1
Missy Claymont
October 2024
Saturday – 10:12 pm
The moonshine burned a path down Missy's throat, settling in her stomach like liquid fire. Heat escaped through every pore in her body. Oddly enough, the radiating warmth didn’t ease the chill of the night air. She forced a smile as she passed the mason jar back to Richie, her vision blurring at the edges.
Around her, the Cane County Harvest Festival throbbed with loud noises and vibrant colors. Strings of yellow bulbs cast glowing balls of light between booths, and the Ferris wheel's slow rotation painted sluggish arcs across the darkening sky. It was the screams from the Tilt-A-Whirl that heightened the constant hum of laughter and chatter, causing Missy's stomach to lurch again.
She desperately needed air that didn't reek of fried dough, stale popcorn, and human bodies pressed too close together.
“This batch of Old Man Gleason's is even better than last year's,” Richie exclaimed, tipping the jar back for another swig. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. “Worth every second of sneaking around that crazy old bastard's property.”
The circle of friends erupted in laughter, their faces flushed from alcohol. Missy's chuckle came a beat too late, hollow even to her own ears. Four pulls from the jar had been four too many. The ground beneath her feet seemed to tilt and sway like the carnival rides spinning in the distance. She pressed her fingertips against her temples, trying to steady herself.
“You okay, Missy?” Veronica asked, but her words sounded far away.
“I just need some air,” Missy managed to say before acidic bile hit the back of her throat. She managed to swallow it without anyone noticing something was wrong. “I’m fine.”
Richie launched into another exaggerated tale of their moonshine heist, providing her with an opportunity she wasn’t about to pass up. While the group of friends was completely absorbed in his story, Missy managed to slip away without anyone noticing. She took a few backward steps, her vintage leather boots crunching the fallen leaves into the packed dirt.
“…bolt cutters with us. Then we…”
Richie was full of cow manure because she had been by his side the entire time, as had Veronica. He intentionally left out how they almost got caught committing several crimes. If Old Man Gleason had called Chief Langley, all three of them wouldn’t have been able to attend the festival. They would have been grounded until graduation.
Another wave of nausea hit right as Missy ducked behind the ring toss booth. The tinny carousel music, the barkers calling to passersby, and the children shrieking with delight began to merge into a single overwhelming wave.
She was definitely going to be sick.
The treeline behind the game booths backed up to the edge of the Cox property. She moved toward the obscure shadows, each step requiring more concentration than it should. All she needed was to empty her stomach. Maybe then the world would stop spinning and the thin sheen of perspiration would evaporate from her skin.
She finally reached a tall oak tree that provided support, its rough bark catching on the thin fabric of her jacket as she leaned against it. Missy tugged the denim loose while closing her eyes. Taking deep breaths, the smell of decaying leaves and distant woodsmoke immediately triggered her gag reflex.
She bent at the waist, her stomach churning violently before relinquishing all its contents. Her muscles clenched with each heave. It wasn’t long before she was able to straighten and draw in some ragged breaths. The sour taste of bile lingered on her tongue, but at least the burning sensation in her chest had subsided.
Minutes passed as she stood in the shadows, the festival carrying on in the distance. Her nausea might have subsided, but it had now been replaced by another, more urgent bodily need. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, suddenly aware of her full bladder.
Unfortunately, the portable toilets were clear across the fairgrounds, near the entrance. She would never make it, and she really didn’t want to run into her grandmother.
“Darn it,” Missy muttered, searching around for a shielded spot that would give her some privacy.
She wasn't some little kid who couldn't hold it, but the pressure was becoming more uncomfortable by the second. She hastily pulled her cell phone from her jacket pocket. Once the flashlight was on, she didn’t even need time for her eyes to adjust. She quickly found a spot between two huge oak trees,secluded enough that no one from the festival could possibly witness such humiliation.
She pressed the flashlight button on the screen to shut it off before tucking the phone under her chin. Not wasting any more time, she unfastened her jeans and yanked on the zipper.
Tugging her jeans and underwear down in one awkward movement, she squatted, thighs trembling with the effort to maintain her balance. The vulnerability of such a position made her heart race and her stomach lurch. Then again, maybe the lingering effects were from the alcohol.
“Missy.”
She dropped her phone at the sound of her name.
At least, she thought she heard someone whisper for her from somewhere in the darkness. She swept her gaze back and forth while straining to hear any other sound than her urine hitting the debris on the ground. When no other noise made itself known, she relaxed enough to empty the rest of her bladder.
This was just one more indignity to endure before her escape. Just seven months until graduation, when she could leave Cane County and all its narrow expectations behind.
There was only one person she would truly miss, and that was her grandmother. Amelia Claymont had taken her in after Missy’s father died and her mother had left town. Her grandmother had also done her best to voice her concerns about Missy’s aspirations.
