Cornfield Dreams

Here's the thing about Anne-Marie-

No, wait. First I'd better explain that her name isn't actually Anne-Marie. It's Chanel. You know, like the fancy perfume? Yeah, her mother named her that because her mother thought it was would be a chic, urban name for a little girl to have. Anne-Marie's mother is very chic and urban herself, but that's to be expected, since she was born and raised in the city where we all live. And I don't mean the used-to-be-suburbs-now-called-"the city"-because-modern-suburbs-are-so-much-more-depressing part of the city, where there's still the occasional yard and even a driveway or two. We live in the actual city, nothing but glass and concrete and fluorescent lights and maybe a park if there aren't too many indigents around. But once young Chanel got old enough to start having her way about things, she went from Chanel to Anne-Marie. I asked her once why she chose that name, and she said because of Mary Ann Summers, from Gilligan's Island. And then I asked why not just go for Mary Ann, and she looked at me like I was crazy and said she might be from the city where morals were a little looser, but she wasn't about to go around stealing peoples names.

And that's the thing about Anne-Marie: most kids our age would give anything to live here, where it's exciting and glamorous and there's always something new and none of it ever sleeps. But not Anne-Marie: she longs for the country-side. It's the weirdest thing. I am certain there are girls who pin up pictures of New York, Paris, and Milan in their bedrooms: but not Anne-Marie. Do you know what she has on her walls? Cornfields. I am not even making this up. Like I said- the weirdest thing.

But then I'm not entirely normal myself (no one else our age really cares about architecture), so I overlook her bizarre preferences. And I will say that she's managed to uncover some of the coolest places in this city. I'm not talking about exclusive clubs, or hole-in-the-wall diners that are actually portals to taste-bud nirvana. Nah, any urban girl worth her salt has an arsenal of those kinds of places. But Anne-Marie... she knows where we can go to get wheat. Actually, growing-out-of-the-ground wheat, in the frigging city. And she's discovered this random wooden door back behind a condemned apartment complex that she is certain leads to her own secret garden, if we could figure out a way to get over the wall without shredding ourselves in the razor wire.

So she's a weird girl, and we have weird adventures- but I wouldn't have it any other way.

(Knocking)