Eric strolled up to his dad, who still didn’t seem to notice him. “Dad?” he said in barely a whisper, leaning down close to his father’s ear. “I’m going to get ready to go out. You shouldn’t just sit here. I think you will have fun. The celebration will be everywhere. Just step out for a while.” Eric stood there for a minute until the silence became unbearable. He sighed and turned to walk upstairs to his room.
“You know, I didn’t say happy nameday last week,” Henry said in a soft voice, not looking up, with his head still in his hands. “Twenty years old. I can’t believe it’s here already.” It was true. Eric had turned twenty years last week. He and his dad never celebrated or even spoke of it. This was not that unusual, though. As he had gotten older they had acknowledged his nameday less and less, but this was the first year his dad had not said anything at all.
Not knowing exactly what to say, Eric ambled up the stairs to his room and sat on his bed for a moment. Why was his dad acting stranger and stranger every day? Eric loved his father, but did not know how to tell what was really bothering him or how to get through to him. He just sighed and looked around the room at his simple set of belongings.
A wooden dresser with a washbowl already filled sat on the base. A small mirror attached to the top of the dresser and one plain wooden chair sitting in the corner was about all that could be seen. He sat in that chair frequently to read by the light of his old lantern. Not his usual studies that he would read downstairs at the table, but his private collection of adventure books that he had loved since he was a child. Stories of folk whose lives were exciting and had meaning; where the fate of the world rested in their hands.
Deciding it would be best to just clean up for Sanctas and try not to think about anything else, he stripped down and bent over his washbowl, splashing about. After disappearing into his closet for a few minutes, he returned wearing his favorite black pants with a white collared shirt and red vest. Black leather boots completed the outfit as he admired himself in the mirror one last time, flipping his curly hair out of his eyes before heading back downstairs.
Taking a last look toward his dad, who seemed to be frozen in time, still sitting in his chair with his head in his hands, Eric just shook his head as he walked past him. Loud music and the sounds of celebration could be heard through the house long before he got to the door. Stepping onto the walkway was like entering another world entirely. Folk were dancing in the streets, waving brightly colored ribbons and banners.
Folk kept running up to Eric and shoving food items into his arms. Old Lady Smithies ran up and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek as she shoved a large apple into his hand. Before he could say anything she had already run off, but her presence was quickly replaced by the butcher, Mr. Humpry, who shoved a fresh sausage with bun into his free hand while hugging him with the other. Not a single word was exchanged other than a warm smile, and he was off as quickly as he came. As much as Eric loved the warm exchanges, he needed to get to the other side of town where the tournaments were taking place.
He lightly pushed his way through the crowded streets, staying toward the center of the road where it was the least congested. The sides of the road were packed with folk set up in mini shops and wagons with the tarps pulled back. They were giving away food and tiny trinkets for the children. Horns were blowing and drums were being beaten—sometimes to an actual song. Others just tried to make as much joyous noise as they could. Jugglers created small patches of space here and there, the crowd giving them just enough room to perform their craft. The ones juggling lit torches were given a bit more.
Eric could see he would have to adjust his route when he saw what appeared to be a parade of some kind coming right at him. It was hard to tell exactly what the commotion was, given how dense the crowd had become and how limited his forward sight was now. As he slowly shoved his way to the side of the street, the source of the commotion became much more apparent.
A long lizard-type puppet was dancing along as it slowly made its way down the street. The giant yellow head seemed completely animated, with a mouth that kept opening and closing as eyes with black eyelashes gazed around, blinking repeatedly. Various sections of the long green body danced up and down in no particular pattern as people pointed and cheered. It was hard to tell how many folk were controlling the dance under the giant puppet, but it seemed it had to be twenty or so.