Hayley Shucker

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When Alice fell down the rabbit hole it was because she couldn’t leave well enough alone, and I relate to her imprudence because I’m falling down my own proverbial rabbit hole here at a music festival without my neuro-spicy-friendly ear plugs. I’m trying to blend in because I accidentally double-tapped and liked Jade’s post, so I had to pretend I also loved that indie music punk goddess who plays multiple instruments and yes, of course, I was going to Coachella, because I couldn’t tell Jade I was spying on her because my ex posted a pic kissing her cheek with his buff arm around her delicate shoulders. She wouldn’t know what I look like because he’d deleted every pic of us on his Instagram—Boop—Vanished—a memory, no – a hallucination, so I deleted mine in retaliation. 

Jade was psyched for company. Said her boyfriend (ugh) didn’t like hippie music, and her sister was away at school. She’s really cool, like, when she found out I lived near her, she insisted we carpool to save gas, and that drive here was better than my first date, than any date, with my ex, because I told her I might want to be a doctor and she didn’t laugh when I confessed I fainted at the fake blood in my first aid class and agreed I can overcome that, and she was also excited for the larger than life art installations.

I watched “Ten Tips for Coachella.” It said to watch for pickpockets, so I bought a crossbody purse for my wallet and phone and learned there is only one brick and mortar bathroom and I refused to poop in a porta potty, but I can’t find my way back. The video also said to look for landmarks, but I can’t remember if I was supposed to make a right or left at the Ferris wheel or if I was on the blue or green path, and it’s just like Alice when the those brush dog things erase the literal path she’s walking because I’m sure I’ve passed by that cotton candy cardboard cutout three times already.

There’s Jade! stuffing a hotdog into her mouth, her glossy red lips like the Queen of Hearts, her eyeliner perfectly smudged and smokey, and when I asked if she’d do mine too, she did. She smiles at me, then her face contorts, and she’s clearly choking, so I run, fast as I can with multiple blisters from these damn hippie sandals, and I wrap my arms around her waist, feel her warmth, know the sunburn is coming for her bare shoulders, and I jerk her toward me over and over, trying to dislodge the hotdog, until she spits it out and we stare at the masticated meat on the ground and laugh and laugh until I take her face in my hands and kiss her spit covered red lips.

Hayley’s prompts were: at a festival, an unlikely hero, falling

Hayley Shucker’s creative work has appeared or is forthcoming in Silly Goose Press, Etched Onyx, The Mersey Review, Door is a Jar, Los Angeles Review and more. She loves musical theater, cats, and baking. Read her work on hayleyshucker.com, subscribe to her Substack

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