Don't Stop Now by Julie Halpern

new backyard.”
    â€œWhere do you come up with this stuff?”
    â€œI’m just brilliant, I guess.” I fluff underneath my hair for emphasis.
    â€œBeauty and brains.” Josh shakes his head.
    Don’t let it fool you, I tell myself. He says that kind of stuff to anyone. Waitresses. Traffic cops. Circus clowns.
    Â 
    The exit for Mitchell appears right around dinnertime, and we follow the signs to head right to the Corn Palace. The air is sizzling; waving heat blurs mock our lack of air-conditioning.
    â€œI could use some of that free ice water,” Josh says as we find a parking space near the downtown.
    I peel my thighs off the car seat fabric (grateful it’s not leather) and step into Mitchell. The Eurosport is parked on a side street from the town’s main street, free parking, and we head for the main thoroughfare (in a town like this, it’s gotta be a thoroughfare) around a bunch of shops. Kitschy and creepy fabric humans—Native Americans and old men—sit on benches, ripe for photo ops. Josh poses with the stuffed people, kissing an old man’s cheek, giving a Native American guy bunny ears, and I take a few pictures with my cell phone.
    The instant we turn onto the main street, we can see the Corn Palace. This is no Mars’ Cheese Castle. From a distance, it really does look like a palace, like the home of a sultan. As we get closer, we pass a street full of tourist shops, an ice cream parlor, and a doll museum shaped like a castle. So many tourist attractions, so many castles. “The Enchanted World Doll Museum!” I squeak. “We have to see it!”
    â€œI don’t know, man. Dolls. Kind of scary.”
    â€œWuss,” I say. “We’re going after we visit the Corn Palace. Deal with it.” I love old dolls. My mom has a collection from when she was little, but instead of coveting and hiding it, she let me play with the dolls. The old ones are the best, the way their eyes open and shut, their arms separated and poseable. They just seem more alive. In a good way.
    Josh looks skeptical, so I grab his hand to let him know I’ll comfort him through the terror. We walk down the street like this, holding hands, checking out the sights of Mitchell. Your casual observer might even think we’re a couple. I catch our reflection in a store window, two tall faux redheads, holding hands. Something overcomes me, maybe it’s the corn in the air, and I quickly lean in and kiss Josh on the cheek. I have never kissed him before. Some people are into that, being all enlightened and Europe an or whatever, but I always thought that kisses were more sacred than that. Maybe that’s why I didn’t waste too much time with my crappy blips of exes.
    â€œWhat was that for?” Josh asks, touching his cheek with his free hand.
    â€œNeeded to be done.” I shrug.
    â€œMitchell is kind of romantic. What with a museum full of dolls ready to attack me and a palace made of corn.”
    Ha-ha. Always a kidder. I let go of Josh’s hand and keep moving toward the Corn Palace. Of course he doesn’t notice my missing hand. The one that used to be holding his. Not that my hand suddenly went missing.
    Up close, the Palace is rather unbelievable, the entire facade elaborately decorated with dried cobs of corn in an array of autumn browns, yellows, and purples. The corn spells out MITCHELL CORN PALACE and the year, and the walls are covered in mosaics of tractors and animals made entirely of corn. “This is what the Mars’ Cheese Castle should aspire to be,” I say in wonder.
    â€œYeah, but think of the stench.” Josh stands next to me and reaches his hand toward the corn. I smack it away out of respect.
    â€œI guess cheese wouldn’t work as well as corn. But, they could try a little harder to be spectacular.” I’m disappointed in my cheese castle.
    â€œEh.” Josh shrugs as though he’s fine with the