The line moved quickly despite all the hitching, twitching and general itching of the participants in it. I inched forward and glanced at Indira's tent now and then to see how she fared with the sudden crowd of customers. I saw her dark head bob in and out of the racks to fetch different colors and styles while the women milled around, laughed and held the colored silk against their chests and blatantly ignored the, "No Food or Drink Inside the Tent" sign. Indira would flip her lid when she saw it. I'd seen her chase customers off for less.

"You haven't seen Madame Miri yet, have you?" a too-close man's voice said in my ear. Spittle landed on my neck. My mental walls clicked in place. Close talkers always triggered my empathy, regardless of my connection with the person. It was reflex now to protect myself against them, too.

I jumped back and looked the speaker up and down and took him in. The man had wild, uncombed hair, a half-buttoned dress shirt with one tail tucked in and one out, stained pants and mismatched shoes. I took another step towards the doorway and tried to look interested in a poster that listed Madame Miri's appearance dates and locations.

"No." I used the edge of my sleeve to wipe my neck. "First time."

"I was here yesterday, the first day, too." The man nodded and rubbed his arms. "She's good. Lots of detail." A wind swept up behind him and his hair fanned out around his face.

I glanced at him sideways and nodded slowly. "Ah, sure." The line moved again and I moved with it, and noted from the poster that this was the first festival where Madame Miri, Mom and I were all in attendance. Illinois, Indiana, Michigan...she was on the northern circuit prior to this.

Why did she come so far south? Most people pick one or the other, depending on their weather preference. Mom and I, for instance, hate the cold, so we stay south.

"So you came to see her yesterday, and today?" I said. "You know, there is another fortune teller, a really good one, just up there." I pointed in the general direction of my mom's tent. "She'll be back in probably an hour."

He shook his head. "I only see Madame Miri."

I wrinkled my nose. "How many times have you been to see her?"

"Between yesterday and today?" he said. "Maybe five times."

My eyes grew wide. "Okay, wow. That's a lot." I moved ahead in the line. "Why so many times?"

Mr. Spitty shuffled after me and scratched his head. "The readings make me feel so good. Like getting drunk, but better. I don't care about anything!" He danced a little jig.

"Doesn't that seem a little odd to you?" I said.

He looked down at his feet. "What, my dancing?"

I snorted. "No, that you can't stop coming here."

"It's the weekend." He shrugged. "But I may just call in sick on Monday and come back again."

"Uh, sure." I said. "Maybe you want to stop at home first and get some sleep and a shower." I almost gagged when a breeze blew a whiff of hot, sweaty goat at me.

Mr. Spitty was unfazed. "What are you going to ask her?" There was spit gathered in the corners of his mouth.

I wrinkled my nose. "Uh, I don't know. I thought I would just wing it."

"Don't do that!" he jumped close to me again.

I took a step back and bumped into the person in front of me, a woman in a nice pantsuit. She whipped her head around and glared at me, and I stepped back, surprised at the mismatch between her face and her business clothing. Her makeup was streaky and misapplied, like it was done a day ago and in a rush and...I wrinkled my nose...she smelled like yesterday's failed deodorant covered up by generous sprays of heavy perfume. She must have been here since yesterday, too.

I mumbled, "Sorry" and volleyed back to Mr. Spitty.

His eyes tried to lock onto mine.

I looked at his chin, my go-to spot for eye-contact avoidance, and tried to keep it together. Eye contact with someone you don't know can invite all kinds of bad, from mind-reading to soul control. Needless to say, it is risky and should only be established between consenting individuals and I didn't know Mr. Spitty.

My heart raced despite my efforts to slow it through practiced breath. Everything moved into a focused clarity: the sounds of the fair, the color of the sky, the scent on the wind. I was now one person away from the door. The line moved much too fast and the purple acetate fabric flapped at me, as if to warn me away. I considered bolting, then gave myself a shake. I told myself not to be stupid. This guy wasn't scary.

He inched up to my ear as the person in front of me grew eerily still.

I braced myself for the spit. It didn't come.

His voice dulled to a whisper, "She likes it when you tell her your greatest hope."

The line moved and suddenly I stood in front of the tent doorway with a chill on my spine. I paused and let it sink in and wondered if there was something to this fortune teller after all. But no, Mom could sense another witch and said she hadn't. So I was getting myself all worked up for nothing over a weird dude with mismatched shoes who spit when he talked. Nice.

I looked to Mr. Spitty to tell him good luck, but he was gone. I turned round and round to look for him, but the crowd swallowed him up. With one last glance across to Indira's tent, where she was busy with a new customer, I turned back to the doorway and ducked to enter.

******
What did you think about this scene? Let's chat in the comments!