The Wide Game

by Michael West

  Paul raised his eyebrow, her unanticipated flash of anger knocking him from his stride. “You know what he looks like naked?”

  Deidra stopped walking. She didn’t know what she expected him to say, but that certainly wasn’t it. By the look on his face, she could tell he regretted the words, but it was now too late to take them back. She offered him an out: “You wanna hear about that?”

  If he said “no,” she would let it lie. Now that she was truly happy with someone, she was not eager to talk about her failed relationships. Robby had been but the latest pearl in a necklace of mistakes she had strung for herself over the years. Before the Duran Duran concert and Paul’s kiss, she had started to wonder if it had grown long enough to hang herself.

  Paul did not say “no,” but she could tell he wanted to. He hesitated, then shifted his weight as his lips formed the words, “I think I need to hear it.”

  Deidra’s frown deepened. “We dated. We went to prom. We fucked. He decided he wanted to fuck other people. I decided he should go fuck himself.”

  His face was slack and pale. “I see.”

  “I mistook sex for love, and it wasn’t the first time.” She sighed, knowing her admission was bruising him. It was painful for her as well. “Now you think I’m some huge slut, right?”

  “Oh, please.”

  Deidra lowered her eyes, found Paul’s ring on her finger and watched the golden half-charm rise and fall on her own breasts. “Then I need to hear something from you.”

  “Anything.”

  “Is this ...” She waved her hand between them as if trying to clear the air. “... just about sex? Or do you really love me?”

  She did not look at Paul, but she could tell the question shocked him.

  A moment of uncomfortable silence stretched out, then Paul spoke with great tenderness. “I watched you walk into the auditorium – day one freshman year – and I loved you, and every day after that, I loved you a little bit more.”

  Deidra blinked; the motion squeezed a tear from her eye. “And I love you.”

  Paul moved to her, took her chin in his hand and lifted her eyes to meet his. The words came slowly to his lips. “I knew you weren’t a virgin when we started seeing each other, and I don’t care about your past. Really, I don’t. Robby bothers me because I know him, and I just ... I worry about being compared.”

  “Oh.” Deidra shook her head. “Paul, last night was beautiful. Being your first –”

  “My only.”

  She smiled at that. “You can’t even imagine how much that turns me on, how special it makes me feel – how special you make me feel. More special than I’ve ever felt before, and that scares me more than any nightmare.”

  “Why should that scare you? You are special.”

  She shook her head again. “If you really think that—”

  “I know that.”

  “Then know that you’re the one I love – the one I want.”

  “Okay,” he promised her. “I’m sorry I asked you about Robby. It was none of my business.”

  “You’re right, it wasn’t,” she told him, then her face softened, the “Old Deidra” melting away like ice. Harboring grudges came naturally to her, especially against herself, but she couldn’t be unhappy with Paul; his nature prevented it. She kissed him. “I never want us to have any secrets from each other. If something is bothering you, tell me. If you keep it inside, we’ll never get past it.”

  Paul nodded, tried to smile. “All right.”

  Deidra grabbed onto the straps of her pack and resumed her walk, pulled ahead of him in the row, deliberation in her stride. “Back to this Indian girl. What happened?”

  “She said ‘Mondamin is here,’ then I woke up.”

  “Mondamin?” Deidra asked, startled.

  “Yes. Do you know what it means?”

  She looked over her shoulder at him. “Okay, you know how much I hate history?”

  He nodded impatiently.

  “Well, I spent two whole weeks researching a report on the Miami Indians of Indiana. I must have checked out a half dozen books, everything the library had on their culture, their religion, everything. I’d read ’em and copy down whatever I thought looked good or interesting, then I put it all together so it made sense. I got an ‘A.’ Dad was impressed. It’s still hanging on the fridge, I think. You must have seen it there.”

  “I didn’t,” he insisted. “I’d never heard the word until the dream.”

  “Mondamin isn’t a word you just pull out of thin air,” she said, not really believing him. Dreams were funny things. She would fantasize events, then awaken to find she’d left the TV on – programs on the screen prompting her. Paul may not remember reading that bit from her report, but the subconscious never really forgets. It’s the ultimate pack rat – saving bits of junk in every available corner until it’s needed to win Trivial Pursuit, or as an element in a dream. “It’s the Miami word for Corn Spirit.”

  “Corn Spirit?” He slid the camcorder back onto his shoulder, zoomed in on her as she spoke.

  “Yeah. It’s part of this legend ...” She looked at the lens and smiled. “Do you want me to start over?”

  “No, but go on.”

  Deidra nodded, then looked at the sky, tried to draw the information from the depths of her own memory. “Umm ... there was a time when there was no corn in Indiana. The Miami Indians hunted quail, and deer, and ... bear, I think. Well, all of that got scarce and they needed a new kind of food to feed their families. The chiefs called for this big meeting and they decided to send their braves out into the wilderness to look for something that would always feed their people.”

  “When was this?”

  “You’re asking me about historical dates?” she asked with a grin. “It didn’t really happen, Paul. It’s a legend ... like the headless horseman, or that guy slitting his own throat in ’84.”

  He nodded. “Go on.”

  “So anyway, all the men of the tribe went out into the woods and searched. They searched the fields, the streams, the valleys and plains, but they couldn’t find anything to feed their families. They were starting to give up, but one night, they sat around their campfire and prayed.” Deidra lifted her hands skyward, acted it out for the camera, her voice deepening. “‘Great Spirit,’ they said, ‘can you send us food so the people can live.’ And then all of these crows appeared out of nowhere. It was the largest flock they’d ever seen. One of the crows spoke to the men –”

  “The crow spoke?” Paul twitched.

  “Did I say this was a legend? Anyway, a snake spoke to Eve.”

  “Sorry. I’ll edit all this out, just start that last bit again.”

  Deidra resumed her story; amazed she remembered so many of the details. “One of the crows spoke to the men and said: ‘You must fight one another. Those who are killed shall then be buried here ... in the soil where you fought.’ Well, nobody wanted to fight, but the crows told them they had to. They said the ‘Great Spirit’ wanted them to.”

  “And did they?”

  “Oh yeah. They killed each other while the birds watched, then the survivors buried the dead. As soon as they’d finished, this grass popped out of the ground. It grew ... and grew ...” She grabbed a nearby stalk, yanked an ear from it. “... and then these ears of corn grew. The men ate ’em and knew their prayers had been answered. They gathered up a bunch of ears and took ’em back to the tribe. ‘This is corn,’ they said, ‘from the Corn Spirit. Many of our warriors died that you might live.’”

  “So death brings corn?”

  Deidra let loose a shocked little giggle. “I guess it does.”

  Paul stopped recording and quickened his pace, moved up to her. He held out his hand, and she took it. “You wanna be the lead in my zombie movie?”

  She blinked, her heart fluttering. “Are you seriously asking, or are you just asking because I’m your girlfriend?”

  “Both. I want you to be a part of it. You’ve acted in school plays –” />
  Deidra chuckled. “I’ve been villagers and nuns. I mainly paint the sets.”

  “The point is I know you can act, and I think you’d be great.”

  “Thank you.” She felt warmth flood her entire body. “And I think your movie’s gonna be great.”

  “You haven’t read the whole thing yet.”

  “I know, but I can still tell.”

  Paul smirked. “Thank you.”

  They moved on down the row. Deidra figured they must have covered close to five miles – about half way. As she held Paul’s hand, she felt good about winning it all. In fact, she felt as if she’d already won.

  Eight

  “Three pages?”

  “Exactly three pages. She doesn’t want any more. She won’t read any less.”

  Peter Sumners rolled his eyes. Their Senior English teacher thought she was doing them a favor. She knew that their absence on Skip Day would be unexcused, so, rather than giving a test they couldn’t make up, she assigned a written paper on William Shakespeare – due Monday. “And how much of our grade and future lives are riding on this?”

  Tom Little wiped his face on his T-shirt; the peeling decal on his chest proclaimed: “I didn’t invent sin, I’m just perfecting it.” He turned to Peter and smiled. “Let’s just say, if you screw it up, you’ll get another chance to screw it up next year.”

  “Thanks.”

  “The pleasure’s entirely mine.”

  Their packs hung heavy on their backs as they continued between long, empty rows of corn. Both boys played the Wide Game with detachment, neither in much of a hurry, but neither dawdling. For them, this was no great adventure, and neither really held any hope of being crowned a champion. This was something to do, nothing more and nothing less. They couldn’t sit at school; the classrooms would be empty, and their classmates would label them as deserters. Nor could they sit idle at home, watching MTV or playing Tetris while the rest of the senior class held the party of the decade. And so, reluctantly, they had paid their five dollars and they walked.

  Peter’s mother was nervous about him playing, and his father, a man of few words, had even fewer for him lately. He thought they were being overprotective. There was no way Peter could know what had happened when they had played their own game. He didn’t know a boy had done unspeakable things to Peter’s mother in the fields, didn’t know that, before it was over, she had pleaded with him to do even more. His father knew. His father had been that boy. The utter disbelief of their own depravity kept his parents together. By raising the son they made that day, the only child his mother’s scarred innards would ever allow, each hoped to one day atone for it, perhaps even forget it. Peter knew none of this, however, and his parents would not have told him if he’d asked.

  Peter suddenly cocked his head, listening. “What was that?”

  Tom looked back. “What was what?”

  “Listen.”

  A rustle in the corn behind them, a slight sound, so quiet Peter might have imagined it. Then he heard the unmistakable crunch ... crunch of footsteps in the dry earth. He froze in his tracks, his heart fluttering.

  “Someone’s there.”

  Tom’s mouth fell open, then he whispered: “Whata we do?”

  “We don’t have to do anything,” Peter murmured. There was no sense in running. Running would create noise and draw unwanted attention. He crouched on the ground and motioned for Tom to do the same. “If we’re quiet, they’ll pass us by.”

  Only a few yards away, something set the stalks in motion. As the boys sank low to the ground, as they tried to find sanctuary in the retreating shadows, a figure took shape; backlit, a dark shadow blighting the green. Slowly, it resolved into distinct colors and details: a boy with dark hair and light skin, and, as he grew closer still, they saw it was Jimmy Grant.

  Peter shook his head, his body tensing. He knew Jimmy, and he didn’t much care for him. Jimmy liked to do annoying voices, liked to sing. Peter remembered riding the bus to grade school, sitting one seat up from him as he sang “Oh Solo Mio!” over, and over, and over at the top of his lungs. It had almost been enough to drive Peter to insanity then, and there was no way in Hell they were going to get stuck playing the game together now.

  Tom sat in the dirt, his eyes closed, muttering something under his breath. Peter couldn’t tell if it was a prayer or some kind of mantra, and he didn’t much care which. All Peter asked was that his friend stay quiet.

  Peter looked up into the corn, watched as Jimmy walked by. The boy moved quickly, and Peter could not help but wonder what Jimmy Grant would do with a thousand dollars if he were lucky enough to win it.

  Singing lessons, I hope.

  Jimmy departed just as he had appeared, a dark shape fading into the leaves.

  When the rustle of stalks grew faint, Tom opened his eyes to look around. “Is he gone?”

  Peter nodded. “Yeah ... but let’s sit here ’til he’s way gone.”

  Tom wiped the dew of sweat from his face and exhaled. “That was way intense!”

  “Yeah.” Peter cringed. “Anybody but that guy.”

  “You don’t like him?”

  “He does these voices, and these bad jokes ... I mean really bad.”

  The boys snickered, and, when they were sure Jimmy was gone, they rose to their feet and dusted themselves off. They were about to move on down the row when the stalks behind them were flung apart.

  Peter and Tom jumped, both spinning around to look into Jimmy’s smiling face.

  “Gotcha,” he said.

  Nine

  The compass led Danny, Sean, and Mick between the rows, led them toward the woods and the quarry beyond. High above, the sun baked the field and bathed them in sweat. Danny took a sip from his canteen and imagined the cool waters that awaited them when they finally reached the lake.

  “I wonder how it went last night with Paul and Deidra,” Sean said to no one in particular.

  Danny shrugged. He didn’t know what the situation was, but it was not his place to know. They were among his closest friends, and, from what he could tell, they made each other happy. That was all that mattered to him.

  “She’s his first,” Sean continued. “From what I hear, she’s been a lot of people’s first.”

  “I can’t fuckin’ believe you,” Danny said. Harmony High was the world’s largest game of telephone. Someone would tell someone else a partial truth before first period, but, by day’s end, utter fiction was being taken as gospel. “Like you fuckin’ know.”

  Sean got defensive. “I know she slept with Robby.”

  There wasn’t much Danny could say in response to that. Robby had made no secret of it, and Deidra, for her part, never offered anything to the contrary. If someone heard something wrong on the “telephone,” they spoke up to correct it, and quick. She never did. “You still shouldn’t talk that way about our friend.”

  “Paul’s our friend too,” Sean said. “I just hope he doesn’t end up getting screwed in more ways than one. Whenever he and Deidra are together now it’s always ‘I love you’ and ‘I love you more.’ Who acts like that?”

  Danny shrugged. “They’re in love. You were talkin’ about firsts, I think it’s the first time either of them has really loved somebody.”

  “Still,” Sean said with a look of disgust, “it makes me sick. I mean, they’ve only been dating for a few months. I think it’s a little early for them to be pickin’ out china.”

  “They’ve been dating for years,” Mick threw in. Danny was surprised at how well the little guy was keeping up. Then again, Mick had lived through Band Camp. Practice every morning, break for lunch, march all afternoon, break for dinner, have a mock performance at night. It was like boot camp for nerds, not that Danny would ever say that to Mick. “They just didn’t call it that until July.”

  Sean looked back at him, confused. “What?”

  “Whenever they were together, I could always tell they were in love.”

  Sean chuckled. �
��Like you’re some kinda expert.”

  Mick smiled. “You didn’t need to be Dr. Ruth to see it. It was in the way they acted around each other, the way they talked to each other, the way they wrote to each other. But I don’t think they saw it until last summer.”

  Danny nodded and pointed back at Mick with his thumb. “Exactly. I’m glad I’m not the only one that thought that.”

  At parties over the years, Paul and Deidra had always sought each other out. Danny would look over and see them sitting together, talking and laughing for hours. Sometimes, he heard bits of their conversations – usually about movies, music, and stagecraft – but when their talk became personal, he always turned a deaf ear, feeling it was none of his concern. They were so comfortable with one another. When they got together, something switched on in their eyes like a light. The timing had just never been right for them to act on their feelings. Now that they had been able to connect, it was as if they were making up for lost time, in love with finally being able to say they were in love.

  Danny smiled. “Paul’s one romantic son of a bitch, I gotta give him that.”

  “Did he give you candy and flowers?” Mick asked with a grin; the sun hit his eyeglasses, caused them to reflect the corn.

  “No. Get this, he picks Deidra up, okay, and tells her he’s made reservations at this romantic restaurant. Well, of course she doesn’t believe him, ’cause there’s nothin’ in town but fast food, sports bars, and truck stops.”

  Sean pointed his nose skyward. “I’ve always found Emma’s Feedbag to be four stars.”

  “Here, here,” Mick added with a faux British accent.

  “You clowns couldn’t find four stars if you were on the Hollywood Walk of Fame.”

  Sean shook his head. “Oooh, burn.”

  “Anyway,” Danny continued, “Paul drives her back to his house, says he forgot his wallet or some shit. He’s got the basement all decorated, I’m talkin’ candles burning, lace table cloth and flowers on the table, fine china and silverware, and menus ... the fucker made menus.”