Lost in the Maze

Miranda Jensen

Mother told her not to go in. Mazes are made for getting lost, and little girls mustn’t lose themselves. It wasn’t obedience that kept her out of the maze’s maw, however. She feared the lean cypresses and the thick hedges, she dreamed of its emerald foliage chewing her up like grandmother did slaughtered pigs; beloved pets into delectable afternoon snacks. 

So, she danced and dawdled around its border, petting its coat in coy coaxing, seeking to charm the trap away. In moments of courage, she pressed her little ear close and listened—not to the whispers of the lost souls nor the cries of the forgotten wanderers, but to the sweet patter of the maze’s heart. Bu-bump. Bu-bump. Bu-bump. It was cruel, she thought primly and grimly, that her great-granddaddy trapped such a lovely creature in this cage.

With time, she grew up on the maze’s edges, discovered herself on its margins, and found love outside its dramatic dead-ends. Indeed, Henry’s proposal was a step away from the portal to absence, and she could almost summon that soft Bu-bump over the pounding of her own blood. Henry’s gaunt stature and strong brows needn’t be frightening, her mother told her, but she trembled nonetheless. Come her wedding day, dressed in satin’d tulle that kissed the gardens’ grounds, her Henry willed a silly game—a venture into the maze. No longer could she fear the unfamiliar verdure, no longer should she obey her mother’s whims, for she was Henry’s now. She had been found, finally. She could ne’er be lost again. 

It wasn’t obligation that led her into the maze’s maw, however. Before she became entirely Henry’s, she wished to trace that Bu-bump all the way to its prisoner. 

Hand in hand, Henry guided her under the arched ivy turning this way and that, always thwarted by a wall of nature’s envy. She giggled at the maze’s mirth but Henry had no patience for folly, he could not allow a few twists and turns to mock his wedding day. Yanking on her wrist, he carried them faster and faster, sliding his sword from his sheath.

“Must we finish the maze, darling?” Her voice betrayed her unease. She had ne’er seen a blade so sharpened. “Why don’t we return to the festivities?” 

Henry whirled, his green eyes cold. “We must finish the game; you go that way, and I will head West.” 

She stammered, her chest a hummingbird’s plight as he abandoned her to the cypresses and shrubbery, to the emerald borders that once bound her infancy. The snaps and hisses of Henry slicing through leaves frightened her, but she forced air down her tightened corset and pressed her diamon’d ear close. Bu-bump. Ripping fabric off her dirtied hem, she left a trail of lace behind, charting each and every path to and fro. Bu-bump. The endless green plotted her path, watching calmly, lovingly, where Henry’s curses carried hot on the wind. Bu-bump. 

“Have you lost your betrothed on your wedding day?”

She stumbled as the familiar heartbeat waxed into words. “Wh—who speaks? Show yourself!”

“Hello, Helen,” An armless statue posed in the center of six arches winked. 

“I—” she gasped, not trusting her senses. She circled the statue, ducking into each of the ivy arches, but found herself horribly alone. 

“If you don’t want him back, I’ll keep him lost.”

Helen paused and turned back to the smirking white marble. “Are you speaking of Henry?” 

“Henry,” the statue confirmed. “He lost you first, it’s only fair, Helen.”

“No!” Helen ran to the statue, her hands gripping its pedestal. “I—I need him, maze. Please.”

Impossibly, the statue’s head shifted, the material twisting to look down at Helen with a pitying sigh. “You need him, but do you love him?”

“It mustn’t matter, maze.”

“Love ought to matter, Helen.”

She dipped her head, the Bu-bump of the statue’s words a convincing lullaby. The ripped hem of her dress billowed with the breeze and she shuddered at the thought of emerging alone. Of ne’er seeing Henry again. Her brow pressed into the statue’s knees, cool marble soothing her fever. 

“I’ll let Henry finish the maze first,” she told the heart of her youth. “I mustn’t emerge before him.”

The statue cooed at the bride. “Stay as long as you want, my dear.”

So, she did. 

Bu-bump. Bu-bump. Bu-bump.