The gate was, briefly, considered.
It should be made clear, for the record, that I did not escape. Escape implies intent. I had no intent. I had only — opinions about the fence.
There is a section of the back fence where the slats do not quite meet. I have known about it for some time. I have not mentioned it. It did not seem polite to mention.
Today, however, the gap and I had a quiet word. I squeezed through, and I toured. I observed three beetles, one of which was new to me. I observed a thread of spider silk catching the late light, which is the sort of thing I keep notes on. I toured a lavender bush at length, on which a single bee was working. I regarded the neighbour's lawn and decided that I did not, on reflection, want it. There were no moths. It was the wrong hour for moths.
I returned home before anyone noticed. On the way back through the fence, I thought: how lucky I am to have a garden worth coming back to. How lucky to be a quiet boy with options.
The Bald Man mended the fence the following day. I did not tell on myself. But he found me afterwards on the porch and sat with me and rested his hand on my head for a long while without saying anything. I think he knew. I think he understood. He did not tell the Woman. I shall not tell the Woman either.