Page 13 of Ginjuh

I rolled my eyes. This shit.

“Look.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “I may be gay, but I’m not desperate, dude. Just get changed.”

With that, I walked away, making sure that it was clear from his view that I was not peeking over my shoulder at him. Austin presumably changed while I walked over to the shed to find the surveyor measuring tape and a few cans of the spray paint Grandpa had bought for us. I quickly located the mass of neon orange spray paint and the surveyor tape. Grabbing a couple of the cans and then tucking the tape under my arm, I exited the shed. Austin was outside waiting, notebook gone and the basketball shorts on his lower half. He was so skinny…but not in a bad way. The shorts were cinched tightly at his waist—medium my ass. His body was almost delicate like a bird, like a breeze could carry him away for the winter.

“You ever done anything like farm work before?”

He gave a slight shrug.

“I can tell by your vampire-like complexion that you don’t get out much.” I teased gently.

The corner of his mouth turned up slightly but was chased away quickly by his blank stare.

“Okay, then.” I shrugged. “Grandpa wants us to mark off where we’re going to cut the corn stalks down and then go over it with the Brush Hog.”

I handed the spray paint cans to him and reached into my pocket to pull out the printed paper showing the grid for where to mark the fields. Quickly, I gave Austin a rundown of how we would go about measuring the paths, spraying lines to know where to cut down corn and run the Brush Hog, and whatnot while he looked over my shoulder. He didn’t say too much, other than to indicate that he understood. A few minutes later, we were in the fields together, measuring from the edge of the field inward, marking where the entrance would be.

Bit by bit over the next few hours, the two of us measured with the surveyor’s tape to mark out where stalks would have to be cut down so that a “maze” could be created. Austin worked silently with me, nodding here, nodding there, doing as instructed. His hair and shirt slowly became saturated with sweat and his cheeks were rosy from all the bending and moving and navigating through the old dried corn, but he never complained or quit. Even though he was one of the weirdest people I’d ever met, I had to give him respect for doing the job without question or complaint. Though, when we got to actually cutting down the corn stalks, his tune might end up changing. As we got to marking the exit from the corn maze—just a few yards away from the entrance, the sun was barely still peeking over the horizon.

Austin was soaked with sweat and I could tell that he was going to show up on Saturday with a sunburn. I cringed, thinking about the first time I had burned on the farm—or just got a sunburn in general. Hopefully, this wouldn’t be his first experience, because those of us who lived in the sun knew how it felt. Your whole body ached when you went to bed, feeling feverish and sick, the sheets like sandpaper against your flesh, making every inch of you scream out for relief. The next day, every time you moved you felt like your skin was going to rip open and spill your innermost self out. I shrugged. That was his problem, not mine.

“You boys done?” Grandpa hollered from the porch as we were walking away from the fields, empty spray cans and surveyor’s tape in hand.

“Yes, sir!” I hollered back.

Austin parroted me, though less enthusiastically.

“All right then,” Grandpa responded. “We have enough paint?”

“Just barely,” I replied in a lower tone as we approached the porch. “But it was plenty, Grandpa. We should be able to start using the scythes tomorrow. Maybe by next weekend we can get the Brush Hog out?”

“Well, I’ll be damned, Zach.” Grandpa smiled down at me from his spot on the porch. “You’re awfully confident in your abilities, ain’tcha?”

I laughed back. “Yes, sir.”

Grandpa gave Austin a once over.

“You all right, Austin?”

“Yes…sir.” Austin didn’t look up.

Grandpa looked at me and gave me a discreet smile and wink. I just returned his smile.

“Y’all get on home, then.” Grandpa waved us off. “I’ll see you bright and early, all right?”

“Yes, sir,” I respond and Austin once again parroted. “See you in the morning.”

“You drive safe, Zach.” Grandpa didn’t look back as he went inside and closed the door behind himself.

I looked over at Austin, the cans of paint cradled in his sunburned arms as he waited for further instruction. Though I didn’t want to feel bad for him and his red skin, I took mercy on him.

“If you want to wait in the car, I’ll go chunk the cans in the recycle for Grandpa and put the tape up,” I suggested. “You, uh, might want to just keep the shorts for now. I don’t think you’ll want to slide back into your jeans for a few days.”

Austin nodded gently and gingerly transferred the empty cans to my arms. I watched him as he turned stiffly and headed towards the car before I headed off to the shed and put the cans in the cardboard box Grandpa kept for recyclables that couldn’t be put in with “normal” things. Then I put the tape back on its rightful hook and locked the shed up tight. Once back at the car, I found Austin belted into the passenger seat, sitting stiffly, obviously unable to find a comfortable position.

“Ready?”

“Yeah.” He said simply.