A fool moon night

Critical, again.

Thought about you on the way to Bob’s Corn Maze when you texted, the car exploding in volleys of “fuck him”, and had we used another phone for directions, mine would line the side of the highway. Instead, they see your blank profile picture and 8 message previews. The place where you were, a yearbook with faces cut out, and the place where you are now.

We listened to this really blithe JRE episode where he interviews a male comedian who was recently cancelled. Some no name, really only got famous after the allegations, so the whole tone was absurd. At one point he said “I keep trying to please people who want me dead. What do they expect, me to kill myself?” and everyone in the car laughed, but it still hasn’t left my mind.

With one crunch of gravel after another, we made our way to the food stands. They make guesses on the treats that await, with some ranging from Duck Dynasty (venison jerky) to Portlandia (they actually did have seitan jerky) but Sam cried “I need a fucking drink or I’m gonna dieeeee~!” as she disappeared into the Beer Hall and our plans were decided. Thought about the Nut House and your dad’s overpriced, undervalued pecans when they met my nose with the care of an old friend. It wasn’t quite worth the interaction to get them, that and I’m not ready to face him yet. Pulled off-balance by the sleeve of my jacket and practically falling over, the Beer Hall barn doors swung into my vision, not stopping when I expected them to.

“What the fuck, Bri. She’s gonna have to get a rhinoplasty.” Yasmin wasn’t visible at first, only audible amongst a chorus of 20-somethings, rock climbers, and parents arguing over proper medical procedures. “Don’t move their head, that’s the number one rule!” Wasn’t that for spinal injuries? “That’s for spinal injuries, chiquito, let the adults handle this one.” Love that girl. Even in this situation, she found the time to be condescending. “We don’t know the extent of-“ “Then ask, maybe, before yelling random instructions? Or is the number two rule at WebMD University to not consult patients? Come on, girl, on three. One, two, three!” Her arms looped beneath mine, hoisting me up, and I did my best to regain my footing. So many people had gathered to gawk that they became a nuisance instead of an aid, so we left Sam to fend for herself and started toward the corn maze.

Constructive, in a broad sense. Maybe.

This was my idea, therefore my responsibility to make it interesting. I was telling them stories about the display farm equipment as we passed, some of them real. We did steal the ramshackle shuttle tractor and its two passenger cars with hay bale seats and bright red exteriors. It could barely even pull the things anymore, so we made it about four blocks down the gravel road before we were “gently advised to turn around” down the barrel of a shotgun. Bob would never pull the trigger on me, but he didn’t know you yet, so we returned the people-puller to the farmhouse. I may have told them a more charged story, one where we got further down the road and were interrupted atop the hay bales. Something something sex sells, and you’re not here to correct me anymore.

I told them about the night of my 17th birthday, when we walked past a stunningly lifelike (Madame Tussaud’s B-grade) scarecrow that looked so haunted, so cursed that we had to steal it, there was just no other option. How we carried it to my car beneath sheets of rain, how I lost my shoe and you offered to fix the problem, how you wrestled me to the ground and threw my other shoe into the river while I was sobbing laughing. It all felt a little less funny the next day while I shivered in fourth period and had two teachers ask me if I was hungover. But the scarecrow was great, and it continues to ward off evil forces from my backyard as I write this, a worthwhile trade for old AF1s.

When we reached the cobbled steps that joined the amphitheater and the corn maze entrances, we ducked into the amphitheater so I could show them our old smoke spot and rechristen it. The energy of the space needed cleaning. I took the hand broom and swept off the bench, we sat, and Phoebe produced one of her #5’s, her bestseller. It was a thick, pink-paper-rolled, top shelf flower joint with a core of shatter and two swirling ribbons of wax adorned the outside. To keep the wax from sticking to the box, the wax was coated in kief. She had a gift for this, we said like saying grace before dinner, and her ancient lighter sputtered to life. The best thing about this spot was always its adaptability: it could be covered in rain or open in sun, ventilated or sealed, and even had outlets underneath the bench. And now it was mine again.

Thought about the summer and the amphitheater in bloom, the wildflowers invading the concrete steps and the blinding sun, trying desperately to make up for the rest of the year. Thought about the picnic that you hated, and the spilled pomegranate juice, and how much you said you cared about the blanket; then, never even bothered to wash it.

The last hit went to Phoebe, who was one of two in our group insane enough to Wu-tang; I didn’t like watching it happen, but I would never dare disrespect her by looking away. As she proved her pain tolerance, the rest of us stood up and brushed off. Thought about the first time I brought you here, quickly shot down that thought, and motioned to the entrance of the amphitheater. I felt trapped by thinking about you and I didn’t come here for that. I suggested Bob’s because it feels safe to me, but I was stupid to. I never realized how much of that was connected to you now. I felt ashamed at how much I’d given to you. I felt Bri rubbing my back, and she whispered “It’s yours, not his. What you do with it is up to you.” I tried to hide the tears as they welled. “Do you want to leave? We don’t have to stay if-“

Sam’s cry was earsplitting. “WHAT WERE YOU THINKING? I COULD’VE DIED! THIS IS SUCH DOGSHIT BEHAVIOR! I’M TELLING MY THERAPIST ABOUT THIS!” She continued, but it was completely drowned out by the people around me, who were now doubled over and crying for their own reasons. “DO YOU THINK IT’S FUCKING FUNNY? A 60-YEAR OLD TRIED TO BUY ME A DRINK. I ALMOST SAID YES!” At least she was being a good sport about it.

Critical. Definitely critical.

Nothing could compare to the texture of the mud that made up the floor of the corn maze. If you stood amongst the stalks, you would think it was normal planting soil, but the rain and the foot traffic in October turned the dirt paths into slime. It was impossible to leave with clean shoes and unlikely to leave with any clothing unsoiled. This was my first of three lessons to leave Bob’s Corn Maze alive: it is you against the mud. Either fall early and make your peace with it or try in vain to keep your balance the whole time. Sam chimed “It can’t be that bad, right?” and I gestured to the couple who had just exited. Their once-matching black shirts were now coated in grey dots, handprints, and one’s back was just soaked in the stuff; I don’t envy those who wear nice clothes for photo ops.

Thought about lemonade and grass, starlight and sunshine. Thought about the moments that I tried to separate you from because I loved them so much. Got stuck on the first time I said I love you, how you strafed between laughing and looking disappointed, how much I wish I’d kept it to myself. And then you started saying it, and then you couldn’t stop.

I thought I’d scared Rule One into them, so we each grabbed a free mini water bottle, placed our bags into one big locker, and began a long journey. As we stepped into the mud, I told them about Rule Two: stick with someone. It was the biggest corn maze in the states, and I’d no intention of losing my friends to its villainous ways. It was us against the maze, I made that clear, but we would win as long as we stuck together. I assigned teams to stay together, but I was single because we had a group of five. I assured everyone that I’d be fine, that I knew the maze too well to get lost; nine years will do that. “No absolutely sweetheart, we totally hear you and are extra supportive in this moment, but you’re joining a group okayyyyyy?” It was more annoying on the receiving end. “Mazes are, like, so scary at night babe. You’re not going alone, and you’re dumb for thinking we’d let you, so which group?” I agreed to join Sam and Bri, the race to the end seeming trivial.

Critical. Nothing but.

The first leg of the maze was almost condescending. It was a right turn and a left turn, left a dead end of two feet and right an exit. After that, just two more turns before you reached the center. It was deceptive on purpose; most people spent at least an hour on the second half, but it gave me a chance to slip away. If you were willing to brave the corn, there were a couple shortcuts that saved a lot of time. The nearest one was so long that they’d never follow me through. I said something vague about the shortcut, told them to follow me, and started digging my way through the husks. As Kaylee from Firefly once said, no power in the ‘verse can stop me.

I exited the corn to a new part of the maze, a change they must’ve made this year. Normally I’d end up in the connector between the last parts of the maze, but now it was just a dead end. As I tried to find my way through the newly mowed section, I saw a pair of eyes fixed on me. Something at the end of the hall of stalks, a shadow that was staring.

And there you were. At a dead end, in a strange outfit, holding something that looked like a candle. You stank of alcohol, so powerfully that I could smell it from thirty feet away. I yelled to ask why you were here, what was going on, but you didn’t say anything in response. You just stood, motionless, until I came within my phone flashlight’s range. You reached out, I thought for me, but then your hands joined around the cylinder you were holding. I only recognized the flare once it was lit, then tossed into the corn. Flame screamed to life around you, hissing, spitting as rows and rows of corn caught fire. And as I turned to run, I saw you one last time. You walked so calmly into the blazing wall.

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