cornfield summer

The cornfields looked positively frightful at night.

“Are we nearly there?” My sister leaned forward, peering out the front window. Ahead, the headlights illuminated the road for maybe 20 feet. Beyond that, all was in shadow. Rows of corn stretched to all sides, their sharp leaves rustling in a warm breeze. What little moon was visible shone feebly, doing nothing to alleviate my sister’s anxiety.

I caught a glimpse of two pale eyes, peering at us from among the shadowy stalks. Then we were past. I pressed harder on the gas pedal. “Think so.” The words came out harshly, and indeed I was irritated. We were in the middle of nowhere. There was no signal in this part of the Midwest. The road stretched ahead, asphalt broken by use, fading into the night with no visible end.

A scent of strawberries bloomed in the car as my sister applied chapstick, probably to distract herself. I knew how she hated the country. For her, security was found amongst people. Crowded streets were all she had ever known. Here, the sky was too close. Without buildings or trees to separate it from the earth, it seemed menacing. Limitless. The stars loomed overhead like the eyes of distant gods. There was no escaping it. Who knew what the darkness above us contained?

The road stretched ever on. I was going nearly 50 now, my little car grinding from somewhere deep inside its derelict engine. My sister pulled out her phone--then put it down. I saw her pick at her fingernails, heard her shaky breathing. It was just like her. I was the logical sister, Angela was the emotional one. I knew she wanted to hear words of encouragement, but her pride kept her from asking. I didn’t offer any. It was her fault we were here, anyway. Outside the windows, the cornfields momentarily gave way to open prairie. A road sign appeared, glaring green. My sister read it out loud.

“Two miles.” Angela let out a pent-up breath. I sped up, taking out my frustration on the gas pedal. Our destination was nearing. My car’s engine gave a familiar grating as it was put under stress. The cornfields resumed. Straw-colored leaves whispered. Spindly stalks cast strange shadows in a myriad of shadow and harsh light. Another car was parked, abandoned on the side of the road. Angela pretended she did not see it.

Five minutes passed with no change. Now I missed the city, too. There was variety there. Bright lights, clutter, familiar smells and sounds. Everything in the city was made by human hands, formed from wire and steel. People were the masters--always moving, always busy. You couldn’t be alone in the city. And was the opposite true? Could you ever feel at home in the country? Feel any sense of community with the hard-hearted people who scratched out an existence?

We crested a slight hill and our destination appeared. I stepped hard on the brake. The town had come out of nowhere. A dim streetlight flickered, like a smashed lightning bug. Weeds grew out of the cracked pavement, searching for water. I let my car roll, peering with a growing sense of dread. The town was barely a town at all. It was a cluster of buildings, hunched over the endless road. An obscenely bright light illuminated a gas station, now closed. the ramshackle roof of a divorce lawyer’s office shed shingles onto the road. I rolled down the window to breathe in the night air. It felt dry in my lungs, heavy and smelling like gasoline. Angela shuddered in her seat. She picked at the sleeve of her jacket, newly manicured fingernails clicking together.

To the left lurked the hotel. It lay in a pool of light, low to the ground and looking anything but welcoming. I pulled into the parking lot, my car’s wheels crunching on gravel. The engine idled and I removed the key. My sister and I sat in silence, gazing dumbly at our new home.

“It’s only for two months.” I gave her a half-hearted smile. “Then we can go home again.”

“I know.” Angela slumped in her seat, clenching her jaw to keep from crying. She was only 17--didn’t want to spend her summer in the middle of nowhere. For as long as I could remember, Angela’s summers had been lived for softball. Her schedule and social life revolved around it. I recalled all the late-night practices, the cookouts and championships I’d driven her to. She was a star player, extremely motivated and competitive. I knew she was bitter. This summer would be the first that she wasn’t part of the team. 

Angela stared out the window. Our dismal lodgings seemed to encompass the entire world. The hotel dominated the landscape, dingy bricks against dry, crispy grass. Maybe now it was our entire world. There was nothing else here for us except corn and this husk of a town. There was no familiarity. There was no summer, not for Angela. This divorce had stolen everything. Her summer, my plans. My future.

Silently, we left the car and shouldered our duffel bags. I walked to door 103 and knelt on the concrete. Now I could hear the electric light humming. A moth ricocheted off the dented wall, drunk with the lamplight. A black rubber doormat, patterned with faded flowers, rested in front of the door. One side was cracked. I lifted up a corner, sending a cockroach scurrying into the open. Angela stepped back, shoes grating against gravel. There was a tremble in her voice as she spoke.

“Please, let’s just go inside. I’m tired.” 

I reached under the mat and gingerly picked up a key, hidden there by the owner. It was hot in my hands as I fumbled with the lock. The peeling paint on the doorknob flaked off in my hands and I opened the door. It swung inward and we stepped inside. There was nothing to say.

Angela flicked a light switch and our new home was revealed. I had known it would be poor accommodations. The price was cheap, suspiciously so. A fraction of hotel prices in the city. This room felt nothing like a home at all. Outdated red carpet covered the floor, worn in places where furniture had once stood. The walls at least were clean white, probably freshly painted. A table sat in the corner, under a gaudy ceiling lamp. A mini fridge and air conditioner hummed, their combined drone reminding me of my car. I could formulate no opinion of the room. My fingers felt numb and I locked the door once, then once again.

Angela disappeared at once into the adjoining bathroom. I only hoped she was too tired to cry. I regretted coming here. I regretted not leaving Angela with our mom. Regretted leaving college, committing to two months in this mind-numbingly lonely place. College was familiar. Spending the summer with my slightly obnoxious roommate would give me a change to process the divorce. To think things through, to establish myself on my own. To set in motion my dreams, my plans. Angela wasn’t my responsibility, was she? I unpacked my things, preparing for bed mechanically. My head ached, a dull pain that seemed to pair with the gratings of the air conditioner.

The door squeaked as Angela returned. She had been crying, I could tell. Wordlessly, she climbed into one of the twin-sized beds and buried her head in the cream-colored sheets. Her chestnut hair fanned across the pillow, the color achingly similar to my mother’s. The sight broke through my numb tiredness and I hurried to the bathroom. The tears began to trickle down my face.

I had to think of Angela.

I could take care of myself. But with Mom and Dad preoccupied by the divorce, and her future uncertain, Angela had no one else but me. What kind of sister would I be if I abandoned her? A drop of water wound lazily down the mirror. My reflection stared back at me. I looked a mess. And maybe I was, now. What kind of life were we getting into? Two months in the middle of nowhere would probably drive us crazy.

But I had made up my mind, and there was no going back. We were sisters, bound blood and soul to one another. I would look out for Angela. Cruel fate had taken every semblance of a normal life from her. The silent stars looked down on her without pity. Even our parents gave no comfort. I had plans, a future--but that all could wait.  I would make the sacrifice and do it willingly. This summer, I would spend for Angela.

I finished getting ready and shut out the light. As I climbed into the other bed, I tugged at the curtains, opening them a crack. The air conditioner was performing well and I pulled the scratchy sheets further around my shoulders. Through the curtains, the mysterious country sky looked down on me. I didn’t let it bother me. This was our life now, Angela and mine. We would learn to love it or go crazy trying. And who better to learn with than my sister?

The swaying of the cornfields, strangely comforting, lulled me to sleep.