The Wall, A True Story

 

The Wall

 

Life is always interesting on the Circle.  Of the six apartments in the building next door, four turned over this week.  It is always a learning curve for everybody involved.

 Sunday I was on the lower deck working on a project. A black SUV pulled out of its parking place at speed and backed into our retaining wall with loud crunching sound.  The young lady driver got out of the car, inspected the back of her car, and drove away.  All I could clearly see was that it was a black SUV, and the driver was female. However, the damage to the wall was obvious. 

 

 That evening a black SUV appeared in in the driveway. I still didn’t know who was driving it or where they lived, or if it was the same car. And astoundingly, the only visible damage to this Jeep were scrapes on the bumper of indeterminate age. But it did match rubber remnants on the wall. Still, I only had circumstantial evidence. 

The next day, coincidentally, Pam and Elaine, the more responsible wives of the previous feckless building owner husbands, appeared to discuss maintenance of the driveway. I pointed out the damage and wondered if they knew who owned a black SUV. They didn’t, but promised to send an email to all the tenants. Elaine in particular was incensed. She said “I didn’t raise five boys and not learn how to get to the bottom of things.”

I don’t know what she put in that email, but the next evening the doorbell rang. A very young couple I didn’t know stood there. They didn’t look old enough to be out of high school. The young lady sported green hair, and a lanyard identifying her as: Archeologist, Montpelier. She very nervously blurted out a confession and an apology of sorts (“I may have scraped your wall” was her initial attempt). The young man, guilt free, was friendly and relaxed. She wanted to know what I wanted to do. I suggested she check with her auto insurance carrier. The young man quickly asked if they could repair the wall themselves. I warned them that it would involve a lot of digging. This amused the young man, who noted that, as both were archeologists, they were pretty good at digging. I recognized that this would probably involve some extra work for myself, but I was charmed by the idea. Some of the best young friends we have made were from doing mutual projects, such as clearing the shared driveway of snow. So I agreed to provide tools and adhesive. We will see. The landlords promised to monitor progress also.

Afterwards I was overwhelmed by nostalgia. How did 18-year-old Alice and 20-year-old Wick appear to our mostly elderly neighbors when we arrived at our basement apartment exactly 50 years ago? We were brash and full of confidence and ourselves. Yet we must have appeared to our neighbors then, as these two did to me now, as children with much to learn. And our neighbors then would have been correct.

Wick Hunt 

P.S.

The young couple said they would start repairs on Sunday. We left at two with no repairs in sight. When we returned at 6 we found this, an expertly repaired wall: