My body is rigid, despite the chilly floors I feel heat flowing through me, starting at my neck. I had heard enough! “What the actual fuck, Andrea?! You’re supposed to be my friend, not my parents’ spy! Why do you suddenly have a problem with everything I do?!” I wanted to run to the bathroom, close myselfin. Splash water on my face. Anything to make this destructive, whole-body feeling go away, but I know I can’t run from this.
She folds in on herself, her jaw relaxes slightly, but the tiny lines between her eyes remain. “Things are different, Cindel. I’m just trying to look out for you.”
I look away briefly, my gaze bouncing between a photo of us in our caps and gowns after graduation and another of us with my family. When my attention returns, her eyes are glossy. For once she looks… scared. I know she cares deeply for me… for all of us. “I know you are. It was you who held things together, when we lost Theo. It was you who helped me to carry on after Brodi, but now… now it’s like you're pushing me away!”
Her arms fall to her sides and the tears she fought so hard to hold back now careen down each cheek.
“I’m tired,” I admit. “The morning will be here before we know it. We should try to get a few hours of sleep.”
She signs ‘goodnight’ ahead of me, turning and closing the door to my bedroom.
Laying out my outfit and getting everything ready the night before was a smart idea because I forgot to set my alarm clock. I fly out of bed when I see the sun is up, realizing the Bazaar was set to open in an hour! No matter how much planning I do, something is bound to shake up my carefully laid plans.
Andrea helps me to load the wheelie cart I borrowed from a neighbor. Like the mother duck she is, she also manages to grab a couple bananas and two nutritional shakes from the fridge. I secretly hope they aren’t the ones that taste like chalk.
Despite lugging a mannequin, clothing, accessories, clothing rack, signage and more; we manage to make it to the Craft Bazaar in record time. Probably had a lot to do with us sprinting while taking turns pulling the wagon. Many vendors are already set up in their booths with signs and merchandise, so we still have to hustle. I find my spot on row three, booth C. We work together to extend the legs of the table and, erect the wire display wall. The vendor to the left was kind enough to let us borrow their step ladder. Andrea stays to help hang the custom:Craft or Crime banner, on the front of the booth. I and just in front to admire the edgy black lettering with yellow background. I felt really proud of myself at that moment. It was a step in the right direction, no matter how small it actually was. After the big stuff was up, I insist I can handle the rest on my own. Andrea gives me a feeble hug before dashing off to the gym or whatever she does with her days lately.
The upcycled pieces I brought were already on their designated hangers, so once I extend the pole for the hanging rack, that part was ready to go. I lay out a yellow tablecloth on the folding table along with an acrylic sign, displaying the prices and my online handles. Earrings dangle upon a wooden display stand, alongside woven baskets filled with handmade bracelets and woven hats.
I took to knitting last year when I was having my usual struggle, during the holidays. Instead of sinking into a dark place, I dove into another craft. That winter I cranked out twenty hats. I was still sad but had a solid start to my inventory for this very event.
The mannequin was positioned closer to the front of my booth, starring my favorite upcycled pieces on the bust. The one and only bedazzled, Lisa Frank jean jacket, croppedTrue Crime Enthusiastshirt, and a lace trimmed leopard mini-skirt. I place apurple, woven beanie from the collection, on the headless figure to finish off the look.
Just in time too, the Bazaar appears to be open. Before I go through the effort of hanging the embroidery hoops on the back panels, I want to entice shoppers by adding twinkling fairy lights along the top of my tent.
I had a lot ofpeoplingto do today, so I turn to music while I waited for shoppers to engage with me. Taking off one of my aids, I throw it in my bag and dig around for MY earbuds. I could have sworn I packed them. Pulling out a singular earbud, I turn it on its side to find the annoying little star that loves to follow me everywhere.
“Fine. Uncle. You win.” I put the device into my right ear and instantly there’s music! How long has this been playing? I recognize the melody but I’m not sure what the song is, until it replays from the beginning…no!
OMC – “How Bizarre,” plays. Then it plays again… and again!
“Are you fucking kidding me?!” I whisper-shout as to not scare away any potential customers meandering by.
Before it could roll over to a fourth time, I take off the earbud and hurl it back into my bag. I groan. It’s worse than having a brother. My stalker is literally going to torture me to death! Either he never learned about homophones in school or he thinks he’s just fucking hilarious!
People walk by in droves, giving me a nod when we accidentally make eye contact. A couple potential customers come into the booth to explore the table of goodies. Within an hour, the place is packed and my tent is seeing a lot of foot traffic. Once the wall of embroidery hoops is up, a gang of grandmas stroll right in. Some cackle while others clutch their pearls as they read from the slew of sassy, embroidered sayings hung before them. I sold six snarky hoops by ten o’clock!
After ringing up a young couple with a pair of woven tassel earrings, a familiar face appears. A creamy skinned, freckled faced young woman, with a bun full of red wild hair stands on the other side of my table. She smiles widely, throwing open her arms and coming around the table to embrace me in a friendly hug.
Mairead was wrapped in a fur coat, but when she stretches her arms wide, it reveals a scantily fitted, red dress within. It might be a teddy. Isn’t she freezing? I myself am double layered this morning.
“Your space looks so pretty! I love the twinkling lights!” She spins around, returning to the front of the table. She latches onto an older, well-dressed gentleman nearby and begins dragging him toward me.
Oh no… does she even know this man or is she pulling random people against their will into my tent? The strange pair stops just in front of the table.
“Daddy, this is Cindel.” Oh, thank god, they’re related! Wow, you’d never catch me wearing anything like that around my dad.
He extends a massive, calloused hand, and I place my hand in his. The sharply dressed man gently kisses the top of my fingers before releasing me.
“Pleasure to make your acquaintance. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Mairead is already moving around my tent, oohing and awing over everything she touched.
“I love your accent, where are you originally from?” I inquire.
“Here originally, but I’ve been in Ireland the past couple years. I guess an accent has set in, during my time away.”
I politely nod and smile, “well, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Sorry… if you would excuse me.”
