An old man and the cave (1)

Michael loved adventures, like finding Uncle Terry's socks (that smelled vomited) which Uncle occasionally, if not always forgot somewhere in the roof terrace of their home (Terry's residence) to dry.

In the meantime, their washing machine suffered the fate of collected stench of sweat in the form of water, inside the washer. 'Cruel? Yup, totally.'

'What's adventurous you ask?' Michael told me that the roof terrace was boundaryless. And Michael had a certain phobia whenever he peeked down the three storey of his home. Anything more adventurous would be too much for him.

'A cave wasn't located on the roof terrace,' Michael probably had thought while planning the event. I, however, never thought that was something otherworldly, 'if by any chance we discovered a cave in a three storey building,'. 

In front of Garnish Forest, which wasn't an obvious building. Kepler shuffled his hair which suffered from premature aging. Michael was thoughtful about the future journey. And Jordan picked another paper basket from his heavy school bag that hung on his shoulder. 

While I walked there, my corner of the eye glanced meekly at Steff. She was gorgeous, stunning, otherworldly like my hypothetical cave. Her brunette cropped hairs blew along the gust, bewildering me in my own nasty imagination.

"It's a mile far. You got some sort of compass?" Michael looked at me expectantly.

"Without further ado, sir. You poked me like thrice about it, and I'm not Kepler enough to forget anything simply." I tapped my jeans pocket, glanced at Kepler, and life was memorable enough. (as I never forgot those yellowish teeths.)

"Why bring me into discussion? I even remember your birthday when no one else, Johnny." Kepler cried without tears.

"Do you remember the way back home? If so, then prove it practically!"

"Enough man, we are all grown ups! You wanna fight, Johnny? then come at me," Jordan said.

I parted my lips to retaliate before Michael gave me a stern look. I halted both physically and verbally. A sigh escaped between my lips. I understood that Jordan didn't mean what he said. I could see Michael too was aware of the situation in hand. But, that goddamned nuthead of Kepler knew nothing!

Steff stood near my shoulder. Her hazel eyes sharply examining the entrance, a bold billboard imprinted with 'GARNISH FOREST', beneath stood Michael thoughtfully. 

Michael glanced at my pocket, and I understood the assignment. 

I picked the compass out of my jeans pocket and forwarded, handed it to Michael, and stepped back where I was with my 'sweetheart'. (we weren't dating, so it was yet to be.)

"It's north west, on the opposite side of the river. We have to cross the bridge. Michael, remember that old iron scale bridge I told you about, you better prepare yourself," Steff said, breaking the silence.

Michael frowned with sudden realization. I ran wild with my memories and found what's the bridge business. With a bitter smile I pitied Michael, anyone who knew Michael and that bridge would too.

"Spyke's Bridge, Is that the topic of discussion?" Jordan eyed Michael interestingly.

"That bridge with no railings on either side? I heard my grandfather talking about how it was a bane of architecture." Kepler scratched his half blacks and half white hairs, thinking of the near past.

"Not to forget the old man's cabin on the opposite. Uncle Muse and every other fishers had to vary him; a senile old man who hates children and teenagers alike." Steff peered in the raven depths of the forest, her eyes gleaming uncertainty of future.

"Is your uncle a child or a teenager?" Kepler asked.

Again, my angry—about to—shouts muted by the sudden interjection of Michael.

"Kepler, what Steff said is that, if a person hates little boys or girls, then the person is a prick and shouldn't be mixed in society." Michael resurfaced the smile that fell somewhere in his phobia.

"Prick should try my father's recipe," Jordan said. "I guarantee once his tongue embraces the savory and sizzling chickens, the old man will forever be locked in the love of nuggets, shunning hatred a mile away."

Not sure why the old man hated juniors, but damn sure Jordan reached a peak level of degeneracy when it comes to his father's handmade fried chickens.

Also, this old man's eccentric personality reminded me of another person—a German old man who owned a German shepherd.

Afterwards we talked here and there. Jordan asked me who's gonna eat my Aunt's Pancakes that I packed in his school bag. Not only me, he asked everyone about all the food items and beverages from our respective homes we stored in Jordan's backpack. 

As for the Pancakes I dared anyone just to taste it (Michael can, cause he was my bestfriend. Steff, who's gonna stop her? Me? You better be kidding! Jordan, he won't, and even if he got allured by pancakes, he can taste it because afterall he was a friend—not best friend, but nonetheless).

Our hiatus ended as Michael took the lead, paving a path amidst the forest, constantly checking the compass from time to time. 

We weren't fishers to visit Garnish Forest on a daily basis. We were still juniors, still learning, still ignorant about the outside. Michael told us about the pros of our journey, how it's beneficial for our growth as mentally and physically. Cons, he never discussed, even when we were inside the forest, as Michael led us in the compass' direction.

Trees were everywhere covering the sight as far as it reached. I thought we were done for if, somehow, our whole gang got lost within the forest and never to be found again. It itched my brain how terrifying some thoughts could be, also Michael doesn't seem much brain itched about this factor.

Walking for who knows how long, at the final point, we heard the ripples of streaming Dubi river. Our faces brightened, smiles plastered, and a feeling of victory washed in our eyes.

Kepler's excitement soared beyond his stupidity, so was the happiness of Michael (who wasn't stupid). Steff chuckled carelessly (she wasn't stupid either). And Jordan laughed while almost choked by the chicken nugget in his throat (definitely a crazy guy, not stupid though). 

I looked afar the ruthless water rushing beneath Spyke's bridge. The bridge hung straight above the river, posing a metallic shine on its iron platform. 

Aunt Casey once told me that Spyke's bridge was flat like a scalar. Witnessing from my own eyes, I wholeheartedly agreed with my Aunt. 

A flat, literally flat scale, that connected one side of the forest to another; built by an engineer guy whose eldest daughter drowned in the treacherous waves of the river. It was a hearsay in Korret that she was killed by her friends who left her on the other side of the river, while they crossed the river in their raft. Death by prank as people called it.

Murder or not, her death was tragic for any father. I heard the incident was around 30 years back and he had another daughter; her eldest was 10 when she died and youngest was around 6. That would be another story of why the engineer's youngest child ended up in a mental asylum, currently the topic was Spyke's bridge.

Spyke Bulwark was the engineer's name. And seeing his craft from my own eyes, I could say, he was truly an awful engineer.

We forwarded near the bridge, the greenery there faded and replaced by yellow bushes, grass, and some plain land. Michael was vigorous at the start, but that bridge made his face twitch. His limbs were shaky. Even heartbeats were aloud.

He reached the beginning of the bridge, as the one leading the path. I and Steff were behind him, behind us were Jordan and Kepler. Nobody moved from thereon.

Michael gazed at the bridge, stepping forward then backward. He was hesitant and fearful, something he never showed before. Not even the time when Uncle Terry brought an uncanny mannequin in the house for medical purposes. Mannequin that always seemed like watching those who entered its territory, scaring the soul with soulless stare, but never able to terrify Michael.

"Michael, is there any problem?" I asked, while almost laughing, thankfully my left hand covered my lips.

"Not funny, Johnny, not funny," Michael responded, and he wasn't smiling.

"Guys, let's not make ruckus about little small things. How about we crossed the scale in pairs. Michael and Jordan, I and Johnny. Kepler, can you make it alone?" Steff suggested the most sensible advice of all.

"Whenever we are ready, Steff. Michael, it's time to go, Jordan, catch up with your mate. Steff we'll walk behind them," I said excitedly.

Jordan thought nothing less than catching up with Michael, and even though Michael was shaking top to bottom; shivering (like Rogy when Michael gave her to me) with a numb body, at least he got mental support from his chubby friend. Physical support too considering Jordan's boulder body.

They went ahead, We crept behind. Somebody was sobbing while we were on the bridge. It sounded like washing machine, the washer's sound, the constantly running washer which was left unattended. Left alone. Loneliness was the first sign of instability, it caught the washing machine, it caught whoever was behind us crying in solitude.