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Alone At The
Renaissance Faire
Copyright 2015 Christina M. Guerrero
DEDICATION
This is for Phyllis and Ron Patterson, founders of the Renaissance Faires in California.
STORY BEHIND THE STORY
A day long ago.
ABOUT THE DRAFTS
Draft Number One: Needed work.
Draft Number Two: Getting better.
In the spring of 1979, I walked alone through the Renaissance Pleasure Faire of Southern California in Agoura.
I thought I would be exploring the Faire with a friend, but he and his other friends took off once we had passed through the gates. Back at school on that hot spring morning he had mentioned something about hanging out together, but he had said so in a rather half-hearted way. At the Faire, I was not surprised to see him and his friends run off.
For a moment the group from my high school was fairly intact. Then we walked away, in pairs or in singles, through the crowds, past the stands filled with crafts, past the women singing bawdily near the “town fountain,” past the performers dressed in armor or rags or elegant gowns.
As I observed the area, wondering where to start, I frowned at a classmate who had dressed in a long-sleeved, full-length velvet gown. I wondered how hot she would feel at the end of the day. I was wearing a green tank top and jeans and already felt quite warm.
After a while I forgot about the classmate and the temperature. There were knights and maidens and musicians; craftspeople and theater performers and games; rows and rows of stands with merchants selling renaissance clothes and trinkets; and there was the food court, where I looked around and then decided to return later at lunchtime.
I walked through the Faire, from one end to the other, at times dodging the more boisterous performers. Some of the “knights” and the “merchants” and the “peasants” were more than happy to greet a teen-aged girl who was ostensibly walking around by herself.
Eventually, I returned to the food court and bought a turkey leg. It was delicious. I chewed happily as I continued to tour the Faire.
In between watching a few performances, listening to surreal renaissance music (it was giving me strange visions ... or perhaps memories ... but how could I have memories of the renaissance? ,,, it felt strangely familiar), and examining pewter goblets, I gave in to temptation and asked one of my teachers if another teacher had arrived yet. I had been doing my best to simply enjoy the day, and not ask, but curiosity won the battle. “No,” was the answer. “He’s with his family today.” I felt chastised by God for being so sinful. Yeah, I know. It wasn’t really a sin. It was just a question. But I had a big crush on this teacher.
I wandered around, trying not to think about my teacher, but it was difficult not to. He was one of my first non-cartoon (i.e. Felix the Cat, Kimba the White Lion) crushes. More than twenty years later I would stop by the high school and say hello to the teacher, and when he came out to greet me, I would think with way too much pride, “He’s still handsome, intelligent and sweet. I pick the best men to have crushes on.”
As I worked on resolving my disappointment, the Faire rescued me once again. There was something to examine, or listen to, or smell (the scent of barbecued poultry and meat was predominant and wonderful), or watch, every few feet. I became so absorbed in exploring every square inch of the Faire, that I slowly forgot about my teacher, my fellow classmates, and anything else that linked me to a life away from the Faire.
Towards the end of the day I needed rest, so I joined a huge crowd under an equally huge white canopy under which sat the Queen and her court. Her assorted men- and ladies-in-waiting taught us how to sing “God Save The Queen.” Whenever I hear this song, I remember that day with great fondness.
After the crowd had performed to the Queen’s satisfaction, she and her entourage left the area. I followed them for a while, then walked around the Faire until it was time to leave.
The rest of the day has faded into the past, except for my memory of the sunburn on my shoulders and back: a bright pink negative image of the tank top I wore.
Part of me remains at the Faire long ago, still wandering through the colors of scarlet and forest green and sky blue and gunmetal gray, wandering through the sounds of lutes and harps and flutes, wandering through the scents of barbecued turkey and roasted corn.
I was alone at the Renaissance Faire, but not lonely.
History came alive that day, providing intellectual stimulation, inspiration ... and companionship.
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