A Hoboken Hipster In Sherwood Forest by Mari AKA Marianne Mancusi

Chris, I've got to go. They're going to kill me when they get their phone bill. I'll call you later if I get a chance to see where you stand."
    "Okay," I say, actually feeling a little sad to let her go. "I understand."
    "Oh, and Chrissie?"
    "Yeah?"
    "Try to have some fun while you're there. You only go back in time once. I think, anyway. Make the most of it."
    "Okay. Thanks, Kat."
    "Cool. Adios. I'm ghost." And with that, the line goes dead.
    I let out a sigh and stuff the phone back in my bag. Have fun indeed. Easy for her to say. She went back in time and got to hang out in a castle—with knights and ladies and probably court jesters. I, on the other hand, am stuck in the middle of the filthy woods with a group of ragged outlaws and their mopey leader, who has a thing against girls. She got to wear fine medieval dresses and make love to a legendary knight in shining armor. I have to pretend I'm some dude or I'll be kicked out of camp. So sure, Kat; it's easy for you to say "have fun." Reality is much bleaker on this side of the cell phone.
    It's not surprising, really. People like Kat always end up going through life with no problems at all. They don't have husbands who cheat on them with coffeehouse waitresses. They flit around from one social event to the next, their biggest worry being whether their shoes will match their camisole tops. They don't worry whether they will be able to make the rent next month on their studio apartment that was always too small for two people, but too expensive for one. They don't bounce checks or have creditors calling them.
    Maybe it's better that I'm back in time with the other downtrodden. I'd feel sick living it up in the castle knowing others were starving down in the villages. These are my people. The ones without hope.
    I rush down the path to catch up with the men. I come to a small village surrounded by a stone wall, and from the excited cries coming from inside I realize I must have the right place.
    I walk down the narrow dirt streets until I come to a small town square. It must be market day; little wooden stands flank the sides of the road with pitiful offerings of moldy bread and cracked eggs. Slabs of meat give off a slightly rotten scent. There are woven baskets and crude knives.
    But no one's shopping. The whole crowd of dirty peasants has gathered around Robin and his men.
    "Long enough have you been persecuted and taxed to the point of starvation by the evil man who dares rule in his brother's place," Robin is saying. "But keep your faith, good people. Soon our blessed King Richard, rightful lord of England, shall return, cast the usurper from his throne, and restore the riches of our great land to the people who toil on it."
    Cheers erupt from the crowd. Not surprisingly, Prince John doesn't seem to have a large fan base.
    "But until that day comes, your children must eat. They must grow to be strong men and women who can fight for their country. Therefore, we have brought you some silver to buy seed for your farms, bread and milk for the mouths of your babes." He lifts up the bag of silver and waves it in the air. All the peasants' eyes light up like someone flipped a switch.
    "Silver?" one old hunchbacked man breathes.
    "For us?" asks a small blond boy in the front, his big blue eyes wide with amazement.
    "Where did ye get it?" asks a suspicious middle-aged brunette.
    "We took it from a man who had much to spare," Robin says with a grin. "And are giving it to you who have so little. I think 'tis a fair trade, do you not?"
    Judging from the general whoops of cheer, I'd say they’re pretty much down with the concept. Robin appoints one villager as a treasurer, and gives him the silver to dole out to each peasant.
    "Now we must take our leave," he says, removing his hat and bowing with a flourish.
    "Stay for dinner!" begs a pretty maiden in the front, batting her eyelashes at our hero. Robin is so a rock star here. "I'm told I make a very lovely stew."
    "Aye," agrees a