Fall Festival (Part one) by Vicky Diamond
Cold. That was the only word bouncing around Maggie’s mind as she stood, shaking, in the middle of the Johnson Family Fun Farm parking lot. Cold cold cold. She was surrounded by every other girl from her dorm, who were also forced to go on this inane, torturous, “fun”, and mandatory field trip. “Oh my god, this shit is so boring already. I mean, for christ’s sake, we’re not in high school anymore, this is stupid.” A girl standing near her vocalized Maggie’s thoughts exactly. She supposed it was to get some of the freshmen to make introductions, network, so to speak, and probably to get some of the less social older girls to come out of their shells too. A noble effort, she admitted, but probably a misguided one. Of course, she was one of those less social older girls, but it wasn’t exactly for a lack of trying. She went to GSA, and sat in the back at some of the drama showcases, and even went to a rugby game once or twice, but no one ever felt compelled to strike up any conversation with her. She didn’t really mind, she kind of liked the solitude, but this little excursion was mandatory dorm-wide. And so, here she was, freezing half to death while the RA argued with the bored twenty-something behind the ticket desk. She was wearing multiple layers, both to hide her cursedly skinny frame, and to protect from the harsh Nova Scotian October weather, and she suspected neither job was being done quite well. She sighed, staring down at her phone, which was still painfully dry.
It had been five, maybe six days since Dominic had texted, and at least a week and a half since he had last called. She didn’t exactly expect much from a Tinder hookup, but… she had liked him, honestly. Dominic was cute and dorky and kind of awkward, which Maggie could relate to, but more socially adept than her, enough to politely but loudly tell the cashier at the Wendy’s counter that she had, in fact, said no tomatoes on her burger. But she’d been ghosted before, Usually by chasers or “going-through-a-phase” sorority girls. She wasn’t, she told herself, some yearning lovestruck high schooler. Still, the lack of contact stung, and she wondered if this “fun farm” would somehow cure her of her woes, or at least give her something more miserable to focus her wallowing on, for productivity’s sake. Maggie looked up as she heard footsteps start to move towards the gate. The RA and the ticket-taker had apparently come to some sort of agreement, and the dorm group was allowed to file through the gates.
Once inside, Maggie’s eyes lazily traced over the attractions. Bobbing for apples… “i’d rather avoid pink eye, thanks.’ Petting zoo… ‘i’ll just end up feeling sorry for the sickly old goats and bunnies.’ Finding a in a haystack… ‘I’m not a masochist, for Christ’s sake.’ Making your own scarecrow… ‘maybe, but where would I put it?’ Haunted house… ‘looks more like a crack house, honestly… or one of the frat dormitories across the street from ours.’ Fall finger painting… ‘what am I, five years old?’ She was beginning to lose any hope that this would be even somewhat salvageable, when she noticed a sign, a big wooden arrow pointing towards what was apparently “The Biggest Corn Maze In Canada!”. She rolled her eyes a little at the saccharine, chibi-style anthropomorphic ear of corn to the left of the sign, but was inexplicably intrigued about the actual attraction. Maybe out of genuine interest, maybe just in a desperate bid to stave off boredom. So she decided to walk down the dirt path, boots crunching against the hard-packed earth, towards the maze.
Looking up at the vast expanse of corn before her, even at the back of a significant line, she had a somewhat satisfied feeling that she hadn’t been falsely advertised to. The cornfield was, in a few words, really fucking big. Easily the size of a few football fields, minimum. She wondered how the farmers had even been able to grow this much corn, save for divine intervention or satanic contracts, or maybe just, as her dad put it, “good old-fashioned elbow grease”. This was a very old-fashioned-looking place, evidently. She hadn’t seen a single screen or electronic device since she’d gotten off the bus, not even a vending machine. As the line trudged along, Maggie sighed, breathing in, then out. This place had a nice vibe to it, she had to admit. Fresh air, moderately friendly staff, cheesy yet endearing decor. It was growing on her, and maybe she’d even started to have a little fu- “Sir? Excuse me, sir?” A woman, looking about fifty or so and like she had just stepped out of Yellowstone or Little house on the prairie, smiled kindly at her. Maggie lifted her head more, blushing a little. “Yeah? A-and, um… it’s… I-it’s Ma’am, sorry… um… yes?” The woman, visibly a bit embarrassed herself, spoke up, voice no less peppy, though. “So sorry, Ma’am, you need a second person to go through the maze with you.” Maggie looked around, suddenly self-conscious, both about the misgendering and about coming alone. “Oh… c-can… can I not…” fuck, fuck… Dominic was better at this stuff… If Dom was here, this conversation wouldn’t even be happening… “can I… just g-go… by myself?” The woman, sighing, a little exasperated now, shook her head. “No, sweetie. You need someone to partner up with, so it’ll be harder for you to end up getting lost. Sorry, hon, but If you don’t have a partner, you’ve gotta go find one and head to the back of the line.” “Oh… damn…” She started to turn away, annoyed and disappointed, when… “Maggie! Y’held our spot in the line, Darlin’! That’s nice of ya…”
Maggie’s head turned so fast she thought her neck might snap. Stepping under the line-rope was a short-ish girl, blonde, with sharp green eyes and a big smile on her face. “Sorry for my friend’s nervousness, she ain’t really used to big crowds, lines, y’know. She’s a bit of a homebody.” The girl, turning from the attendant to face her, grinned just as wide, flashing perfect white teeth, and stood up on her toes for a moment. “Ain’t ya, Mags? Hope you and this lady didn’t give each other a hard time, huh?” As the girl turned to the woman at the gate, yammering a few more excuses and taking a paper and marker from her, Maggie noticed her accent, distinctly American, somewhere southern, she decided. Suddenly, she felt the warmth of another hand clasping around hers, and the contact, plus the sheer temperature shift, shocked her into silence. “Alright, the gal’s gonna let us through! Good thing I caught ya when I did, or we’d both be screwed. Come on, Darlin’!” She felt herself being dragged into the halls of corn, and after a few meters, dug her feet into the dirt.
Maggie stared down at the girl who was currently holding her hand like an old married woman holds her husband’s, and frowned a little. “I… d-don’t.. not to be impolite, but… I mean… who…” the mystery girl giggled, and let Maggie’s hand go. For a moment, the skin of her palm ached, with what she told herself was the lack of warmth and nothing else, but it passed. The girl looked up at her. “Sorry, should have told ya earlier! Hannah, Hannah Marshall. Transfer student from Houston, Texas, and freshman at North Valley college. Although I suppose I’m really a freshwoman but I don’t know the etymology and all… And as for what I’m doing here, well… I wanted to do the corn maze, and I saw ya in what looked to be a bit of trouble at the gate there, so I says to myself, ‘Hannah, why don’cha make like Atticus Dickinson and kill two mockingbirds with one stone, and help that poor girl out, so I did! Hope ya don’t mind.” It struck Maggie that the girl, now identified as Hannah, hadn’t even taken a single breath during that entire mini-monologue. The mess of improperly used literary references wouldn’t strike her for another few seconds after that. “No… d-don’t mind… at all. Thanks.”
