Maya from Accounting

There is a moment in every college party where the designated driver deeply regrets her decision. That moment, for me, had been precisely the moment we’d arrived, and every moment following.

I understood the lure of house parties. Being social is a known human need, so that part wasn’t my issue. Neither was the alcohol, a staple of a traditional college diet. For me, that night, it was the location. Why would anybody want to have a “house” party in a garage, twenty miles south of the actual college, where the only heat sources were a giant electric heater mounted to the ceiling, and a bonfire twenty yards from the building? 

            The decorations were a bonus, I supposed. Halloween always delivered on the decorations. The twenty foot tall skeleton, posed to appear as if it were propping open the garage door, and the glowing googly eyes taped to the tractors—nowthatwas fun. The mountain of horse shit (excuse me, fertilizer) behind the garage? Not so much. And the fact that my ride, my older sister Rachelle, was not at all interested in leaving for at least another couple hours? Also not ideal.    

             The most not ideal, though, was the fact that Elias from Accounting (his name in my phone) was here, in costume, with a date named Maribel. Maribel was not only dressed as the sexiest Albert Einstein I’d ever seen, but she was also niceto me. She’d offered us a drink when we’d arrived, having recognized Rachelle from work (or yoga, or class). Maybe thatwas the precise moment I had regretted my designated driver status—not because I desperately wanted a drink to deal with her (she, like her date, was frustratingly pleasant), but because Elias had the audacity to high five me for it after giving us an enthusiastic introduction.

            “Maya, this is Maribel! Maribel, this is Maya, from my Accounting class.”

            “Of course,” she said, ever-so-relaxed, before asking Rachelle something I didn’t bother to listen to.

I would have to deal with the burning hypersensitivity of my hand for the rest of the night, because it had been so graced with the touch of his own. Pathetic, is what this house party felt like. By house party, I meant me. I felt pathetic—pathetically, unrequitedly infatuated.

            It was a familiar feeling, as I’d been feeling it increasingly often since having met him at the beginning of the semester. We shared a class, and I’d made the simultaneously excellent and miserable decision of befriending him on the second day. My intentions had been purely academic, and they had quickly transformed to impurely unacademic once we’d spent more than five minutes in a room together.

            There was a commotion out in the field, and I took the opportunity to escape under the guise of investigation. Rachelle’s and Maribel’s voices faded at my retreat, and I was just breathing in a sigh of relief when I felt a hand press against my lower back.

            “Watch out, there’s cow patties everywhere.”

            “What?”

            “Cow poop. It’s everywhere beyond the gate, apparently.”

            My eyes drifted past the dim, fluorescent glow of garage lights to the green gate before us. It was chained to one side, open, this part of the field cleared of cattle. There was a small group of shadows farther out, all hovering around a ring of firecrackers.

            “They’re flammable, you know.”

            “The cow patties, or the firecrackers?”

            “The, uh, cow patties.” My facefelt flammable, my cheeks ablaze with a blush. Finally, Elias and I were talking about something other than the difference between variable and operational expenses and how our weekends had been, and I was literally talking shit. “My sister and I used to roast marshmallows over the dried ones at our Grandma’s farm when we were little.”

            He smiled, striking a contrast with his furrowed, concerned brow. “Wouldn’t that affect the taste?”

            “You know, I never noticed a difference. But I don’t think I’ll do it again, now that you mention it.”

            His laughter came out in a surprised burst, egging me on. “No? That’s too bad, I think there’s some marshmallows back there by the pretzels.” 

            “By all means, go ahead. I’ll support you from afar. I can practically smell the poop smoke now.”

            “Nah, it’s just the firecrackers.”

            Slyly, I added, “I don’t think Maribel would appreciate burning-shit-s’mores-breath.”

            “I don’t think she would appreciate my breath anywhere near her face, regardless of the smell.”

            “I thought she was your date?”

            “In words, is all. We work together, and when she found out I had the official social media event invite, she asked if I wanted to carpool after work. I doubt I’ll even see her much for the rest of the night.”

            “So… not a date-date?”

            “Not a—”

            There was a flurry of firecrackers, followed by a loud pop from the field.

             Fireworks.

            Smoke began to pump steadily into the air, spreading across the fields in a heavy haze. At first, I thought it was beautiful—flashes of green and white and orange reflecting off the windshields of the tractors.

            BOOM.

The flash was blinding this time, the ground shook, and a wave of heat blew my hair back. It sounded like things were falling to the ground.

Then came the screaming.

“Something’s wrong,” I said, turning to Elias—only, he was no longer standing beside me. Instead, he laid crumpled on the ground further back, curled on his side with his legs tucked awkwardly to his stomach. I heard a pained groan that broke through in the gaps of screaming. 

“FIRE!”

It seemed to be spreading exponentially fast, the dry fields kindling to the blaze. As it grew brighter, the smoke billowed out in big, thick whorls.

Still, Elias hadn’t moved.

“Come on!” I shrieked, and dropped to his side. Roughly, I rolled him over, needing to look at his face. His eyes were squeezed shut, his face drawn tight with pain. “Elias, the fire—we need to go!”

He nodded almost imperceptibly and unfurled, groaning with every movement. A dry, wracking cough tried to erupt from my chest. It was almost as bright as it had been at sunset, the firelight refracting in the smoke. It made it easier to see his grimace as he said, “I can’t.”

“You have to!” I yanked up on his arms, and though he stood, he seemed incredibly off balance. I ran, trying to drag him after me, but he quickly stumbled and fell again to the ground. One of his legs was jutting out slightly, at an unnatural angle. 

“Something hit me—a barrel, something—I can’t run on it. My leg—I think it’s broken. It’s broken.” His voice cracked, a hammer to my heart. 

With a surge of adrenaline, I pulled him up again and threw his arm around my shoulders, taking as much of his weight as I could. We trudged towards where I imagined the cars were parked, away from the blaze. 

One of the screams sounded familiar now, more like a word than an expression of pure terror. I heard it again, and took a shaky breath. Rachelle was looking for me. She would wait, I knew she would—but how long did we have? 

The wind was kicking up, flinging embers into my hair. My eyes burned. My lungs ached. My legs began to shudder with each step as Elias grimaced and gasped.

“You could’ve just left me,” he hissed as we stepped down into a ditch, another burst of heat rushing over our heads.

“And feed your—” I took a shallow breath, followed by a cough. “Toxic masculinity by allowing you to fulfill a dream of—" Another cough, and a grimacing jostle as I readjusted his weight on my shoulder. “—Needless self-sacrifice camouflaged as heroics? I could never.”

There, just on the other side of the road, headlights pointed straight at us, was my car. As we approached, I saw the pinched face of Rachelle materialize through the haze. Her head was frantically turning side to side, sweeping the faces of stragglers that had emerged from the smoke. There were no footsteps behind us, no more screams. Only the silence of terror. I cried out, and at last, we met eyes, and she rushed forward to help Elias in the car. 

My knuckles were white on the wheel from squeezing so hard to stop their shaking, and there was a stubborn scratchiness in my throat and itchiness in my eyes, but we were safe. Mostly.

Other party goers had stopped a distance down the road, watching through their windows with phones to their ears and sobered, shocked faces. I thought I even saw Maribel in one, her white wig tinted gray. 

The rest of the ride to the hospital passed in a blur, except for one bit in the middle, when Elias asked in a dazed voice, “Why could you never?”

“Of course I saved you. I like you,” I blurted, no emotional energy left to bother with being self-conscious.

“Well, I liked you, too." Was that a grimace, or a grin? Glancing in the rearview mirror, I couldn't tell. "And, now? I definitely more than like you, Maya from Accounting.”