2. Can justify what they’ve done
3. Homicidal lesbian?
4. Doesn’t like interruptions.
Wants to be in charge
I can’t see anything and all I can smell is cornfield. Apparently this is supposed to build trust or something—teach us that it’s okay to get bossed around and to rely on people. Those of us in the cornfield are not allowed to speak or remove our blindfolds. If we do, we won’t be getting any of the M&M’S Miss Rosa keeps in her pockets.
“I am promising you candies,” she said, shimmying back and forth so that the loose M&M’S in her cargo pants started clacking. Then she handed us bandannas to cover our eyes and had our partners lead us out into the cornfield.
“You okay?” I asked Davey before we got led in. He looked a little funny. I’m not sure where he is in relation to me now.
“Hey Davey, where are you?” I shout.
“No talking! Last warning!” Miss Rosa calls. She and our partners are watching us from the observation deck, which I guess is where field-trip leaders usually go if they need to spot lost children. Maze of Terror seems like the sort of place you bring a field trip of kindergarteners.
Davey is partners with Marion. Luther’s with Big Jason. I got paired with Mildred, the lunch lady. Neither of us is doing very well, it seems.
“Keep walking, you stupid animal!” Mildred calls to me. “Now stop—no, not yet!”
I hear Miss Rosa saying something to her.
“You’re doing okay I guess!” Mildred adds.
It’s hard to hear her voice specifically above everyone else’s—not only because everybody’s screaming, but also because her voice kinds of sounds like a man’s and blends in with the rest. Luckily, a few minutes in, she comes up with a nickname for me so I can pick her out.
“Hey Fart Muffin, Left, I said. Goddamnit, left.”
Marion keeps calling Davey “dumbass.”
“Jason, you shriveled dick, move your ass!” Luther screams.
I wish I could take off the blindfold for a second and write in Ruth’s journal. I’d add that violent people tend to name call when they’re frustrated.
“Davey?” I say softly.
I didn’t think it’d be so weird to be back at a cornfield. I mean, it’s not as if it’s the same one where they found Ruth. But the smell is really getting to me.
“You dumbass!” Marion booms. “Quit spinning in circles like a dog and walk toward me, goddamnit!”
There’s the sound of leaves crashing somewhere far behind me.
“Not through the fucking wall, dumbass—find your way around it,” Luther yells. Luther shouldn’t even be talking to Davey because he’s technically Big Jason’s partner.
I put my arms out in front of me and try to follow Mildred’s instructions: “Left—lefter—no, now straighter, Fart Muffin. Try a diagonal.” There’s another crash somewhere behind me.
“He’s lying on the ground,” complains Marion. “The dumbass isn’t moving.”
“Hold up Big Jason, I gotta talk to Davey—You have to play the game, Dumbass,” Luther booms. “It isn’t fair if you don’t play.”
“Give me . . . a second.” Davey yells. He sounds out of breath.
“No talking!” barks Miss Rosa.
“I’m not . . . okay,” he says. He’s not even shouting and I can hear him, so he must be close.
All of a sudden I get that old hero desire again. I want to be the one to help. I imagine myself carrying Davey up a mountain to a hospital amidst crowds and cheers. I rip off my blindfold. “Davey, where are you?”
“Banzai!” shouts Miss Rosa.
“Here,” Davey says.
I go crashing through the corn-maze wall, following the sound of his voice. “Partners stick together,” I am saying over and over, keeping my knees high as I run. Leaves are slapping me in the mouth and getting stuck to my hair. All of a sudden my foot catches on something and I fall flat on my face.
“Ouch,” Davey says. He’s on his stomach with his head in his hands. He’s still got his blindfold on. I must have tripped right over his butt.
He isn’t crying or anything, but he’s holding very, very still.
“Sorry.” I brush dirt from my face and crawl over to him. “Hey, take this off, it’s fine. Is it the smell? The corn smell? I don’t like it, either.” I untie the bandanna behind his head but it’s still stuck between his face and his fists.
I lean down and get close to his ear. “Is it Afghanistan memories?”
Without warning, Davey reaches out and grabs me around the waist, pulling me onto the ground next to him. I’m so stunned for a second that I just lie there, with my back to his chest, letting him spoon me, feeling warmth through his thin jacket. I squeeze his arms. There’s something nice about being held so gently by something that could easily kill you. It feels good to touch him, like touching a lion.
“Okay,” I say. I’m afraid if I hold on too long he might pull away first. So I scootch and stand up and pull him to his feet. As we walk out of the corn he reaches for me, keeping his hand cupped around the back of my neck. The stitches on his finger are tickling my hairline. I shiver.
“Will you tell me how you got that someday?” I ask, reaching back and tapping the back of his hand.
Davey gives my neck a little squeeze. “Soon.”
The maze is easy with your blindfold off, obviously. No one’s yelling at us anymore, but Davey keeps his eyes on his feet, probably anticipating reprimand or epithets, or maybe he’s embarrassed at how easy the maze is once you can see. I’m trying to make out people’s expressions on the observation deck. I’m feeling pretty proud, actually. Part of me expects them to clap.
“Is he okay?” Mildred calls, and I nod.
“I wish someone would hug me like that,” Marion shouts, frowning.
Miss Rosa has climbed down and is waiting for us at the exit of the corn maze. She’s got her back real straight and her heels together, and for a second I’m afraid she’ll put us on time out for cheating.
“Sorry,” I tell her, walking a little faster. “I forgot that Davey’s allergic to corn.”
She cocks her head. “It is okay, this touching. Maybe later you will kiss instead of hit, no?”
Back on the bus, we pass around the charred remains of my peanut butter tasties. Everyone’s being pretty nice to Davey, trying to make light of what happened, even though they saw him freak out in a child’s corn maze.
“You did okay.”
“I get claustrophobic, too, buddy.”
“It’s hard to put your destiny into the hands of others—especially a dumbass like Marion.”
“Hey!” Marion says.
“I could give you my number, like if you ever get bored of my cornfield maze partner and want to go on a date or something,” Mildred says seriously.
I laugh out loud and click my pen.
Potential suspect types
1. Racist-ish
2. Can justify what they’ve done
3. Homicidal lesbian?
4. Doesn’t like interruptions.
Wants to be in charge.
5. Likes calling people names
6. Likable
Everyone’s telling stories of the last time they “clammed up” or “freaked out” or “messed themselves over nothing, in front of everybody.” But the goodwill only lasts until the bus breaks down. The scenery starts to slow through the windows. The engine rattles and the laughter stops.
“You were driving it too fast!” Mildred scolds.