Chapter 12: The Garden Wall
Jason, Wirt, and Sara stared up at the gate leading into the graveyard. It was tall and daunting, and figuring out how to enter proved to be a difficult task.
"Jason, you're the smallest one here, go through the bars and get us in."
Wirt and Sara watched as Jason did as told and slipped inside.
There was a little handle, which opened up the gate and led out into the graveyard. It was old and rusting, and it took lots of force to turn it and open the gate. By the time Jason managed, his hands were red and strained.
The gate swung open, and Wirt and Sara wandered in.
"Woah," Sara said, spinning slowly and taking in the sight of so many graves.
They look at the different tombstones, big and small, and read off several of the names.
"Maria Guillespi, 1946-2008," Sara read aloud.
"Quincy Endicott, 1736-1801," Wirt followed.
"Aileen Liberto, 1992-2006." That was Jason, and suddenly he frowned. "She was fourteen years old."
"Does it say how she died?" Sara asked.
"Um..." Jason glossed over it. "Yeah, right here. She got cancer."
The three stood there in depressing silence.
"Death sucks," Jason said.
Sara sighed. "You're telling me."
Wirt pat her back, and Jason pointed at a giant brick wall.
"Let's go over there," Jason suggested.
The three raced toward it. The wall had to be three times taller than them.
Jason used the giant tree next to it to climb up and sit atop it.
"Wirt, give me a boost," Sara ordered. Wirt put out his hands, and Sara set her foot on it as she gripped the top of the wall and used the vines to help her climb to the top of it.
"Wirt, come on!" Sara called to him.
"I don't want to."
"But it's so nice up here!"
"Yeah!" Jason chimed in. "There's a river!"
Wirt sighed and hesitantly pulled himself up the tree next to the wall, scraping his knuckle at one point, and sat himself down next to Jason.
It was nice. Train tracks traced the hill, and down at the bottom of the hill was a river.
There was a small garden of flowers growing on the other side near the train tracks. The flowers sported pink and purple and white, looking soft and friendly.
"That's such a nice little garden," Jason said.
"Yeah..." Sara sucked in a breath of air. "Just us and this garden wall."
Jason looked at her. "It's right next to a graveyard, it's the graveyard wall, you peasant."
"Mmm, Garden Wall sounds nicer."
"Graveyard wall."
"Garden."
"Graveyard."
"Garden."
"Graveyard."
Then in unison, Wirt and Sara said, "Garden."
Jason huffed and rolled his eyes.
There was a loud rumble, and it became louder and louder with each coming second. They all watched in silence as the black train sped down the tracks.
"What time is it?" Wirt asked.
Jason glanced down at his watch. "3:47."
With a sigh, Wirt turned to jump off. "I have to go home. I'll see you guys later."
"Bye, Wirt," they both said, though not quite in perfect unison.
The walk home was only seven minutes, and when Wirt walked through the door, he found Greg sitting and crying on the floor.
"What's the matter?" Wirt asked him.
Greg took a deep breath and pointed outside. "He's not moving."
"Who?" Jonathan?
"My frog."
"Oh." Wirt didn't know what to say, so he just knelt down next to his three-year-old brother.
Greg sniffled and leaned against Wirt.
"Oh, come on, cheer up. We'll bury him out in the backyard, okay?"
Greg stood up and nodded, taking Wirt's hand.
Wirt led him out to the backyard and looked up at the tree. There was a bird feeder that was never used, hanging there all alone and desolate.
Wirt let go of Greg's hand.
"Hold on a sec."
He climbed up the tree and broke the dirty string with his teeth, sputtering right after.
Greg watched with admiration as his big brother came climbing down the tree. Wirt landed safely, and pulled the top off of the small wooden bird house.
He dumped out the untouched seeds onto the ground and looked up at Greg. "Where's your frog?"
Greg pointed sadly to the corner of the fence.
Sure enough, the frog was limp on its back, not breathing or reacting.
He picked it up gently (though with disgust) and set it into the opened empty bird feeder.
Greg watched sullenly as Wirt set the top back on.
"Get me that shovel," Wirt ordered to him, and Greg grabbed a shovel from the fence.
With his tongue out, the way Wirt did, he lugged the shovel over to him.
Wirt stood, feeling important and not-small for once, as he dug a small hole, just deep enough to bury the frog without the risk of Greg digging it up and traumatizing himself.
"Can I put him in?" Greg asked in a small voice.
"Of course," Wirt answered, setting the makeshift casket into Greg's tiny hands.
Greg kneeled in the dirt and gently set his best friend into the hole.
"Do you want to put the dirt over him?"
Greg nodded. "Can I use the shovel?"
"Of course," Wirt said again, handing it over to him.
Greg clumsily spread the dirt back over the hole and pat it down.
"Here," Wirt said, taking the shovel and setting it against the tree.
Wirt sat down, watching as Greg picked a few stray flowers on the ground.
Wirt couldn't help but smile at his little four-year-old brother, graciously setting the tiny bundle of flowers on the burial.
