Music festivals are a good idea. Theoretically. Many an angsty youth spends lonely summer afternoons fantasizing about three days and two nights of peace, love, and rock-and-roll with a group of friends who love and accept them as they are. I was no different.

But the reality is much grittier. Even in the “it-looked-better-online-days” of 2025.

I rode to the “Picard’s Flute Festival: A Secular Celebration of Pagan Summer Solstice Traditions and Free Love “ in the passenger seat of my boyfriend’s car. Our friends, Emily and Margo, yowled along to the folk music in the back seat. I’d been living with Tyler for nine months. My parents hated him because he sold drugs to college students and created nihilistic cartoons that he posted on YouTube.

I was being unfair. They probably didn’t hate him because he was an artist. Or that he sold drugs. They probably hated him because he was an anti-capitalist. And a vegan. They hated me because I was an atheist. Or maybe it was because I’d dyed my hair blue.

I told my mother I’d dyed it blue so other atheists would recognize me in the wild. She didn’t even laugh. Tyler did, though.

In truth, I dyed it because I thought it made me look like a fairy princess. Especially when it had been styled into silky ringlets that curled down my back and over my shoulders. The silicone elf ears I’d stolen from my former university’s drama department only added to the look.

Whenever I started to feel like I was just another basic white bitch using the progressive movement for drugs and flamboyant fashion, I got high, because who the fuck wants to feel guilty and confused?

I took a tab of ecstasy about forty-five minutes before we rolled up to what had probably been a beautiful Appalachian meadow; little yellow and purple flowers trampled beneath the feet of hipsters, and emerged from my steel chariot a goddess reborn. I was very confident I looked divine in my white cotton sundress, little bells tingling in my hair as I danced.

It was past midnight when the four of us realized we hadn’t set up our tent. Tyler passed out in his car while I watched Margo and Emily argue over who’s fault that particular mistake was by flashlight, trying not to laugh as my friends struggled with tent poles. It was dawn by the time I laid out on my sleeping bag, too hot to squirm under the heavy fabric.

But I didn’t care.

I was a fairy princess having a magical time at the ball and that was all I really wanted. Fun. The best anti-depressant ever.

There was a goose in our tent. And it was in some kind of trouble.

I woke with a gasp, my sundress soaked with sweat. The fabric clung to my body like a second skin and I wanted to claw it off. Emily sat up a few feet away from me, naked with her long brown hair in a frizzy bun at the top of her head. She threw up into her lap. The sounds that forced their way from her throat as she retched and gagged were probably from some lingering animal DNA that had survived natural selection. That was the only explanation for the goose-like sound she made before spraying her sleeping bag with the contents of her stomach.

Margo lay passed out at her girlfriend’s side, her bare ass on full display.

Despite the intense heat and the foul smell, I began to chuckle. It was very thoughtful of Margo to leave her shirt on while she and Emily fooled around. Considerate. She probably didn’t want to make me uncomfortable. I hope they at least waited until I’d passed out.

Emily drew a deep breath, her eyes rolling in her head as she began to scream. “Water!”

Margo jerked awake with a snort and a loud fart as I ran my fingers through my hair, smiling at the leaves and broken sticks tangled in the long strands. Someone had made me a crown. All the bells were gone.

“Water!” Emily flung herself back.

“I don’t understand,” mumbled Margo. “Why’s it so hot?”

“I need water right the fuck now!”

I glanced around the tent, our clothes and shoes strewn about. My backpack lay by the closed flap, unzipped and empty. “Where’s Tyler?”

Margo scratched her shaved head, stubble dark. “I haven’t seen him. Where’s my phone?”

Emily sat bolt right up, breasts small and perky. “Where’s my water?”

I sighed as I crawled toward my backpack, the lovers already arguing. My physical state had caught up with me and my humor suffered for it. A headache pounded in my temples and the stench of Emily’s vomit made my own belly churn. I pulled a water bottle out of my backpack and gently tossed it to my poor friend as she gagged.

“Get the fuck out, Em!” Margo lurched toward the tent flap.

I sat with my legs out in front of me and mourned my ruined dress, the white cotton stained with grass and mud. I had to get out before I suffocated.

Margo unzipped the tent and burst forth into the sunshine like a caterpillar hatching from an egg. “Hurry!”

Emily’s chest heaved as she gasped, fumbling with the water bottle lid.

I wiped sweat from my brow with the back of my hand. “What happened last night? Where’s Tyler?”

Margo poked her head back inside, angular features sharpened by a hard expression. “Get everything you barfed all over and get the fuck out. Both of you. We’re gonna have to air this out if we’re going to sleep in here tonight.”

Emily sipped at her water, eyes darting around.

My head began to swim and my body flushed hot. The stink of vomit, sweat, and what I guessed to be sex turned my stomach. It was all too much. Maybe Tyler would take me to a hotel when I found him. I could take a shower and sleep in an air conditioned room. It was the only way I’d survive the hours-long ride home.

“Get out,” roared Margo.

Emily slammed the water bottle down at her side, precious liquid splashing her wrist. “Don’t rush me.”

Hoots and whistles carried inside the tent. Margo had a nice ass. It seemed the other festival goers appreciated it just as much as Emily did.

Margo rolled her eyes. “Toss me something.”

Emily’s hands shook as she reached for a pair of bright pink athletic shorts. “You look terrible, Abby.”

I didn’t say anything for fear of opening my mouth. If I started puking, I’d walk to a hotel.

Emily flung Margo the shorts and held out the water bottle.

I took it with both hands, room temperature liquid about as revitalizing as a little plastic cup of communion grape juice. Even if it couldn’t wash my sins away, the water would keep me from getting dehydrated.

Emily pulled on a maxi dress, fair skin scorched a violent shade of red, and crawled outside. I let her go. She didn’t need me to tell her she looked like a lobster.

The contents of my backpack had been dumped out by my sleeping bag. I picked out a simple cotton t-shirt and Daisy Dukes, changing as fast as I could. Margo had the confidence to be naked in front of others, but I could never figure out what the rules were.

Female nudity had been very much encouraged and appreciated at the festival, but I couldn’t help but wonder if Margo and others like her were feeding into the “male gaze” as they celebrated their liberation from repressive patriarchal norms. She hadn’t even asked for their consent.

I buttoned my pants with a snort. Did I want to be a good feminist or did I want to have fun? It wasn’t fair that the two seemed constantly at odds with one another. I’d been raised a strict Baptist and I was shocked to find the same kind of rigidity among my fellow rainbow-haired heathens at college.

Rules make people feel safe. Even leftists.

The water had provided fast relief, dizziness and confusion completely gone as my headache dissipated, but the stench of vomit intensified with the heat. I had to get out and find Tyler. A comb jutted out of Emily’s bag and I snagged it, careful not to slip as I crept outside.

The Tennessee morning baked the moisture from the muddy ground, turning the air into a swampy misery. Ancient oak and maple trees lined the meadows like dark sentinels, silently judging our over-indulgence. No heathen would find shade beneath their leaves.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Leave it to the ex-baptist to see condemnation where there was none.

Tents had been set up with varying degrees of success all around, a band playing somewhere off in the distance. I guessed ska by the blast of horns. A group of young men hung out by a fire, thin, sad patties sizzling on an over-fire grill.

One of them called out to me, eyes wide and fearful. “They’re plant-based.”

I tossed a handful of leaf fragments and tiny twigs to the ground, smiling as I lied. “Smells good.”

His shoulders relaxed and he nodded, turning away to accept a joint from his friend.

I attacked the tangles in my blue hair, brilliant light bringing out the different hues of the ombre dye job Margo and Emily gave me in their apartment two weeks ago. The festival rules seemed pretty simple. Meat, bad. Marijuana, good. Accidentally take a bite of beef and face the scorn of a young woman with a drug store dye job and barf in her tent.

The color had honestly held up pretty well considering it had been a few weeks. The ends were a frosty blue and it got progressively darker until it blended into my roots at the top. Emily said it looked more “natural” that way, something about how a person’s eyebrows should match the roots of their hair.

A few others milled about, one couple arguing somewhere in the distance while another didn’t muffle their cries of pleasure a few tents down the crooked row. Some jackass’s poor dog barked nearby, but I couldn’t see it. I needed to find Tyler and get just as stoned as everyone else. I couldn’t function in such chaos sober.

The shrill whistle of a flute pierced the sleepy haze and I whipped around to my left, terrified. Had I died and gone to Hell?

No.

Three women danced before a small man dressed as a satyr, a silver flute in his hands instead of a pan. Costume horns had been attached to his head, the soft brown curls tumbling over his brow giving him a feminine aura. He managed to force some kind of tune from his instrument, and, by the time I figured out it was a sexually repressed bank geek’s rendition of “In-a-Gadda-Da-Vida”, Margo and Emily leapt into the open, whooping as they joined the other women.

I grinned as I turned, tossing the comb into the vile stench. So much for airing out the tent. Probably should’ve done that before getting ripped. I adjusted my tight shorts, denim riding up the crack of my ass, and hoped my friends had brought enough of whatever they were on for me. I hurried toward them, giddy and excited even without drugs. Free.

A pale young man in a dark t-shirt and beige shorts stopped me, cheeks still chubby with youth. He smiled, shy. “You look like an anime girl.”

I laughed. “Which one?”

He rattled off a list.

Tyler was more of a casual anime fan and I had no interest. I preferred my fantasy in book form.

He began to babble, confusing character names and show titles as he started to explain the plot from an anime I’d never heard of for the third time.

I gathered my hair to one side and pulled it over my shoulder, the back of my neck damp with sweat. My new friend fell silent, pupils tiny pinpricks as he watched. Over his shoulder, my friends danced with scowls on their faces as they looked om.

I held up my hand, suddenly annoyed by their protectiveness. It was good of them to be concerned, but I was an adult.

“You don’t really seem into anime,” he said.

I shrugged, smiling politely. “Not really, but I’m sure there’s other girls here who are.”

He tensed, but gave me a nod before walking off. I started to worry that I hurt his feelings, but then I remembered that I’m not responsible for anyone’s feelings but my own and ran toward my friends.

“I’m ready to dance.” I twirled and leapt about like a fool. “But, please, for the love of God-”

“Gaia,” moaned Margo and Emily’s new friends, their voices ringing with a strange resonance as their heads lolled from side-to-side, eyes rolling. The most unsettling thing about them were the strained smiles on their faces, as though their enjoyment was disingenuous. “Gaia. Mother Gaia. Gaia. Gaia.”

Margo froze and we exchanged a tense look. The utter disgust in her sneer made me laugh and I doubled down, running toward them. “Get me a drink. A smoke. Vape. Anything. Where’s Tyler? Have you seen him?”

I didn’t want whatever the other women were on. My friends still seemed pretty with it. Just loose enough to have fun.

Emily tore away from Margo and the others, leaping into the center of the circle with a wild roar and began to sing, the satyr transitioning from a sixties counterculture staple to a song about a certain transsexual from Transylvania. I stumbled, laughing as people cheered and sang along.

“I haven’t seen Tyler since last night,” yelled Margo. “Come dance with us.”

She didn’t need to convince me. I bopped along with the music when a frantic drumbeat ruptured the scene, totally ruining the vibe. Men’s voices shouted. Chanting. I skidded to a halt, panic making me stupid as a group of rowdy, shirtless men barreled toward me, drummers pounding somewhere behind the screaming horde.

“Abby!” Margo’s voice snapped me back to reality.

My muscles clenched when I lurched into motion, a scream forcing its way from my throat.

But it was too late.

A dark-eyed man pulled up from his charge, veering left as I twisted away, dodging him.

“Fuck!” He careened into one of his sinewy fellows, the two of them crashing to the ground in a crumple of limbs and grunts.

I didn’t even have time to feel bad.

A bald man with a furious expression charged right at me, hands held out as he yelled. “I’m not stopping. This is a healthy expression of masculinity. Women are more than welcome, but you have to keep up.”

I wheeled around on my bare heels, mud squelching beneath the trampled grass, as other men darted by. I took a deep breath and took off into a sprint, the bald man shouting behind me. My pulse pounded in time with the drums, frantic horns and edgy lyrics growing louder as I ran along with the stampede, dizzy with heat.

“We are men,” they shouted. “We get to decide what that means!”

I pumped my arms at my sides, teeth barred as I embraced the physical discomfort, body alive even though the heat pressed against my skin like a wet suit. I tried their noble philosophy. “I’m responsible for my own happiness! My life is whatever I make of it!”

The man behind me laughed. “That’s the way! Don’t be afraid of your freedom!”