utopia?
“This party? This is nothing,” Annie assured Mae, as they shuffled down the forty-foot
buffet. It was dark now, the night air cooling, but the campus was inexplicably warm,
and illuminated by hundreds of torches bursting with amber light. “This one’s Bailey’s
idea. Not like he’s some Earth Mother, but he gets into the stars, the seasons, so
the solstice stuff is his. He’ll appear at some point and welcome everyone—usually
he does at least. Last year he was in some kind of tanktop. He’s very proud of his
arms.”
Mae and Annie were on the lush lawn, loading their plates and then finding seats in
the stone amphitheater built into a high grassy berm. Annie was refilling Mae’s glass
from a bottle of Riesling that, she said, was made on campus, some kind of new concoction
that had fewer calories and more alcohol. Mae looked across the lawn, at the hissing
torches arrayed in rows, each row leading revelers to various activities—limbo, kickball,
the Electric Slide—none of them related in any way to the solstice. The seeming randomness,
the lack of any enforced schedule, made for a party that set low expectations and
far exceeded them. Everyone was quickly blitzed, and soon Mae lost Annie, and then
got lost entirely, eventually finding her way to the bocce courts, which were being
used by a small group of older Circlers, all of them at least thirty, to roll cantaloupes
into bowling pins. She made her way back to the lawn, where she joined a game the
Circlers were calling “Ha,” which seemed to involve nothing more than lying down,
with legs or arms or both overlapping. Whenever the person next to you said “Ha” you
had to say it, too. It was a terriblegame, but for the time being, Mae needed it, because her head was spinning, and she
felt better horizontal.
“Look at this one. She looks so peaceful.” It was a voice close by. Mae realized the
voice, a man’s, was referring to her, and she opened her eyes. She saw no one above
her. Only sky, which was mostly clear, with wisps of grey clouds moving swiftly across
the campus and heading out to sea. Mae’s eyes felt heavy, and she knew it was not
late, not past ten anyway, and she didn’t want to do what she often did, which was
fall asleep after two or three drinks, so she got up and went looking for Annie or
more Riesling or both. She found the buffet, and found it in shambles, a feast raided
by animals or Vikings, and made her way to the nearest bar, which was out of Riesling
and was now offering only some kind of vodka-and-energy drink concoction. She moved
on, asking random passersby about Riesling, until she felt a shadow pass before her.
“There’s more over here,” the shadow said.
Mae turned to find a pair of glasses reflecting blue, sitting atop the vague shape
of a man. He turned to walk away.
“Am I following you?” Mae asked.
“Not yet. You’re standing still. But you should if you want more of that wine.”
She followed the shadow across the lawn and under a canopy of high trees, the moonlight
shooting through, a hundred silver spears. Now Mae could see the shadow better—he
was wearing a sand-colored T-shirt and some kind of vest, leather or suede, over it—a
combination Mae hadn’t seen in some time. Then he stopped and was crouching down near
the bottom of a waterfall, a manmade waterfall coming down the side of the Industrial
Revolution.
“I hid a few bottles here,” he said, his hands deep in the pool that received the
falling water. Not finding anything, he kneeled down, his arms submerged to the shoulder,
until he retrieved two sleek green bottles, stood up and turned to her. Finally she
got a good look at him. His face was a soft triangle, concluding in a chin so subtly
dimpled she hadn’t seen it before that moment. He had the skin of a child, the eyes
of a much older man and a prominent nose, crooked and bent but somehow
“This party? This is nothing,” Annie assured Mae, as they shuffled down the forty-foot
buffet. It was dark now, the night air cooling, but the campus was inexplicably warm,
and illuminated by hundreds of torches bursting with amber light. “This one’s Bailey’s
idea. Not like he’s some Earth Mother, but he gets into the stars, the seasons, so
the solstice stuff is his. He’ll appear at some point and welcome everyone—usually
he does at least. Last year he was in some kind of tanktop. He’s very proud of his
arms.”
Mae and Annie were on the lush lawn, loading their plates and then finding seats in
the stone amphitheater built into a high grassy berm. Annie was refilling Mae’s glass
from a bottle of Riesling that, she said, was made on campus, some kind of new concoction
that had fewer calories and more alcohol. Mae looked across the lawn, at the hissing
torches arrayed in rows, each row leading revelers to various activities—limbo, kickball,
the Electric Slide—none of them related in any way to the solstice. The seeming randomness,
the lack of any enforced schedule, made for a party that set low expectations and
far exceeded them. Everyone was quickly blitzed, and soon Mae lost Annie, and then
got lost entirely, eventually finding her way to the bocce courts, which were being
used by a small group of older Circlers, all of them at least thirty, to roll cantaloupes
into bowling pins. She made her way back to the lawn, where she joined a game the
Circlers were calling “Ha,” which seemed to involve nothing more than lying down,
with legs or arms or both overlapping. Whenever the person next to you said “Ha” you
had to say it, too. It was a terriblegame, but for the time being, Mae needed it, because her head was spinning, and she
felt better horizontal.
“Look at this one. She looks so peaceful.” It was a voice close by. Mae realized the
voice, a man’s, was referring to her, and she opened her eyes. She saw no one above
her. Only sky, which was mostly clear, with wisps of grey clouds moving swiftly across
the campus and heading out to sea. Mae’s eyes felt heavy, and she knew it was not
late, not past ten anyway, and she didn’t want to do what she often did, which was
fall asleep after two or three drinks, so she got up and went looking for Annie or
more Riesling or both. She found the buffet, and found it in shambles, a feast raided
by animals or Vikings, and made her way to the nearest bar, which was out of Riesling
and was now offering only some kind of vodka-and-energy drink concoction. She moved
on, asking random passersby about Riesling, until she felt a shadow pass before her.
“There’s more over here,” the shadow said.
Mae turned to find a pair of glasses reflecting blue, sitting atop the vague shape
of a man. He turned to walk away.
“Am I following you?” Mae asked.
“Not yet. You’re standing still. But you should if you want more of that wine.”
She followed the shadow across the lawn and under a canopy of high trees, the moonlight
shooting through, a hundred silver spears. Now Mae could see the shadow better—he
was wearing a sand-colored T-shirt and some kind of vest, leather or suede, over it—a
combination Mae hadn’t seen in some time. Then he stopped and was crouching down near
the bottom of a waterfall, a manmade waterfall coming down the side of the Industrial
Revolution.
“I hid a few bottles here,” he said, his hands deep in the pool that received the
falling water. Not finding anything, he kneeled down, his arms submerged to the shoulder,
until he retrieved two sleek green bottles, stood up and turned to her. Finally she
got a good look at him. His face was a soft triangle, concluding in a chin so subtly
dimpled she hadn’t seen it before that moment. He had the skin of a child, the eyes
of a much older man and a prominent nose, crooked and bent but somehow
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