Maze

The Preparation

"It's Prep Day!" Eliza squeals delightedly. Prep Day. One of her favorite days. Why? Because Dad is an artist. Therefore, we are all artists. Mom and Doris and William and Eliza and I. We have  to prepare the field of grass for tomorrow. That means we have to create the set, arrange the blankets for each clan to sit on, and weave together the wildflower headbands for the Chosen.

Eliza runs to our flower bed to begin weaving, pulling Mom behind her. William struts to the woodshed with Dad walking beside him so they can begin making the new set. Although I will help paint it later, I decide to help Doris with the blanket arrangements. We drag out the four huge clan blankets. 

Each clan has one giant blanket for this special ceremony. There are four clans; Hugomonst, Doragin, Seraphine, and Mullivine. We belong to Seraphine. Its particular blanket has prancing unicorns, flying pegasi, and towering tsunamis. The background was a delicate chestnut brown known only to our clan. They figured out how to create it thirty years ago, from ground chestnuts, bloodwood bark, and white lilies. We arrange the blankets in the order of A-Z.

I walk over to the finished woodwork of the monstrous set. Dad picks up the dark green paint, Will takes the light blue, so I take the bright yellow. I begin to paint the edge of the set with long, slow strokes. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Doris is bringing out the lemonade as Mom and Eliza have finished the headbands. We keep painting as the sun shines on each color and infuses it with bright colors. 

We finish painting and put everything away. Under the shade of our overhang, we drink the delicious lemonade and look over each part of our setup. Mom rushes inside to begin making supper, but the rest of us stay outside to watch the sun shine on our work. Mom calls us for dinner and we eat. I finish first, as always. I'm the fastest eater in our clan. I go outside and sit on our porch, watching the sunset.

Will joins me. "Who do you think will become the Chosen tomorrow, Beth?" "That," I reply," Is a forbidden question which shows you must be thinking forbidden thoughts. Do not let that question slip out in public or they will make you pay." He flinches, perhaps from the sting of my words. "Maybe I spoke too harshly," I said," Maybe I should have said,' I have not a clue, please don't ask me or anyone else again.'" He grins and I know all is forgiven.

Dad calls us for bed. I crawl under my quilt on my bed and wonder, 'Who will become the Chosen?' The question echoes through my mind until I fall asleep.