You're My Infinity

The festival hardly seems underway, but already I can spot quite a few individuals who look like they might just be drunk. Sure, it isn’t exactly a good example for the kids, but from the looks of their mischievous, impish actions, I would say that they aren’t paying a lick of sense…unlike me. I’m probably the only person hanging back in the shadows and watching instead of participating, but I find it quite a bit more amusing this way, as there are several people who make fools of themselves regularly. It is supposed to be a festival for new life and joy after all; what better way to celebrate than to relax and just be foolish?

Hah. If only I could take my own advice. I’m sure I would be wilder and more foolish than the rest combined. Sighing softly, a smile perches lightly on my lips as I let my head rest against the wall behind me, arms protectively crossed over my chest as I let my eyes wander every which way. Despite the festive music and mood, the sweet smells coming from below, and the rancorous noise the people are making, it is surprisingly serene up on my perch, and I feel no inclination to move as of yet.

A tune she had learned as a kid- somehow, because it hadn’t been taught to her by Mama- drifted in her mind after some time, and it wasn’t long before she found herself humming the strange melody, toes moving to it as well. It was a song about Pharisees, if she remembered correctly, though why she should think of such a thing at that moment was beyond her, and as the words started to form in her throat, she found her eyes closing as she softly sang.

” Come in the stillness,
Come in the night,
Come soon,
And bring delight.
Beckoning, beckoning,
Left hand and right,
Come now,
Ah, come to-night!”

As she finished, voice trailing off, her eyes came open as well. She caught herself looking out over the crowd, as if for something unusual, and found a form of disappointment blooming in her chest as nothing appeared otherwise. Mentally chastising herself for those thoughts, she gave a small shake of her head. And she knew had anyone had been watching this, they would surely think her mad.

“You have quite the beautiful voice.” The sudden speech of someone nearby, possibly just at her shoulder, jump-started her mind back into the reality where she was at the Midsummer’s Eve festival, sitting atop someone’s roof. Feeling her cheeks flush at being caught, not only at sneaking away up there, but caught singing, she nearly jumped to her feet as she swiveled around to face the speaker.

And almost immediately felt a wave of déjà-vu crash over her. Where it came from was anybody’s guess. The boy in front of her was probably around her age, looking for all the world like everyone else in the village who came to the festival. For some odd reason though, the way he looked at her, and the intensity of his eyes, all felt so familiar yet so distant at the same time- and it confused her so that she found herself just staring without comment for the longest time.

”Will you stay here with me? Please?"

She throttled her brain from whatever realm it had been visiting in with a jolt, bringing herself back to reality. There was nothing familiar about the boy who stood before her, she told herself. And the only reason she had thought so was because he looked like everyone else. I was the anomaly. Taking a breath with those thoughts settled, I was finally able to give him a small smile. “It’s nice of you to say so, but I’m sure you just heard the music from below,” I answer.

Those intense eyes seem to bore straight into me, and I feel his stare. I start to feel uncomfortable under it, as if something explosive might happen should it continue on for a excessive amount of time. What brought this idea on is anyone’s guess, but I feel myself fidget, something I do when I’m nervous. “Well,” I start since he has yet to reply, only stare. This seems to bring him back from wherever his own mind was, and his eyes sharpen on me. “It was nice to meet you, but I really should be going to find my sister. I’m not supposed to stay too long from her. Enjoy the festival.”

I move to brush past this odd stranger, who, with a few words and his eyes alone has befuddled my mind. I nearly make it too, getting just past before he whirls around and grabs my wrist out of nowhere, the fastest reaction I’ve ever seen from a person. Before I can even manage to say something, possibly a few choice words -on what the heck he was doing!- he has me twirled around to face him, the fabric of my skirt swishing around my legs as he takes my other hand as well and practically pulls me against his chest. My eyes widen, and not only at that, but also the pain –and what, longing?- I see in his eyes as he looks at me. “Emilee, do you really not remember me?”

The more I look at him, confusion in my expression, the more I feel like I should know him, especially since he knows my name apparently, but all I can do is shake my head as nothing comes to mind that could fit this person into my memory. He lets out a sigh, looking mildly perplexed for a moment before he seems to absentmindedly brush hair away from my face. “It was eleven years ago,” he urges. “We were both children, and you were lost in the forest crying.”

Suddenly, what he’s saying seems to click in some vacant part of my brain, and as it does I find my eyes widening, shaking my head at the same time. How could I have not realized it?! He looked exactly like the little Pharisee I imagined in the forest that day, the one who wasn’t real, except much, much bigger. For a moment I’m unsure, but before I can stop myself, the question slips from my mouth. “Ronan?”

Apparently, this pleases him, from the grin he has on his face as he looks as if he could dance for joy. “You do remember!”

I shake my head then, pulling away from his grasp on my hands before anything can get too out of control as I stare at him for a moment. “I remember being lost in the forest for a day and my mum finding me. I remember thinking I say a creature only a few inches tall, claiming to be a Pharisee and calling himself Ronan.” I hold a hand up before he can say anything. “I also remember my mom telling me it was my imagination.

“Besides,” I add, just because I am me. “Like I said, my friend was only a few inches tall and his skin wasn’t green.” With the memories, it seems now I know where I thought up my rendition of the Pharisee costumes that we all wear…the one that I am the only different person.

If I’ve daunted this person any though, he doesn’t show it, seeming to be endlessly patient through my small rant. He steps forward again, though not touching me this time. It looks like he wants to though. “Emilee, you didn’t imagine any of that. And…” here he pauses, his eyebrows creasing together. “I actually am supposed to be that tall. I took a potion to be your size so I could come see you. And my skin isn’t really green.” Here he sighs, muttering something about someone named Aminah and her costumes. “It’s paint.” To prove he’s telling the truth, he wipes some off of his arm.

Apprehensively, I actually start to consider the possibility that he’s telling the truth, and this is really a Pharisee in front of me- the one I met eleven years ago to be exact. “So if Ronan really is real and you’re him…” here I pause. “What exactly are you doing here?”