#54

They did not know whether the tornado would actually show up. They were not from tornado country and had no idea how serious to take the buzzy warning that had lit up each of their phones. A tornado felt impossible just two hours outside of the city. But so did a cornfield, and yet here were hundreds of uniform rows of stalks doffing green leaves like courteous gents.

“Let’s stay outside but let’s keep an eye the cornfield,” said one. The rest agreed, gripping their cocktail glasses, leaving traces of nervous fingers in the condensation. The cornfield, being a longtime resident of tornado country, would tell them whether or not they should abandon their summer holiday and go into the basement.

But the problem with the cornfield was that it lied. Or more accurately, the cornfield did not tell the truth. One sectioned moved while the section next to it stood completely still like it was under an invisible bell jar.

They shifted on their bare feet, pausing each time something stirred in the vast crop jungle. Was this the tornado? Or just the instigation of a crow? No one wanted to say. No one wanted to admit they could not trust the cornfield.

When the tornado did come, it thought better of interrupting the standoff between the visitors from the city and the cornfield. The tornado did not want to get involved in that kind of thing. It spun itself westward, having more important affairs to attend to.