Rachel Allred (object Essay)

The Wall

I had no idea how old the wall was; only that its sturdy cinderblock structure lined the side of my yard for the entirety of my young life. It appeared to have a dozen sunken green eyes as the wall’s peculiar design left out several bricks, allowing rectangles of yard to be seen through from the other side. I often contemplated the odd design’s purpose. It had made sense to me that these holes were good for only three reasons: spying on the neighbor kids, housing unfortunately abundant hornets nests, and posing as the foot holds that allowed my siblings to scale the wall. Having not been able to climb the wall myself, I couldn’t understand why they liked to sit up there, where they were more liable to fall. Standing next to the wall, running my fingers along the coarse rock, I would watch my brother’s gorilla like figure clamber up the side; his effort made easy from repeated practice. Despite my older brother’s constant encouragement, it was the relentless butterflies that filled my stomach, not my short frame or weak arms, that kept me from attempting to scale the wall. I would feel the rough grain of the brick, as I stared up at my brother as he again beckoned me to join him. One particular time I caved into his persuasion. It seemed my curiosity overcame the butterflies. Still nervous, however, I gripped the edge of the brick and strained to pull myself up the wall, just like I had watched my brother. I paused only inches above the ground my head pounding with fright. I teetered a bit before I noticed my brother’s hand just above my face. I grasped it and he guided me up. Reaching the top I scraped the exposed skin of my leg on the edge of the brick. Small droplets of warm blood developed and I pressed my hand down over the graze to suppress the sting. I still remember how my attention was drawn to the view overlooking the yard. My childhood swings and toys seemed distant and small since I was above them rather than among them. I found as I straddled the wall, though my knuckles were white as I clutched it carefully, that I didn’t want to climb down. From the height of the wall I could see the golden rays of the setting sun reflect across the Great Salt Lake, far past the edge of my yard. I could hear the hinges of the screen door screech as my mom opened it to call us for dinner. My brother helped me down from our perch and though I liked the view from atop the wall, I was grateful to return to the stability of the ground below.