#18 - Wedge (border)

“The girl who works here, when’s the next time she’ll be in?” He said. His eyes looked elsewhere, away from the woman’s face.

“What girl?”

“She has brown hair. About this tall.” He held his hand out flat, palm down, level with his shoulder. “She was here last week.” He said.

“Lots of girls work here, sir.” The woman said. She opened up the register. Her hands moved busily. “Is there something I can help with? We’re ‘bout to close.”

“No. Thank you.” He said.

In the B & P parking lot he sat in his truck, unready to leave town. He watched cars cruise Old Missouri 37. After half an hour he drove to Dairy Freeze and bought an ice cream cone and ate it on the way back to the property. He drove with the windows down and the radio off. After the turn at 112, he slowed the truck and took his time on the narrow lane leading up to the trailer. In the trees, the headlights caught on the eyes of deer and other creatures, effulgent in the darkness.

He parked the truck at the end of the trailer and raised the windows and turned off the engine. The woods were loud at night in a way never heard during sunlight hours; layers of sound that started up high in the leaves and moved in close through the tall grass of the yard. Cicadas, crickets, katydids, all contributing to a resonant thrum encircling him. He stopped and listened. In the noise, there was also a baby’s laughter, just behind him. He turned sharply as a twig snapped in the darkness where the clearing gave way to forest. He went ridged. He strained to make sense of the aphotic space at the edge of his vision.

There’s nothing there, he thought. And then, if there is something, don’t confront it. Don’t speak. Don’t even breathe and be heard over the insects.

He went to the door of the trailer and entered quietly, locking it behind him. He turned on the lights, and left them on till morning.

For days, he stayed close to the property, not going into the forest.  He started a project to reinforce the wooden steps and platform leading to the door of the trailer, working steadily in the morning and napping during the peak heat of the afternoon. In the evenings, after the sun had set, he stayed inside. He thought of the B & P girl sometimes, always with shame. He decided he wouldn’t try to see her again. The gift he’d thought of giving to her – the old medicine bottle he’d found – seemed foolish now. What use would she have with it?

After a week without leaving the property, he’d had enough. He decided to hike the trail he’d taken before, back to the abandoned settlement site where he’d discovered the crumbled stone foundation. The trail was familiar. Along the way he noted landmarks. Downed trees, undergrowth, deer paths, ditches. He walked for an hour and found the place without trouble. He dropped down on a pile of stones to rest on what had been the northeast corner of the structure. The foliage above provided shade and he sat and looked around. He wondered if there were more trinkets to be found like the medicine bottle. Without rising he used the toe of his boot to kick at the dead leaves and dirt, watching the overturned earth for a glint from glass or metal.

“We must be neighbors.”

He looked up in the direction of the voice. Twenty yards off, further down the trail, a man stood looking back at him. The man wore a rimmed raffia hat pulled low; an A-bolt rifle resting over his shoulder. The man nodded.

“We’re not unfriendly, but I need to let you know that you’re on private property. Where you’re sitting’s a historical spot, so we don’t let folks come back here.” The man said.

Still seated on the foundation, he said, “My dad and mom own a lot of this land. Or mom does. Dad’s dead. You sure this spot belongs to you?”

The man with the gun said, “Yes, we’re certain of that.”

He stood up and said, “Okay. I’ll go.”

The man with the gun watched him walk down the hill, away from the site. At the bottom, he looked back up at him. The man called, “It’d be best if you don’t come over here again.”

He didn’t respond. He turned and followed the trail he’d come in on. Walked for ten minutes before stopping to look back for the man. The trail was empty.

Back at the property, he sat on the trailer’s new wooden steps and smoked. He thought about calling to ask about the official acreage and survey information, but began to consider the complications of making a phone call and decided against it. It would be easier to stay away. It didn’t matter. His mother had said the property was a lonely place. It wasn’t as lonely as she’d thought. If you walked long enough, you would meet someone, friendly or not.

He sat for a long time, and then went inside and retrieved the medicine bottle. He got into the pickup and started it up and left the property. Late in the afternoon he was at B & P.

Against his best judgment, he wanted to see the girl again. He didn’t think he could talk to her, let alone give her the medicine bottle. But seeing her would be good. It was wrong for her to go unnoticed; that’s the way he felt. If he kept his distance, there was no harm. He wouldn’t cross the line. 

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To learn more about the real Wedge (border), read the original Wikipedia article HERE.