20. The Stone Wall

Even if I do technically have a date to a dance tomorrow, I still find myself alone on a Friday night. I never used to be by myself on Friday nights. Back home there was always something to do. Someone having a party or going to see a movie or just hanging out.

Here there’s nobody around to hang out with.

Nobody except a few groundhogs.

The evening is still young, and I’ve just finished helping Mom with cleanup after dinner. She tried something new—fajitas. Strips of steak and chicken along with undercooked onions and peppers put in flour tortillas along with cheese and salsa. They were fine. They didn’t taste as good as they do at a Mexican restaurant, especially the little one we used to go to back home, but that’s fine. I know Mom’s trying to re-create it.

She’s working on another large margarita when I tell her I’m going to go outside for a while.

Good thing she doesn’t see the flashlight I’m carrying.

Even though the sky is still light, I know I’m going to need it.

I haven’t forgotten about the little cabin in the middle of nowhere.

And I definitely haven’t forgotten about the tunnel underneath.

The only thing it seems I’ve forgotten is how to get there.

I wander through the woods, going straight uphill behind my house, knowing it was this far up the mountain. But after twenty minutes of not finding it, I start heading right.

With each step it seems to get darker.

A clearing in the forest brush makes me stop for a moment. I discover a small trail with the leaves either gone or pressed down from use. It snakes alongside the mountain and heads in the direction I’m going.

Though I know deep down that the little cabin is far back where I started, I keep heading down this trail. Maybe I’ll uncover something else.

Another ten minutes and I do.

In the middle of the dense trees of the forest, a ten-foot stone wall stands blocking my direction.

It heads straight up and down the mountain as far as I can see.

I almost don’t believe it’s real, so I touch it. The stone is cool and hard. It’s very real, very unmovable. Very Middle Ages.

Who would build something like this?

I walk up the hill, trying to find a way around it. There are no entryways, no small windows looking in, nothing that can let me pass. I reverse direction, heading down the slope of the hill along the stone barrier.

I know who this belongs to.

This is part of the gate surrounding Gus’s house.

Suddenly I really want to get over this wall.

I want to see what the house behind it looks like.

Who doesn’t want to know what his neighbor’s house looks like?

The gate I came across on the road below was just to prevent vehicles from going any farther. This stone wall is to prevent anyone from getting onto the Staunch property. To prevent people like me from snooping.

I decide not to go down the mountain too far. The closer to the road, the more likely I might run into someone. Or something.

Like a camera.

I head back uphill where I just came from, my legs getting a workout. It doesn’t take me long before I come across a tree growing right next to the wall. I didn’t notice it when I first passed. It’s small enough to climb up, yet big enough to support my weight. Several branches jut out slightly over the top of the wall, which appears to be square and flat.

This is going to be easy.

Five minutes later, I land on the soft padding of the ground below.

I never even had to set foot on the wall. I just edged out on a branch and dropped over it.

As I look at the same scene facing me—just endless trees and bushes, now shrouded in dimming light—I have a not-so-great thought. How am I going to get back to the other side?