Clara's relationship with the wall could not quite be understood. She was never seen in the company of boys. Warm summer days found her embracing the flat gray mortar in the garden. They tried everything. The spatula they used broke when they tried to slip it in between the warm flesh and cold stone. "Get away from that wall," they told her. Not even that worked. As the moon appeared through the trees the sounds of her song drifted in through the open windows, a love song she hummed, accompanied by a summer night's breeze. The mystery was solved when Clara's aunt, an avid hang glider, landed in the back yard one August afternoon and related what she had just seen from above. On the other side of the wall, at exactly the position Clara clung to, was a boy, weeping because he had no ladder.
Story #166
3 comments:
Clara was a wallflower, as the elders said. And judging by how flat her face was becoming from her pressing herself into the wall, if the boy stopped bawling long enough to find or build a ladder, or bright enough to figure out how to go around the wall, he might have realized what a fool he'd been. Or not.
Her love to that wall boy made her not be willing to move from there... That's a bit puzzling though as it's said love can move walls... :)**
I never thought of it that way, M.P., but at least she didn't durrender to the wall, as the boy did. I think in love girls are braver than boys.
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