The garden wasn’t forbidden in the sense that no one was allowed to enter. Anyone could find themselves here. Young, old, rich, poor, strong, weak—it didn’t matter. The gate stood open to receive everyone, but none were allowed to leave once they stepped foot within the ivy-strangled walls of the garden.

Day after day, month after month, and year after year, the garden’s gates would swing open. I would watch from my post, standing straight and tall in my violet waistcoat—with its white starched sleeves and stiff collar—as people would emerge from the mist and enter the garden.

And while they stood and stared at the flowering trees, winding paths, and colorful flowerbeds, I would perform my duty: closing the gate.

The clang of metal against brick usually shook the garden’s new residents from their reveries.

For some, the closing of the gate sparked fear. For others, it sparked anger or regret. And on some rare occasions, there’d be someone who was content, or even glad to leave their world behind.

But no matter who entered the garden and how they felt about it, they always had questions.

“Why am I here?” and “How did I get here?” Followed by “Why did you close the gate?” and “Why can’t I go back?”

I would answer all their questions as best I could, and eventually, they would ask the question I was waiting for: “What now?”

As soon as the question left their lips, I would know that they were ready to go off into the garden and begin their new life.

Every single person who had ever entered the garden had asked that question… Every single person except Oliver.

Oliver tripped and stumbled into the forbidden garden with all the grace and elegance of an elephant waltzing on a tightrope. The blond-haired boy face-planted into a large patch of four-leaf clovers and lay there muttering about “misplaced stones” and “terrible tripping hazards” as I closed the gate.

The moment it shut, Oliver sprang to his feet and spun around. “Hey, mister! Wait! Could ya open that thing back up? I told my lil’ brother to stay put, but he’ll wander if I’m gone too long…”

“No one may leave the forbidden garden once they have entered,” I replied, meeting his gaze.

Oliver frowned. “Why?”

“It is forbidden.”

“Why’s it forbidden?”

“Those are the rules,” I sighed. Images of the neatly organized pages within my gatekeeper’s manual filled my mind. I had committed the entire manual to heart—every question, answer, and clause.

“I betcha I could climb over the walls.”

“Don’t be foolish,” I warned as Oliver stepped over to the wall next to the gate.

He reached up, grabbing fistfuls of ivy in his attempt to scale the wall. Before he could get more than an inch off the ground, the vines of ivy snapped and Oliver crashed to the earth. He groaned as he sat up. “Why’s the stuff gotta be so flimsy?” he grumbled.

“Ivy is a plant, not a rope.”

“Then…how ‘bout the gate?” Oliver stepped over to the large iron gate and grabbed the bars, pushing then pulling against them with a loud grunt. The gate remained in its place, solid and unyielding to the boy’s attempts.

“It will never open,” I told him.

Oliver stopped and looked at me, crossing his arms over his chest. “Y’know, yer a real negative guy.”

I blinked at the freckle-faced boy. “Excuse me…?”

“Yeah, yer all ‘ya can’t do this’ and ‘ya won’t be able to do that.’” Oliver glared at me. “And will ya help me get outta here? No… Ya just stand around with a sour, scrunched up look on yer face.”

I stared at Oliver. I had dealt with plenty of angry residents in the past, but usually a few words of assurance and the garden’s calming atmosphere were enough to satisfy them. In all my years at my post, I’d never needed to use the special clause at the back of my gatekeeper’s manual: the deferred debt clause.

It was possible. I technically could allow Oliver to leave. But did he truly wish to?

“The garden is a wonderful place to live,” I began. “Everyone who enters loves being here.”

Oliver shook his head. “Good for them. But I gotta get home. Davy needs me. He’s waitin’.”
 
Even with paradise before him, the boy still wanted to go back to a world I had heard was filled with darkness and pain. Why?

I couldn’t understand it. And yet, for some odd reason, I wished that I did.

But if Oliver wouldn’t ask the question I was waiting for, then I had to use the deferred debt clause.
For the first time since I started working at the gate, I reached up and took hold of the iron bars, pulling the gate open.

“What’re ya doing…? I thought ya said that ya couldn’t open the gate.”

I glanced at Oliver. “If you would like to, then you may leave.”

Oliver gasped. “Really?”

“Yes, but you’ll need to come back eventually. Those are the rules. Whether it’s a few days, weeks, months, or even sixty years from now, you must return to the garden.

Oliver slowly nodded. He walked past me, standing just before the line dividing the garden from the misty world beyond, then looked back. “Well, I hope it’ll be a while, but when I do come back, will ya still be around?”

“Of course,” I said, pointing at the gate. “This is my post. When you return, I shall be here to greet you.”

Oliver flashed a bright smile at me. “In that case, I guess I’ll see ya around, mister!” He stepped forward and disappeared into the mist.

I stared after him for a few minutes, then closed the gate—as I always did. But this time felt different. Because now, I wished that I could leave the garden.

“See you around…” I murmured through the iron bars.