Stalks and stalks of corn. Miles and miles of corn. If you were tall enough and were able to peak out over a stalk or two, you wouldn’t see where the field of corn ended. It looked as if the tips of the corn stalks were reaching as high as they could to touch the sky, far in the distance. Much like the teal and blue waves of an ocean, majestically meeting the horizon as you stand at the edge of the water during low tide.
Robert was cautiously walking through his infinite miles of corn. He would go left, then right, and maybe backtrack a little. Like a corn maze during the Halloween season, minus creepy characters, and minus any paved paths.
From an airplane, descending from 35,000 feet to the nearby airport, a little boy in a window seat and a couple returning from their honeymoon, would notice the miles and acres and excessive amount of corn. Well, they may not necessarily realize it’s corn stalks, but it’s something.
Yes, it’s definitely something.
But only Robert knew the purpose of his corn. He reaped and watered for years to get to where he wanted it. To make sure it looked the way he wanted it to. To serve the purpose as he wanted it to.
This corn was not going to be harvested. Robert was not going to pave through any of it, to create a haunted path for teenagers and young adults to race through.
As Robert continued walking through the stalks, the same patterns as before, he knew.
He knew he had done this right. He buried his secrets.
Other than secrets, only Robert knew what else was buried under all of this corn.
Ali is attentive Brittney is brave Chris is curious Dustin is daring Eric is extroverted Francis is friendly Greg is generous Hank is helpful Izzy is independent Jared is jolly Kelly is kind Lauren is lonely Mark is mischievous Nathan is nostalgic Orchid is outstanding Patrick is passionate Quincey is quiet Rachel is radiant Steven is soft-spoken Thomas is terrific Uma is unique Violet is vivacious Walter is wonderful Xander is xtraordinary Yolanda is yearning Zeb is zealous
I will not walk this earth without you.
For who else will show me the way. For who else will have my favorite laugh. For who else will make me laugh. For who else will care the way you do. For who else will look at me the way you do. For who else will have my favorite smile. For who else will cry with me. For who else will ask me how I am. For who else could ever be you.
I will not walk this earth without you.
As Anthony was walking away from my car into SeaTac International Airport, I knew I had made the biggest mistake of my life. Before I even knew it, I had unbuckled my seatbelt, opened the door into traffic, and cried his name out. Car horns blared and traffic cops whistled at me, and I knew my car was going to be towed for a very expensive fee. Despite that knowledge, and almost forgetting all my belongings, I ran around the car, tripping over other travelers’ bags. Eventually, after what felt like miles, I made it through the sliding doors of the airport terminal.
Far away in the distance, I saw him standing in line at TSA PreCheck. Gosh darn, I was either going to have to bully my way into a line with agents every two feet or I was going to have to buy a plane ticket. Hawaiian Airlines, Alaska Airlines, Breeze, and Spirit were my only options. I dashed to the Alaska counter because that was the closest and no one was waiting in line. Jasmine, the agent at the desk, asked how she could be of assistance? Keeping my composure, or at least thinking I was, I said that I wanted to purchase the cheapest ticket possible. Looking up from her computer, she furrowed her brow, clearly waiting for me to give her a destination.
“Maine, Maryland, Morocco, or the McDonalds in Terminal 2.”
“Next flight to Orlando is at 10:30, for $930, before taxes and fees, with a layover in San Francisco.”
“Orlando for $930?” Perhaps this wasn’t worth it. Quit while I’m financially ahead?
Realizing I would lose Anthony forever if I didn’t proceed, I handed Jasmine my credit card and booked this random, expensive, I’m-not-actually-going-to-take-this one way flight to Orlando.
Scurrying around confused and late arriving passengers who probably booked their flights months in advance, I waited in the regular security line because I’m not rich enough for PreCheck. Turns out, the PreCheck line is backed up too, as I can see that Anthony is just now approaching the TSA agent to present his ID.
Under the AC vent, I pulled the sweatshirt that I still had around my waist from our early morning jog and slipped my arms into it, one after another. Virtually without warning, a swarm of what must have been a SWAT team or FBI agents, but definitely not just the Seattle PD, raced up to the PreCheck windows. Watchers and onlookers stopped everything and saw my ex-finance, the love of my life, the guy I decided not to marry, be handcuffed and shackled and dragged toward double-doors marked for employees only.
X-Ray machines resumed to scanning luggage, and security lines moved again as if nothing out of the extraordinary had even happened.
“You son-of-a… what did you do?”
Zipping up my sweatshirt, now frozen to the core, I dodged my way out of line, and back through the same airport sliding doors I came in, likely entering a world I didn’t know existed before.
Sitting in the conference room, Janelle, and Jamie were waiting for their boss for the monthly budget meeting.
Janelle, 15 years Jamie’s junior, was wearing an ensemble that was more appropriate for a Taylor Swift concert than the corporate world, pulled out her iPhone and checked her latest notifications on TikTok. She failed to hear Jaime ask her a question.
“Do you want to message Greg since you have your phone? Remind him? Mine is back at my cubicle.”
Jamie, you see, was very different than Janelle. He never brought an electronic device into a meeting. The focus was the topic on hand, with pen and paper, at hand.
15 minutes have passed. “Did he respond?”
Janelle, without looking up from her phone: “Huh?”
Jamie: “Did he respond to your message, about our meeting?”
Janelle stared at Jamie blankly. “He’s always in meetings. Maybe his 9am went long.” She returned to her phone, scrolling away.
But Jamie knew better. He’d been with the company for so long, reporting to Greg for so long. Much longer than Janelle. “He would’ve messaged us if he had a meeting run late. This isn’t like him,” Jamie tried to tell Janelle, but the comment just echoed around the four walls of the room.
“I’m going to see if I can find him,” Jamie said as he stood up and walked out the door. He wasn’t sure if Janelle even noticed.
Up until now, being single has been completely, utterly, absolutely, positively, 100% - no, 1,000% perfectly fine with me. My INJF Myers-Briggs personality test results has led me a successful lifestyle of: sleeping, cooking, cleaning… all for a party of one. I’ve been quite content, if you ask me, but I know you’re not asking.
You see there was a boyfriend once, but he doesn’t even deserve that title. Let’s call him Rob. Up until now, I hadn’t even thought of Rob since he walked out of my life. Here’s the catch, Rob’s sister’s cousin’s best friend’s half-sister’s neighbor happens to be MY BEST FRIEND from childhood. Like we would take our filthy, stinky diapers off as babies and hide them under couches, in kitchen cabinets (Feel free to ask our parents why those things were, you know, not kid proof.), and obviously, in the kitty litter box. (It makes sense, right? Here kitty kitty. People ask why I’m I cat person. Um, they’re sooo independent? Like me? Yeah that’s it! Yes!) And then we would run around, butt naked, sitting EVERYWHERE, dirty cheeks and all.
Everyone has dirty laundry (literally and figuratively) but do you have a dirty diaper bond with your best friend?
We have matching tattoos on our butts. Of diapers.
I’m kidding.
Or am I?
I digress. I guess, sitting here in London Heathrow Airport, waiting out a delay, staring, glaring, at the Tile app, and seeing that Mr. Flamingo (my sparkly pink suitcase) was not registering as being located, I realized that maybe there’s like a 0.0001% possibility that being single isn’t great after all, because who’s going to approach the British Airways counter in Paris Charles de Gaulle Airport if Mr. Flamingo still isn’t found. Me? No, that’s crazy.
We board the flight to Paris - did I tell you I’m the maid of honor in my dirty diaper bonded best friend’s (but also Rob’s sister’s cousin’s best friend’s half-sister’s neighbor’s) wedding AND the wedding in going to be IN THE EIFFEL TOWER. They say Paris is the city of love or whatever but hopefully there isn’t an open bar that high off the ground.
Anyway we board the flight to Paris, and the Tile app still isn’t picking up Mr. Flamingo. I know I can’t do anything about it now, but slightly panicking because my dress and the rings, THE RINGS, are in Mr. Flamingo. (I’m so sorry, if that sounds dirty.) I knew I should have put them in Mrs. Flamingo (my matching carry on, that I have my eyes on and haven’t lost). Of course, there is nothing interesting in there, just toiletries, three books (because I don’t like Kindles and I have the attention span of a gnat), and my strapless bra, because, you know, all of those are priorities over the wedding bands.
——
A lifetime later, we tried to descend into Paris, not once, not twice, but three times. Apparently, the London Fog bought its own airfare ticket to join our travels and our pilot couldn’t see out of his window to make any sort of decision or airplane flying maneuver to land us safely.
When he did receive clearance from the tower, the plane landed on the runway with enough hops, skips, and jumps, to make stone skipping champions proud. Upon exiting the aircraft, I opened the Tile app yet again, and still, Mr. Flamingo wasn’t to be seen.
He also must’ve been lost in the fog.
At that point, I must’ve been sweating profusely or swearing out loud or both, because the teenage boy who had been sitting next to me the whole flight asked what was wrong as we were approaching the gate agents. It was either talk to him or them.
I told him my predicament, showing him the app, showing him that it is very clearly obvious that Mr. Flamingo isn’t in the country or even the continent.
He took my phone. And then said something about how my Bluetooth connection was turned off. Something again about turning the setting on.
He pushed some things and reopened the Title app.
There was the circle icon of Mr. Flamingo, in the same vicinity as me. Not lost in the London Fog of Paris.
I thanked my new friend and asked if I could buy him a drink as a token a gratitude, but he declined, laughing, telling me I’d get arrested. Huh, for a glass of lemonade or Diet Coke? I might be technologically challenged but I’m not an idiot.
I found my way to through customs and then to baggage claim. And there he was, Mr. Flamingo. It was so easy it was to spot him. He’s glittery and hot pink and you-can’t-miss-it on the conveyer belt. But more obvious than that was seeing Rob standing there, hand on my suitcase.
“I grabbed Mr. Flamingo for you, Darla. Do you want to share a ride to the hotel? ”
The day you’ve been waiting for has finally arrived. You’ve been counting down the years, the months, the minutes, and now the seconds. Ripped out of secretly collected and stolen magazines from dentists’ and doctors’ office waiting rooms from the past three decades, you’ve been gowned in Monique Lhuillier, holding a delicate bouquet of white roses, standing alone at the edge of the vineyard, blocked from view from your closest friends and family, who répondez s'il vous plaît’d on heavy stock paper, laced with satin silver ribbon and stenciled with roses, choosing between main dishes of Grilled Chicken Americana, Roasted Prime Rib, or Eggplant Parmigiana.
As the Bridal Chorus begins and your countdown reaches zero, you turn the corner as the last remaining member of the procession down the aisle. A procession that was rehearsed one too many times the evening prior, with bridesmaids in the same satin silver as those invitation ribbons.
The day you’ve been waiting for has finally arrived.
The moment is finally here.
The groom isn’t.
Joy is Watching a movie or Reading a book Jumping over waves or Hiking up trails Eating at a restaurant or Cooking at home Visiting a new country or Exploring places nearby Any day
Happiness is Watching a movie or Reading a book Jumping over waves or Hiking up trails Eating at a restaurant or Cooking at home Visiting a new country or Exploring places nearby Any day, with the one you love
