Chapter 3
More and more people crowded around the windows and balconies, their shouts and cries blending into a chaotic chorus.
They looked like a bunch of monkeys trapped in a cage.
My phone rang.
It was Mark.
I picked up.
Mark demanded, "Andrew, what are you doing?
"Why did you have people digging up the front of my house? What's that supposed to mean?"
With all the chaos in the background, I kept my cool and asked, "So, you're up?"
"I'm asking you a question." Mark snapped, his voice tight with frustration. "Tell them to stop right now! The neighbors are all out here watching. What do you think this looks like?"
"Oh," that was all I said.
"What the hell are you trying to do?" Mark's voice was almost a roar.
"I'm building a wall," I replied.
"What kind of wall?"
"A wall to enclose the yard."
There was a long silence on the other end.
I could practically see Mark's face, totally shocked, like he'd just seen a ghost.
"Are you out of your mind?" Mark shouted. "If you wall off the yard, how are we supposed to get out?"
"That's your problem to figure out," I replied.
"Andrew Carter." Mark yelled, calling me by my full name. "Don't push it! This is my house."
"Is that so?"
I chuckled softly.
"Then why did you say yesterday that Emily was stuck in the storage room?" I asked.
Mark choked, speechless.
"Well, it's just that there wasn't enough room. We're family. We have to make do and be considerate..." he stammered.
"I don't need you to be considerate." I cut him off. "I'm only backing up my sister, not all thirty-five members of your family."
With that, I hung up.
The excavator had already dug out the foundation trench.
The concrete mixer rolled in and started pouring concrete.
The first batch of red bricks had just arrived.
A tall gray wall was shooting up from the ground, climbing higher right before our eyes.
It was about to completely cut off two worlds.
The wall was going up at lightning speed.
The workers moved in perfect sync, their trowels flashing as the wall rose higher and higher.
Three feet.
Six feet.
Soon, it was towering over everyone's heads.
People in the building were freaking out.
The shouting turned into wails and threats.
"Andrew, you bastard! You're locking us in here! We're gonna starve to death." someone screamed.
"Stop right now, or we're calling the cops." another voice yelled.
"I'm telling you, this is false imprisonment." someone else shouted.
Mark's older brother, Tom Evans, was waving his fists out the second-floor window.
His wife was sitting on the windowsill, clutching their kid and bawling her eyes out.
"We can't go on like this! Life is unbearable." she wailed.
Mark's parents were even more worked up.
Mr. Evans had somehow gotten his hands on an enamel basin and was banging it against the window frame, making a racket that could wake the dead.
Mrs. Evans was hurling the most vicious dialect curses she could spit out at me.
I tuned them out completely.
Leaning against my car, I watched the whole absurd scene unfold, like I was just a cold, detached spectator at some ridiculous show, finding the whole thing almost entertaining.
My phone rang again.
This time, it was Emily.
I stared at her name flashing on the screen, hesitated for a second, then picked up.
"Andrew..." Emily's voice came through, barely holding back her tears.
I could hear her trying not to break down, her sobs muffled and shaky.
"Please, don't do this... I'm begging you," she pleaded.
My heart clenched.
But my voice stayed cold.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"Can you please take down the wall? Whatever it is, let's just talk it out, okay?" She asked.
"Talk?" I shot back. "Who am I supposed to talk to? You, or your whole clan of thirty-something relatives?"
"Andrew, they're my family."
"Family?"
I let out a cold, mocking laugh. "Family? The same family that shoved you into the storage room?
"The same family that treats your house like a hotel and moves in without a second thought?
"Emily, I'll ask you just one thing.
"Do you remember what I said the day we started building the house?"
There was a long silence on the other end.
All I could hear were her soft, stifled sobs.
"I remember," Emily finally said, her voice barely audible and trembling. "But Andrew, Mark's got it tough too. He's got a lot of brothers, and things aren't easy for any of them."
I shot back, "So just because they're struggling, they get to take what's not theirs?
"Just because they're struggling, they get to make you their maid and act like your house belongs to them?"
"This isn't your problem." Emily suddenly raised her voice, her tone sharp and defensive. "This is between me and Mark! Why are you getting involved?"
My heart went cold in an instant.
My dearest sister.
The sister I nearly gave my life for, just so she could finally stand up for herself.
And now, she was turning on me, all for those parasites she calls family.
"Fine," I said. "This is your problem now. You should deal with it yourself."