Ears of Corn

The porcelain-blue sky spreads over the horizon before us, flecked with ocean-grey clouds. As the rust-rimmed sun makes its slow descent behind the hills, we walk in single file along the country lane. Our parents are in the house; watching television, reading, or whatever it is adults do in the evenings when we go out to play. We make our way carefully across the road; looking right, left, then right again.

The two boys from the red house across the road are already waiting for us, sitting casually on their front steps as the elder tries to use a blade of grass between his thumbs like a trumpet. His breath puffs and rattles against the grass, and finally a brass note sounds. He grins triumphantly and gets to his feet, his brother following to lead us along the road.

Walking along the road, we make sure to walk facing the traffic like our mum and dad taught us, though we don’t really know why. The roads are quiet with the occasional car passing; the occupants gazing at us and probably wondering where our parents are. They’re in the house; washing up after dinner or doing the laundry, whatever it is they do in the evenings when we go out to play.

Finally we reach our destination, the old rusted farm gate that is the entrance to our playground. There are no swings, no slide, not even the monkey bars that my two sisters can hang upside down from. They tell me you need to be bigger before you can hang with your knees wrapped over the bar. I can’t reach them yet, even if I stand upon my toes and reach as far as my small body will let me. That doesn’t matter now, though. There are no bars; just a tall lonely tree that towers up from the rustling sea of corn.

I long for the day when I can pull myself up into its climbing frame branches unaided; but for now I must settle for my sister making a cradle with her hands, her fingers interlinked while one of the boys from across the road reaches down for my hand and pulls me up into the leafy maze. We sit and we laugh, we race to the highest branches and we race back down again. I never win, but give me time and I’ll beat them all. When they get too big to use the smaller branches, I will be the light and nimble bird who can flutter high above them all.

The others vault over the gate and run along the edge of the field, yelling for me to hurry up as I scramble and climb carefully over the bars, flecks of rust clinging to my skin and clothes. Out here there are only three rules; don’t go too far, be back before dark, and look after your sister. My father says the last to me in jest, but I take my charge seriously, knowing he trusts me with this important task.

The tree is not our goal today. Instead we plan to swim and dive in the ocean of corn. We stand in a circle, the five of us, as the older boy from across the road counts around our feet.

Eeny-Meeny-Miney-Mo.

My sister is out, then his brother, then him. It is just me and my eldest sister left, my fingers fidgeting inside my pockets until I am called out. I bounce and wait as she turns, covers her eyes and begins counting.

One… two… three…

The others have already scattered, running and leaping through the corn like gazelles. I sprint along the waves, just in front of the crest where the corn crashes down into the tracks made by the tractors. I avoid the corn to make as little noise as possible, my legs carrying me as fast as they can.

Thirteen… fourteen… fifteen…

I turn into the next set of tracks. I dart along the gap, glancing back to see my sister still with her back to us, her fingers shielding her eyes. My other sister is near the other edge of the field, her hair flying with the speed of her body. The younger brother from the red house, still two years my senior, is leaping through the field, a wave of corn in his wake. The older brother is gone… he must already have a good spot.

Twenty-seven… twenty-eight… twenty-nine…

Ducking into the corn, I take a few tentative steps, disrupting as little as possible. I find a suitable spot, not far from the track, and lay down, making myself as small as possible amongst the tall stalks of corn.

Coming, ready or not!

I lay silent beneath the surface, my breath hitched in my chest as if a single breath would give me away. High above, a flock of birds call and chatter, spies to my sister’s pursuit. She comes crunching through the corn and my heart races.

Don’t let her find me.

My side is stiff from the hard, sun-baked earth, but I don’t dare move. I stare at the green stems rising around me, letting out a gentle breath before pulling one in with even more care.

Found you!

I turn my head, but the voices are distant as my other sister moans and gets up from her hiding place. They work together, searching through the corn, following tracks like policemen as they search for the fugitives.

It’s not long before the deeper laughter of one of the boys joins theirs. They have the edge now. There are three of them to me and my fellow escapee. I assume he does the same as me, lays still and watches the sea sway and churn in the breeze.

The corn whispers around me, telling its fellows of my location. The news spreads fast and I can only pray my sisters to not understand their gentle sweeping voices. My heart leaps as I hear a final cry of dismay at being caught. I am the last. The only one unfound.

I lay still and wait for the others to find me, the victor of our evening game. As a set of crunching footsteps come closer, I look down from the highest branch of the tree next to the fence, and when a tall figure finally appears above me, I look at his upside down form as I swing by the backs of my knees from the monkey bars.