Where the Burger Grows

“How much’ll it cost me this time?” Tony’s mother said.

“Just twenty bucks for food,” Tony said. “And Miss Lanta said we’ll fundraise the rest.”

Yeah, right, fundraiser, she thought. Last field-trip, I wound up buying all the candy.

“There’s more than that in your birthday money,” she said.

Tony looked at his feet. His birthday money was gone. Tony’d take a few bucks out every week and buy pet food and take it to the animal shelter.

“Why would you go waste your money like that?” Tony’s mother said.

“Because you said we couldn’t afford a dog,” Tony said.

What an ass I am, Tony’s mother thought. The back of her hand flew to her forehead.

“Alright,” she said, and took the money out her purse and handed it to him. “You can go. Where’s Miss Lanta taking you this time?”

*

“How in this hot-hell did we land on a farm for a field trip?” Miss Lanta said, emerging off the yellow bus in the parking lot of Boxy Farms. Her fellow teachers shrugged.

“This town is obsessed with being country. I grew up here, too, and all I want is away from the horses and the heat.”

Her fellow teachers shrugged again. They murmured about maybe we can find some rustic farmhouse stuff for our classrooms, no, our homes.

Miss Lanta gave them her back. In reality, it was them that turned their back on her, but she would never admit that. The odd one out, she was.

She closed her tired brown eyes, slipped into her routine. The routine was, she’d imagine a teacher within her. An ideal, prim-and-proper teacher. She’d kidnap her and put on her frumpy green skirt, and she’d transplant each other’s brains. She’d imagine stuffing her actual, cynical self into a closet, saying, “Don’t worry, I don’t want this forever.”

And when her eyes opened, she was Miss Lanta, Teacher of the Year!

“Okay, Students!” Miss Lanta beamed, ushering her kids off the yellow bus. “Form a line, like lunch!”

And her students were happy little soldiers.

*

Miss Lanta led her class to the gate of the farm. She reminded the class that the farm was owned by the local fast-food joint, Boxhead’s.

Just like in the books they read in class, there were fields of long grass where cows grazed, and there were horse-pens and there were pigsties. A long red barn, from which came the music of chirping chicks, sat in the middle of it.

Tony was caboose of the happy little soldiers coming off the bus. Tony’s hands had a condition where they sweat with excitement, and they were soaked. He loved animals.

“Gwoahhh,” Tony said.

Tony tugged on Miss Lanta’s dress.

“Yes, Tony?” Miss Lanta said. Her face was so unlike his mother’s, warm and kind.

“Could we touch the animals, Teacher?” Tony said.

“How fun if we can! I can’t be sure, Tony, but we can ask,” Miss Lanta said.

“Thanks, Teacher,” Tony said. “Just to watch is awesome, too.”

*

Miss Lanta and her class, and the other teachers and their classes, were greeted at the gate by an odd fellow – The mascot of Boxhead’s and Boxy Farms: Boxy himself. He wore denim overalls that were cut to the knees, and a button-up plaid shirt. A white box painted with a smiley face served as a mascot head.

Miss Lanta wondered if it was the same person who made appearances in the fast-food joint at the birthday parties.

“Welcome to Boxy Farms!” Boxy said. “I’ll be your guide today!”

Boxy marched off like a cartoon from the 20s, and the classes followed across the sprawling land to the animal pens.

Along the way, Miss Lanta asked her class questions about the animals. Miss Lanta played as if she didn’t know anything, as if she were the student. Her students felt genius teaching the teacher.

The other teachers, meanwhile, weren’t paying attention, and their classes sounded like clattering dishes.

At each animal pen, Boxy put on a performance. At the cow-pen, for example, Boxy hopped the fence and materialized a red banner from nowhere. He took a stance like a bull-fighter and made a cow charge at him. He was swift on his feet and was even able to swing his leg around and climb aboard the cow. He rode the cow into an opening in the long red barn.

He’d emerge again from the front of the barn, without the animal, and rejoin the group. He put on similar performances with a pig, a sheep, and even a deer. Always, the performances ended with a trip into the long red barn.

“Another animal that makes Boxhead’s possible!” Boxy would say.

*

Tony tugged at Miss Lanta’s dress again. “But how, Teacher? How does it make Boxhead’s possible?”

Miss Lanta was torn. It’d be worse than telling him Santa wasn’t real. She could feel her cynical-self clawing out the attic of her mind, angry at Boxy’s performances, even angrier at her colleagues for insisting on this place for a field trip. Angry at herself for going along with it.

“Well, Tony,” she said. “There’s–”

“Hey, Boxy, we’re all hungry here! It’s time for lunch!” Her colleague said, cutting her off - to her relief.

“Of course!” Boxy said. “To the barn!”

Tony’s palms were fleshy waterfalls. He didn’t want to go in the barn.

Miss Lanta felt equally wary. She felt insane for being the only one, besides a kid, to have second thoughts about the place.

With every step toward the long red barn, she felt worse. It looked like a sigh could knock it down. And the chipped paintjob must’ve had layers on it that dated back to the witch trials.

“Wow!” one of the other teachers said.

“So much character!” another agreed.

A creepy character, Miss Lanta thought. Like a backwoods House of Usher.

They arrived at the large barn doors. Boxy stood in front and grabbed the handles.

“Welcome,” Boxy said, “to the Mess Hall!”

*

“Look at it,” one of the other teachers said.

“Modern Farmhouse,” another agreed.

The interior of the long red barn was very much unlike the exterior. Exposed beams, shiplap on the walls and painted white. All sorts of antiques and knick-knacks scattered about. Long wooden dining tables in the middle of the room, with matching wooden benches. Meals sat on the tables on cube-shaped covered platters.

But while these things fascinated the other teachers, Tony and Miss Lanta worried about the performance animals somewhere in the barn, and how they were.

Miss Lanta imagined they were on the platters. Farm-to-table. She scolded herself for that thought. Where was this conscience the two-thousand times she’d had Boxhead’s for lunch? What’s the difference now? The difference is Tony’d put two and two together…

The classes sat at the dining table and they were served, to Miss Lanta’s surprise, baked potatoes and creamed corn, and broccoli and cheese.

“We grow our own produce here, too,” Boxy said, as if he’d read Miss Lanta’s mind.

*

It was time to tour the rest of the barn. Boxy noticed the teachers admiring the farmhouse décor. He offered them to stay behind and take something they liked from the Mess Hall as a souvenir. The teachers chirped and browsed excitedly.

“I can handle the kiddos!” Boxy said, as he and the students moved through the double doors in the back of the mess hall.

“We’ll catch up!” the teachers said.

Miss Lanta couldn’t believe they'd leave their classes alone with this creep… wait, yes, she could. What did I expect?

She followed through the double doors. Remember, Lanta, ya do this for the kids.

*

She had a terrible feeling they were walking into a slaughterhouse.

The floor of the room beyond the mess hall was covered in hay. She took a deep breath of ripe animal. The smell grossed her out, but she was relieved to see the performance animals from earlier. Tony was, too.

“The petting zoo,” Boxy said, outstretching an arm. “G’ahead! They’re highly trained!”

Tony looked to Miss Lanta for permission. She nodded yes and he took off with the other kids to play with the animals. Miss Lanta lightened up a bit. Still not my taste, but…

“Hey, Boxy?” Tony said.

“Hey, Tony?” Boxy said.

“What about the chicks?” Tony said. The music of the chirping chicks sounded nearby. “Could we see those, too?”

Boxy turned to Miss Lanta. “If it’s okay with you…”

Miss Lanta contemplated. She looked to the double doors.

“Let’s just wait for the other teachers, m’kay?” Miss Lanta said.

Tony looked at his feet and nodded.

Half an hour of petting-zoo playtime zipped by, and the teachers hadn’t returned. The kids grew restless and mutiny was incoming.

“Why don’t we ask your coworkers how they feel about you moving on?” Boxy said. “If it’ll make ya feel better?”

Miss Lanta gave Boxy a wary look.

“Mom! Um, I mean, ma’am!” Tony said, blushing. “Sounds like a good idea.”

Miss Lanta chuckled. “Sure. Let’s check.”

She disappeared into the mess hall with Boxy.

Moments later, Boxy re-emerged alone.

“Where’s Miss Lanta?” Tony said.

“Oh, she says to go on without her. Something caught her eye back there.”

*

Boxy led the students to the chick’s home beyond a door in the petting zoo.

The only light came from slits up toward the ceiling, which mixed with dust and became funereal. The air was heavy with the odor of chick droppings, and the music of the chicks became dizzying.

The chicks themselves were kept in a large cage that extended to the ceiling, with multiple levels. Like a gothic high-rise made of chicken wire. Only the bottom-most level was large enough for children (and hunched-over adults) to walk around in.

Boxy opened the wire-door to the bottom level and beckoned the students inside. The children ran in to pet the chicks and Boxy joined them.

Tony’s heart broke seeing how they lived. How cramped, how dirty. He picked one up and stroked it. It was lethargic, eyes covered in grey film, its fur matted. A bird’s gotta fly, he thought.

*

At the far end of the chicken-pen was a rusty old machine, like a wood chipper. Boxy pulled a lever on it, and it sounded off a grinding dread that overtook the room.

Boxy wrangled a handful of chicks.

“Who wants chicken nuggets?” Boxy said, holding up a squirmy yellow mass.

“Me-Me-Me!” all but Tony said.

Boxy cast his handful of chicks into the machine. There was a squishy crack and chicken nuggets poured out a spout on the other end. The kids cheered.

Tony backed into a corner and watched his classmates scoop up chicks and shove them into the machine.

They whooped.

They hollered.

They ate.

Again and again, they whooped and hollered and ate.

This is how animals make Boxhead's possible, Tony thought.

Tony quietly and carefully opened the door to the chicken-pen and corralled out as many chicks as he could. Despite his terror, Tony swore to free the chicks and swore never to eat a nugget again.

To his dismay, however, the door back to the petting zoo was locked. Frantic and wet with tears, he scanned the room. There was another door way back, past the cage. He ran to it.

Tony’s sweaty palms slipped all over the doorknob. He glanced back.

Boxy rushed him from behind.

I’ll die if even one chick can fly, Tony thought.

“Chicks can’t fly, Tony,” Boxy whispered in his ear.

Tony strangled the doorknob, and spilled into the next room.

*

Miss Lanta and the other teachers were hooked from their eyes like cattle in a freezer. Tony watched as dozens of Boxys worked to heave them into a rusty machine, one at a time. Boxy lowered himself to Tony’s ear.

“Another animal,” Boxy said, “that makes Boxhead’s possible. Wait’ll I show you how the kid’s meals are made.”