmm?” she shook her head, “No, I’m good.”
“You know,” he offered, “we’ve got walkie talkies, for calls. The closer to the crowds, the better. We could walk around. Enjoy some of the music.”
She frowned, “Is that allowed?”
“This isn’t hospital policy, Mel,” he said, “Our supplies are in their tent, and we’re better off mingling than just…sitting here and playing monopoly.”
She shrugged, “I wouldn’t mind playing–”
“How many festivals have you gone to?”
“Is it embarrassing if I say none?”
“See?” he spread his hands, “You should enjoy yourself. Take some pictures so you can show your sister.”
“She’d like that,” Mel agreed.
“And I…” he hesitated, “would really like to enjoy some of it.”
She raised her eyebrows, “Is that why you volunteer?”
“Cheaper than tickets,” he said, “Why not?”
“Aren’t we going to run into Dr. Robby?”
“He won’t care, and if he does,” Langdon stood, “He’ll have his hands full with–whatever. It doesn’t matter. He won’t care.”
“If you’re absolutely sure–”
“You don’t want to dance with me?” He asked, turning to look back at her.
A band was playing something strangely thrilling somewhere, and even though it was a distant sound, she could swear she knew what they were singing about.
His hair, choppy and blowing in the wind, his harsh good looks and sharp voice. That vanity that cut through his whole body like liquor in the blood, like a chord from rock and roll. He carried a weight in that look, that burning indigo gaze, something that pulled her down from her moral heights.
The heat made her flush uncomfortably.
She nodded, “I could dance.”
“But you want to dance,” he corrected, adding as an afterthought, “Right?”
“Because you want to dance with me?”
“Because I want to dance with you,” He said, “So tell me, yes or no, dance with me.”
He didn’t pose it as a question that time.
She nodded, “Alright.”
“Good,” he said, “It’s your first festival. I’ll make sure it’s something.”
The sky was violet, the first stars coming out. The wind was cool and night-chilling as they walked together.
Next to her chair, the ice cubes of her drink slowly melted, condensation dripping down into the dust. Like beads of sweat, or drops of blood.
The wind picked up, the plastic cup shifted, tottered, and flipped. Water spilled out and trickled across the dirt, weaving and pausing, until it found an open sewer grate. Slowly, it began to trickle, a small puddle building and widening. Little by little, it grew.