I remember the day I went a little wild at the corn maze. And by wild I mean, I open fired at the fucking idiots at the corn maze. I’m not sure if I actually shot anyone. I do know for a fact that someone was killed. Me. Yes and not by me. So, that sucks. I mean, I’m dead. Bummer. I did get to hear the screams of horror. So, I got that going for me. I’m psychotic. I got to take out my gun and shoot. Ah, good times! I’m pretty sure that bitch behind me in line, gunned me down. I knew I should have taken her and her little brat out first. Good rule of thumb when you’re planning a killing spree, go with your gut. Don’t get shot in it. Or shot in general.
Mine is a simple tale. Girl meets gun, falls in love, must kill. It’s not your typical fairy tale, but I like it. I was never one for meeting my prince, settling down and having a family. Yawn. I’ve counted how many times people have told me that it would happen for me. I wrote it down but I’m dead so I can’t give you the exact number. It was a lot. And when I would say I didn’t want children? Oh, the looks I would get. I never wanted any of it. The man, the marriage, the kids. I like men. I do. But, I like guns more. And I really don’t like people. At all. Yes, something is clearly wrong with me. I already said I was psychotic. So, stay with me on that.
Yes, I saw a therapist and then a psychiatrist. I had the meds, blah blah blah. You know what I hate? After a hero guns down a school or a movie theater or a mall or whatever, it’s always about how the mental health system has failed. Really? I mean, you can lead a horse to water, but can you make him drink? Probably not, but you can shoot it. I had all the best help available. And I had my guns. I love them. They’re like my babies. So perhaps that cashier/waitress/boss/my mom/my sister/sales clerk/blind date was right, having kids did change my life. You can buy them even if you’re a psychopath. It’s awesome. And nobody can take them away. It’s in the Constitution. Just because women aren’t in it, eh, I can overlook that. Freedom comes at a price, right? It does, trust me.
I had been planning my corn maze spree for weeks. Finding just the right gun. It matches my boots. People are crazy for their corn mazes, hay rides, and pumpkin carving crap. I mean, thank goodness they are. I like nature. I wanted to be outside. Today was the day. It was a beautiful day. I tied my scarf, loaded my latest Fall satchel with bullets and off I went.
I pulled into the overflowing parking, giddy with my thoughts of murder and rampage. Again, I am psychotic or so my overpriced doctors kept telling me. Well, not in those exact words. But, I knew what they meant. I touched up my cherry red lipstick in the rear view mirror and stepped outside. The brisk wind hit me instantly. It was refreshing and kind of a rush to my head. I walked around, watching the happy families. Thinking to myself, I will change your lives forever. What power. I bought some hot apple cider and a doughnut. Savored them. It could be my last meal. And then, I made my way to the corn maze.
I remember the day I shot a woman at the corn maze. She seemed a little off from the moment we got into line behind her. Who goes to a corn maze alone? I guess some people do. I never really thought about it before. I don’t think she liked my family. At first, I just thought she might be jealous. But, then I knew she wasn’t. I guess it was when she took out her gun and started shooting, that clued me in on that. At least she waited until we were far enough away from her. But, not far enough.
I like guns. I respect guns. They are not toys. I don’t have a collection of them. I take care of my one and only. I’m scared of guns. It’s a healthy fear. My husband and I both have one each. We have taught our son and our daughter to have the same respect and fear. We have taught them to shoot, clean, and handle all types of guns. We are not gun nuts by any means. I don’t feel any better owning one. We have our reasons. We don’t live in fear of being robbed or attacked and it’s not because we have guns. It’s because we live under the assumption that nothing bad will ever happen to us. But, also we live in the reality, that it can.
Our family had been planning the annual trip to the corn maze for about a week. I hate that friggin corn maze. But, I do it every year for my family. I do a lot of things for them like pretending I’m not afraid of bugs or heights. I am, but I don’t want them to learn from my fears. They see I’m a little nervous but I do it anyway. It’s a learning thing. At the maze, it’s boys against girls. And every year, they kick our butts. I’m pretty sure they cheat, but I was never sure. Until this year. I’m so glad they are cheaters because it saved a lot of lives. Sounds weird to say but it’s true.
The race was on. The guys went their way and we went ours. I had put an app on my phone that I was sure would help us win this year. Cheating? Maybe. But, we needed this win. We heard the first gun shot and both of us dropped to the ground. My daughter looked at me for what to do next. I listened and the shots just kept going further into the maze. The screams were so loud. Complete chaos. People running and crying. I was telling them to get down on the ground. I reached for my phone and called my husband. He and my son had left the maze, gotten some kettle corn and were sitting in our car getting warm. They were safe. And now we had a survival plan.
It was only 7 minutes long, the whole ordeal. From the first bullet to the last. But, it felt like forever. We moved and kept low to the ground. Around every corner, I pulled out my compact mirror to look for the shooter. At this point, I didn’t know it was the crazy woman in front of us in line. But, then I saw her in my mirror. It was her, but she had a blank look on her face. It was frightening. I called my husband. He had used the tracking device app on his phone to locate us. He blasted his horn, just laying on it. She turned towards the sound, I pulled out my gun. I closed my eyes, breathed in my nose and out my mouth. Opened my eyes, found my target and shot her. She was on the ground. There was silence for a brief moment. And then, chaos again. I was pretty sure she wasn’t going to get up. I slowly walked over to her. A lot of blood. I found her gun. It was over. At least for her.
I remember the day my mother shot and killed a psychotic lunatic at the corn maze. My parents are good people. They have taught my brother and I some really good life lessons. The least of which is how to protect ourselves. I say the least because we believe that love and empathy are better lessons. If learning by example means anything, then we are set for life.
I miss my mom. It has only been a week since we last saw her. We visit her every week. She’s only been at the hospital for about 6 weeks. It has been 5 months since the shooting. It has been hard on everyone. Especially my mom. We go and talk to a therapist. It has helped all of us. Even mom. She just needs a little extra help. So, whatever it took, we would do it. Each week, she seems better. I’m not in her head but slowly I see little glimpses of the person she was before the shooting, coming back. People say we are heroes. All of us. We don’t think so. It’s kind of miraculous that only one person lost their life that day. And nobody mourns her death. Well, I’m sure there must be someone equally as crazy as her that does. The world is filled with craziness. That is a fact. Hopefully, there are more people who want to fill it with love.
That whole day at the corn maze is a blur. I do remember the well dressed woman in front of us in line. I thought how cool it was that she was at the corn maze by herself. I would never have enough confidence to do that. But, was it fun? Being by yourself? Who cares, her boots were to die for. I mean, bad choice of words. The boots were nice. She seemed so well put together. She was beautiful. It seemed kind of odd that she was by herself. I thought, maybe she’s meeting someone here? Really none of my business but this is what you think about when you’re a 12 year old girl. Her hair was perfect. Her scarf was tied so stylishly. I may have had a girl crush on her. She didn’t want anything to do with me or my family. So cool.
My mom and I were going to win the maze this year. We were pretty sure my brother and dad had been cheating. So this year, we would cheat. I don’t really think an app on your phone is cheating, though. But, that’s just me. I heard the first shot and knew what it was. You spend enough time, “respecting guns”, you know the sound. I hate guns. I hate the way they feel in my hand. I hate the way they smell. I hate the way they look. I hate that we have to have them. I hate that I have spent nearly a hundred hours with them. That’s just a rough estimate. Give or take a few hours or so. I hate them. I respect them, blah blah blah. I do. I also respect my English teacher but I still don’t have to like him. The shot blasted through the crisp Autumn air. Instantly, we both got down on the ground. Instincts? I guess. My heart was pounding. My mom looked so calm. I knew we would be okay. At least physically.
Our lives changed that day. I’ve missed out on nearly 5 months with my mom. That stylish scarf wearing woman is dead. But, she lives on in many ways. Everyone tells me not to let hate ruin my life. And for the most part, I don’t. Soon, we will be a family again. Wounds will heal. We’ll have each other and our laughter will come back. I know this. It gets me through most days. I hope she is rotting in hell. I know this is wrong to say but I don’t care.
I am rotting in hell. It’s just where I belong. I try to seep into my killer’s dreams at night. She won’t let me. But, I’m there. Waiting.
I am in a living hell. I don’t belong here. Getting better each day. I know this is only temporary. I have a family waiting for me. I must get well for them. Hoping.
I refuse to be drawn further into this hell. No more. I’m letting go. Living.