Fair Ground
Jake considered himself an enigma wrapped in a four-leaf clover, drifting from one passion to another like the rain in the wind. But there was one thing he held dear, a secret love that he shared with few: the Renaissance Fair. It was a world away from the humdrum of everyday life, a place where he could be anyone, or no one at all.
When his sister’s boy, Leo, came to live with him, Jake saw the shadow of loss hanging over the kid like a constant companion. Ten years old and already carrying more weight than most adults. Jake knew he needed to do something, anything, to bring a spark back to Leo’s eyes.
One crisp Saturday morning, they set out in Jake’s battered old truck, the kind that rattled and groaned with each mile. Leo sat quietly, staring out the window, his small face set in a contemplative frown. Jake didn’t push him to talk; he just drove, letting the open road and the promise of adventure do the work.
The fairground appeared like a mirage in the middle of nowhere—tents billowing in the breeze, flags fluttering, and the distant sound of laughter and music. Leo’s eyes widened a fraction, a glimmer of curiosity breaking through his stoic mask.
“Ever been to one of these?” Jake asked, trying to sound casual.
Leo shook his head, but there was a hint of intrigue now. They parked and made their way in, greeted by knights in armor, jesters juggling, and the sweet, smoky scent of roasted turkey legs wafting through the air.
Jake bought them both wooden swords at the first stall they passed. “Every knight needs a weapon,” he said, handing one to Leo. The boy took it, turning it over in his hands, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Careful now,” Jake warned, “you don’t wanna poke your eye out.”
They wandered through the fair, Jake pointing out the different crafts, the blacksmith hammering away at molten iron, the weavers creating intricate tapestries. Leo listened, absorbed, the fair’s magic working its way into his heart.
At the jousting arena, they found seats on a rickety wooden bench. The knights charged at each other, lances clashing, and the crowd erupted in cheers. Jake stole a glance at Leo, who was leaning forward, eyes bright with excitement.
“You know,” Jake said, nudging him gently, “your dad loved this stuff. Used to talk about coming here with you one day.”
Leo’s smile faltered for a moment, then grew more determined. “Really?”
“Really,” Jake affirmed. “He’d want you to have fun, to be happy.”
They spent the rest of the day immersed in the fair’s wonders. They watched a falconry show, tried their hand at archery, and even joined a drum circle, the rhythmic beats echoing in their chests. For the first time in a long while, Jake saw Leo laugh—a real, genuine laugh that seemed to lift the weight from his small shoulders, if only for a moment.
As the sun began to set, casting a golden hue over the fairground, they sat on a hillside overlooking the scene. Leo leaned against Jake, exhausted but content.
“Thanks Uncle Jake,” Leo said quietly, his voice barely a whisper.
Jake felt a lump in his throat but managed a smile. “No problem, brave knight,” he replied, ruffling Leo’s hair.
They watched as the fair’s lights began to twinkle in the dusk, a magical world glowing softly against the encroaching night. For the first time, Jake felt like they were both on a path to healing, however winding it might be.
The journey home was quiet, Leo dozing in the passenger seat, clutching his wooden sword. Jake drove steadily, the road ahead clear and open. He didn’t have all the answers, but he had this day, this small victory. And sometimes, he thought, that’s enough.
Fred Aiken Writing 