I laugh as I rev the engine. I missed this. "The pussy department? That the one just upstairs from the shoe department or the perfume counter?"
Henry snorts. "Dumbass."
I reply, "You're the dumbass if you think I'm buying the suggestion that you've turned into a honey magnet while I've been gone."
He cackles, "Well, you know how it is for the town pariah. People aren't exactly happy to see me sticking around to start over."
I shake my head. "Eh, fuck them."
Henry lets small-town gossip roll off his back. Always has. "I don't mind the mystique. Maybe my bad boy status will drum up more business for the corn maze this fall."
"Hey, if I'm around, let me know if I can help with that," I say.
"Listen, unless you're going to wear a Michael Myers mask," Hank replies, "I can't have you and your chiseled jaw hanging around the maze or pumpkin patch. You're a walking thirst trap and nobody is gonna be looking at me."
I laugh. He rolls down the window and lets his hand surf in the wind as we speed down the highway, the airport in my rear-view mirror, and the gently rolling countryside ahead of us. I feel bad I got called up to active duty overseas amid his personal life exploding.
"Where're we headed, Lieutenant?" Henry says.
"Hank," I say, not taking my eyes off the road. "What day is it?"
"September 1."
"And what do we always do on the first day of September?"
We've had this exact conversation every year on this day, whether or not I'm home. It's a tradition.
"Try to take over the world?"
"Fuck you," I say with a chuckle.
Finally, he answers, "Home of the fried mac and cheese on a stick?"
"Heck yes," I reply. "Every day for the whole week the fair is open if you're up for it."
I plan on filling up every second of this week enjoying some deep-fat fried comfort foods on skewers, standing in line to see the butter sculpture, and watching tractors pull trailers full of random shit through the mud.
"Sounds fun," Henry says. "But tomorrow I'm meeting with a maze designer to start planning things out for the back 40, plus a million other things to take care of before I open the patch a month from now. But thanks."
I'm proud of my best friend for finding his passion. I never would have expected that passion to be pumpkin farming, but I'm happy he's found a way to turn his problems into a positive.
When we arrive at the fairgrounds, the parking lot volunteers see my uniform and direct me to the special military parking. If Henry wasn't with me, I might brush off any special treatment. But today, it's the least I can do for the dude who happens to be my only family left on this earth.
The two of us are through the gate and hitting the midway quickly, and soon enough we're standing in line for grilled corn on the cob. I've been salivating ever since I found out that the last leg of my flight home coincided with this day. The line is twelve people long, and all of these hungry folks insist on shuttling me and Hank up to the front of the line.
As I'm about to place my order for three ears with extra butter, a clipboard-carrying woman wearing a business suit, flashy brooch, and a face etched with stress approaches me and introduces herself as Cameron. I size her up and decide she's either a politician or taking a survey. "Sir, I wonder if I might ask you a favor. The Butter Queen pageant finds itself short one judge today, and it would be an honor to have a decorated aviation officer from our home state serve as a substitute judge." She flashes me a huge smile with searching eyes, and then adds, "Sir."
I glance sidelong at Henry. He's no help, snickering while we wait for our corn.
I say to her, "Sure, I'll do it. You mind if I eat first? Been on an aircraft carrier for a long time."
"Can you eat and walk?" She truly looks desperate. "I'm so sorry, but it's zero hour and this pageant crowd is getting restless."
I hold out my fistful of cash to the sweet corn stand attendant, but he waves me off. Henry isn't snickering anymore. Under his breath I hear him mutter, "I'm sticking with you, kid. Maybe some of that shine will rub off on my reputation."
Nodding to the lady in the business suit, I say, "As long as you don't mind me talking with my mouth full while we walk."
Turns out, I needn't have worried about bad manners because she does all the talking. Thankfully, Henry is also keeping his mouth occupied with the chow as the lady explains what's going on. I just have to take notes, then cast my vote for the best performance in each round of judging. Seems a bit boring, having to watch a bunch of teenage girls prance around on stage, but it doesn't sound like it will take all day. I remind myself that I'm just happy to be home.
Once we reach the pageant stage area, the lady with the clipboard pulls me away from Henry. "I'm very sorry, I'm in a bit of a rush. It's already time for the judges to meet the contestants."
I glance back at Henry, who sends me off with a nod and goes to find a good seat for the show. I'm lucky he's a dude who can have a good time anywhere.
It seems to be a little fishy that contestants would get to meet judges before a contest, but I don't say anything because I'm still in the kind of headspace where I'm used to taking orders.
The clipboard lady reads the skepticism on my face. "A spontaneous visit is a way for the judges to get a feel for the contestants, see how they interact on an interpersonal level. It's all part of the judging,"
