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Hit the Road
The last time I saw my sister was a year ago. And the last time she saw my dad she promised him she’d have proof. She always acted like it was his fault she couldn’t prove fairies were real, or whatever it was she was trying to do.
She used to text me every week or two to let me know she was still kicking. Usually something useless.
It’s been three months since she last texted me.
Dad’s starting to get on my nerves. Everyday, “where’s Robyn?” or “did Robyn message you yet?” like he used to do anything other than fight with her.
I’m not worried. She probably just forgot my number.
But it’s July now, and there’s about a month until I have to go back to school. I’m studying organic chemistry, and I’ve actually managed to land a paid, that’s right, paid internship at Apotex’s latest location just south of Red Deer.
I can’t mess this up.
But, my dad won’t get off my case until she’s home. So, I’m going to kill this bird before it gets too high off the ground.
I hit the road for Wetaskiwin tomorrow morning. My dad said I could borrow his truck on the condition I donated my old chemistry equipment. I agreed. Of course, I told him I was going on a road trip with some friends, I don’t need him to worry.
It isn’t until I’m on the road that I realize a couple of problems.
One: His car has no cup holders.
So, I’m about to deal with a whole lot of dry mouth.
Two: The radio is broken.
It’s not something I ever noticed before, I just thought he liked to drive in silence. The good news is that there’s a cassette player. The bad news is that there’s one cassette tape, and the only song that works is Life Is A Highway by Tom Cochrane.
And three: I don’t know how to get to Wetaskiwin.
I checked Google Maps and it’s not that far from Red Deer, an hour and a half drive max. Just take the 2 and the 13. But for some reason I can’t seem to get there.
Three hours after departure I pull over. According to Google, if I head straight I should make it there in 20mins. Sadly, that’s what it’s been telling me for the past hour.
Past the seemingly endless rows of corn, I see a little farm, or shack, or something up the street.
The closer I get, the more abandoned it looks. There’s a sign advertising fresh corn that looks like it’s been up since the 90’s. Still I pull into the driveway leading up to the shack, and hop out of the car.
Oh sick. It looks like there are actually people here. Which makes sense considering how healthy the corn looks.
There’s an older looking man in the most stereotypical farming outfit I’ve ever seen. He’s wearing a plaid shirt covered by grimy blue overalls, and topped off by a straw hat.
“Howdy.” He says, and waves as I walk over.
Best get right to the point. “Hi, I’m a bit lost, could you give me some directions to Wetaskiwin?”
“Well, you’re in luck! It’s just up the road. I can give you specific directions,” and that’s when things took a turn for the worse, “if you try some of our world famous corn!”
Nothing about this place seemed world famous, but I wanted to get to Wetaskiwin. What could go wrong with corn?
My Nightmares and I Become Much Closer Than I Would Like
I give him a couple bucks and he hands me a bowl of corn soup. He seems to be waiting for something so I ask,
“So, how do I get to Wetaskiwin?” I fiddle with the spoon in the bowl. He doesn’t seem to be in any rush to answer my question because he stands in complete silence. It’s getting awkward so I look at the rustling field. I’m about to ask if it’s always that unnerving when he answers.
“You turn right at the edge of the drive and go straight until you hit the second road, then turn left.” He seems to be having an internal struggle between choosing to make eye-contact with me or staring at the soup in my hands.
“Okay, thanks.” I turn around and start to leave.
“Wait.” He grabs my arm. The corn around me starts waving back and forth furiously, but I can’t feel any wind. “Don’t you want to try the corn?” The field stops moving and he drops my arm.
There’s a weird feeling in my gut and I don’t want to stick around to explore it.
“Ah, I don’t really like corn. I’ll just save it and give it to my sister.”
That is the wrong thing to say.
“Please, I insist.” This seems to be very important to him because he’s moves to block my path. He rustles.
I really don’t want to try his corn now, and it’s not just because I don’t like corn.
I bring the spoon up to my lips and pretend to take a sip. “Mmmm, so good.” I say like I’m praising a four year old’s mud pie.
“Yep, this soup has definitely changed my mind about corn, so I’m going to go now.”
“No, I don’t think you are.”
Let me tell you, there is no appropriate time to watch a man dissolve into corn, but 10am on a Saturday is not it.
His skin peels back into stalks of corn. He shakes, and his clothes fall into a pile.
I don’t wait to see what kind of Goosebumps $#%! he’s about to pull, and high-tail it to the truck.
I guess I missed the unit in biology when they told us that plants could run, because when I look back, the Halloween version of Usain Bolt is right at my heels.
By sheer will-power alone, I make it back to the truck. But, Bolt’s stalky hand crams itself in-between the door of my car before I can slam it shut.
Luckily, it seems that corn stalks aren’t particularly strong, and I close it anyways with bits of plant flying up inside the car. I lock the door, and fish around for the key in my jacket pocket.
Sadly, it seems that I also missed the lecture where they tell us about the plant hive-mind as the bits of stalk stuck inside the truck coagulate together. While I’m busy swatting at one of them, what I believed to be the only one, another unlocks the door.
Nice.
The corn person grabs me with newfound strength and throws me to the ground. I think about my sister.
I wake up half-leaning against the side of a wall. I try to sit up, but my arms won’t move. It looks like they’re wrapped in corn husks?
Then, like waking up from the world’s crummiest dream, I remember.
Fantastic.
I try to shake my legs, but they’re also covered in husks.
Panic flares and I wonder if I have permanent nerve damage. I take slow breaths in and out.
Focus on my surroundings.
How long was I out?
I skip over that thought as soon as it comes, but another two rush to take its place.
Where are the corn people? What do they want with me?
Before I can skip over those thoughts too, the front of the barn rattles. Part of me needs to know what it is, but a larger part is terrified.
I close my eyes and pretend I’m still asleep.
I listen closely as soft footfalls get closer. I try to make my face seem as peaceful as possible.
“Quinn?”
I open my eyes.
“Robyn? What are you doing here? What is this?”
She hushes me and looks back over toward the doors. “If they hear you’re awake they’ll come back.” She’s got mud everywhere. There’s twigs in her hair, and she’s got an axe. I’ve never been happier to see her. She bends down, but then stops and becomes serious, “You didn’t eat the corn, did you?”
“No. Why?”
She sighs with relief. “It has some sort of hive-mind, that deteriorates you from the inside out. I’m actually studying it right now, it’s very interesting. It may even have the capability to change your DNA.”
“Are you telling me I could have become a corn person?”
“Maybe. We can talk about that later. Right now, I need to get these things off of you.” She carefully pulls one off my arm. It’s like she’s ripping off bandaids excruciatingly slow. She puts them into a plastic ziplock. “It looks like they learned their lesson. When they put me in here they only did my legs.”
She carefully pulls off another. “You’re probably wondering what’s going on…”
“Yeah you could say that.” I shake my working arm.
“My investigation into canola radiation was just the tip of the iceberg. I thought it was weird, so I traced where they get their soil from to here. I have to run some more tests, but so far the existence of these corn things is disproving almost everything we know about plant based life forms.”
“Dad’s been worried sick about you, you know?” She looks briefly guilty. “Let’s get out of here. We can talk on the road.”
“I can’t leave, I need more samples. The data I’m collecting could change the way we think about life.”
“Yeah, that sounds great, except for the part where you sound legitimately insane.”
“I’ll help you get to your car, but then I’m staying here.”
“You’re throwing your life away to live with sentient corn?” She looks unfazed. I know what I have to do, and I regret knowing that she’s a sucker for speeches.
“Come on, don’t you wonder what else is out there. If this is real what else could be? Come home, talk to dad. Then, you can hang out with all the plants you want.”
She looks pensive so I add,“What are you even living off of out here anyways?”
This seems to strike a chord. “Trail-mix. But what if someone else gets stuck here like you?”
She’s got a point. I think about it as she helps me up. “I’ve got a full tank of gas, and we only need half of it to get home.”
We get back to the car and with my old chemistry equipment and I manage to siphon a significant amount of gasoline. I take the red canister, and she takes her water bottle.
We pour it all over the crop.
“Is it weird that I feel kinda sad killing it?” She says , dumping the last of the gas.
“Yes. Get in the car.”
I use some of the matches dad keeps in the car and light the whole pack.
I feel guilt gnawing at me. I finally muster up enough courage and say, “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.”
She nods and looks over at me, “I’m sorry I didn’t try to contact you or dad.”
We sit in comfortable silence until she adds,
“You could come with me? Be the first organic chemist to discover sentient plant-life.”
I don’t answer her. I don’t know what I’m going to do now.
I put on the only song I can.