The Wall is a low-slung, weather beaten barrier made of swirled cement. It runs from the Low Creek to the outside of town, stopping right at the chain-link fence that surrounds our school. When you walk past that border, the chain-links and The Wall, you have a weird feeling in the pit of your stomach. I have no idea how to explain it; it's kind of like when you see an abandoned prison hidden in an encircling of trees. It goes from institution and metal detectors to country, freedom, and healthy air.
Lee and I go there a lot after school. We walk down the sidewalk and skim our hands across the top, ignoring the burning until our hands go numb. And when we come to the old farmhouse nestled in a grove of trees deep in the valley, we plunk ourselves on The Wall. My jean knees open their gaping mouths and shout at the sky. My feet cross themselves and my hands fold neatly in my lap like I'm at school, in kindergarten.
Lee scoots over until his hips are touching mine. He's a lot taller than me, so his feet dangle closer to the ground. He wears his trusty Chucks, in standard black, as always. He's got shaggy warm cocoa colored hair that curls sometimes when it's humid out. He has green eyes, like emeralds, or maybe like a cat's. He's sly like a cat, too, always pulling pranks and doing something sneaky, but never something bad-sneaky. He wears jeans all the time like me, but his don't have screaming knee holes. His are put in a dryer and then folded in his chest of drawers at home, while mine endure the torture of a clothes line that stretches across the roof of my apartment building.
"So ninth grade, huh?" Lee says suddenly. He's surprised at his own voice, cutting through the chilly September air like a knife through butter. He grabs the end of my ponytail and yanks a little, but gently, like a friend and not a bully.
I stay silent for a minute letting him tug on my hair. Then I say quietly, so I don't disturb the air, "Ninth grade. Yeah. Big step."
We sit there in silence, just enjoying it. I close my eyes a little, breathing in the soft country air that washes like waves over us, cleansing us of city grime. I hate the city. Most people love it -- I despise it. It's so close and crowded and busy. I always wonder if people who live in the city ever like the quiet. When they go on vacation, do they go to another city, where it's just as crowded? Or do they go somewhere where it's silent, like here? Can they sleep without the sirens, the chatter, the car alarms: the lullaby of the metropolis?
Lee swings his leg, catching mine so it swings too. We do this for a couple of minutes, staying as silent as we were before. The Wall always makes us quiet. It's like it can silence us and let us talk just through actions. It let our thoughts wander to places that school prevented, unless it was linear equations or an essay on Shakespeare’s masterpieces. Here I could wonder if Lee was really who I thought Lee was. Or if he was thinking about me.
The Wall is our place. And when it wanted us gone, it let us know. A farm dog would bark or a bird would fly noisily past. This time, the wind begins to howl and whip our hair around. My hair sweeps into Lee's face as I jump down, reaching blindly for his hand. His hair was thrown back like mine and he snatches my hand up, squeezing it. Silently, but with wide smiles, we run down the block. I skim my hand across The Wall again, saying goodbye.
We reach the chain link fence and slow down, the wind not as bad. I reach up with my free hand and swipe my hair away from my face.
"I'm gonna miss The Wall," Lee says sullenly.
"Me too," I say, glancing back. The Wall sits there like it always has, low to the ground and weather beaten. It stares back at me like a trusted friend. It looks kind of lonely without the two of us sitting on it.
--Written a year ago. Please critique?
So without further ado...