By the time we were halfway through the maze, with scary-masked actors popping out behind random turns, my stomach had begun to churn wildly. It was becoming painful to hold in what was trying so hard to get out, but we were inching forward slowly through wall-to-wall people so I was concentrating on maintaining my mostly unblemished track record.
Apparently I wasn't the only one having trouble. Didier was digesting all the same foods as me.
We weren't far from the exit when Didier nudged me to get in front of him. I recognized the look on his face, was familiar with the meaning behind that ornery little grin. I knew what was coming.
Just as I knew that I could, if I chose, add my own grief to his sin.
Which I did.
Our intestinal synchronization caused the most foul reaction imaginable. Those behind us -- they screamed. Masks were torn off. There were shrieks and coughs and cries of burning eyes. There was shoving and cursing and a surge toward the exit by a dozen or so unfortunates who had been trailing behind us.
Those in line to get into the maze near where our screaming crowd was racing through to get out were likely left with an excited anticipation over the scariness of the haunted trail they were waiting to enter, not realizing the most frightening elements had just strolled past. Looking innocent.
And maybe just a tiny bit proud.
The Fumigator took my hand and squeezed it. And I, his little Crop Duster, squeezed back.
Reach Karin Fuller via email at karinful...@gmail.com.