Parable of the Retaining Wall & Other Short Stories

Parable of the Retaining Wall

"The aim of show-and-tell is to do just that: show us an item and tell us its significance. Holding up an object and describing it, Janice, is only fulfilling half of the criteria. You are showing us, albeit through various means, what the object is. If I asked you to tell me about Germany, and you simply outlined its borders, I would be understandably disappointed. As such, I'm sure you can understand my dissatisfaction with your sub-par presentation. Return to your seat."

The child floats away into her chair at the front of the classroom. Either side of her – filling the entire space – are rows of tiny desks housing similarly tiny people. The windows, despite their best efforts, are failing to provide much illumination. So, too, is the man in the tweed suit.

"James Adams," he reads off his list, "you will be..."

In the exact centre of the room protrudes an empty desk. The children all look to the vacant space, before turning back to the teacher. He does not seem impressed by these circumstances.

"Where's James?"

A girl in a grotesquely blue dress stands up in the back. She points towards the sliding glass doors to her right.

"I saw him run away," she informs him, "he seemed afraid."

"Well he shouldn't be," the teacher tells her, before gesturing to the room, "one of you fetch the hysterical child."

A worryingly thin boy rises from his chair and flitters out the sliding door. He makes his way through the grassy courtyard, past the play equipment and broken hedges. On the far end he finds the retaining wall, the edge of which gives way to an abyssal drop. At the bottom of this abyss is a boy.

"James?"

The boy looks up and pauses, before giving a solemn nod.

"Petey."

"Mr Harrowford wants you."

"I'm sure."

Contemplating for a brief moment, Petey wanders along the edge of the retaining wall. A few meters later, he finds the point where a semi-worn path urgently descends to the bottom of the wall. Being careful not to take a tumble down the hillside, he does so as well.

Beneath a four-metre face of concrete is a grassy ledge, forming the slope of the hill that dribbles downwards for another good 10 yards. The view is seemingly infinite and appears deceptively close: you could just about dip your fingers in the ocean.

"I'm scared of them," James says, not breaking eye-contact with the air in front of him.

"Who?" Petey asks, sitting down next to him.

"I don't quite know what I'm scared of," James tells him, "I just am."

"That seems counter-intuitive," Petey says, ripping up pieces of grass.

"What does that mean?"

"I don't know. My dad says it sometimes."

There doesn't seem to be any point in returning to the classroom anymore. In fact, there doesn't seem to be any point to anything. Time seems distant, reality hazy, and both boys are struck by a profound urge to do nothing at all.

This lasts some time.

"Petey? James?"

They look up to see a girl staring down at them from the top of the retaining wall.

"Heather," they nod in unison.

"Mr Harrowford wants you."

"I'm sure."

It only takes a moment for Heather to descend the craggy path and join the boys at the knoll. Without a word, she takes a seat beside them. The sun fills their bellies and empties their heads, as their eyes remain hovering on the edge of the distant sea. The only sound is the occasional snap as Heather breaks a twig into a billion pieces.

"Petey? James? Heather?"

They look up.

"Margo," they nod in unison.

This continues for some time. A plethora of kids bundle about the rim of the wall, all staring off and giving vague chatter. When the total starts to climb, Petey turns to James with a curiously content expression.

"When do you think it'll stop?" He asks.

"When Harrowford's out of kids," James smiles, turning back to the vista and closing his mind.