The back lane is creepy — pitch black in the summer and surprisingly bright in the winter, but creepy all year round. The reason the back lane puts me off is because it’s so damned old.

I look behind me and see people come out of the building. I nod and say, “Hello.” The usual chitchat ensues — school, holidays, weekend. Whatever, it’s all good, but it’s awkward. So I dip. I hit the ringer volume button on my cell and break the silence. I pretend to answer it and walk away, giving a reassuring wave as if to say, “I gotta take this.”

I walk away pretty ashamed of myself. It’s not the first time I have done this. I’m not really sure where to go so I put my hands in my pocket and wander down the back lane near my apartment.

The back lane is creepy — pitch black in the summer and surprisingly bright in the winter, but creepy all year round. The reason the back lane puts me off is because it’s so damned old.

The houses that line either side of it like massive tombstones are also damn old.

I’m sure one of them was a barn, but it looks pretty cozy now. Painted, redone, “ren-o-vated.” I say the last word out loud and my voice against the silence snaps me away from the barn and brings me back to wandering.

I walk further down the lane and come to an old church, right before the lane gives way to the street. Even though it’s dark I can see text scratched into wall. Names, dates, nicknames . . . obviously kids, but from a long time ago — some of them say 1945. But this church couldn’t be that old, could it?

So I stand there looking at these stupid nicknames carved into the side of this old church and it puts me off too. It’s one of those things that really gets to me . . . this old church, with these stupid nicknames that I’m stupid enough to read, just there, just being, existing.

The whole thing puts me off so I walk a little further, across the street and over the curb until I reach the grass. I sit there for a while, thinking of all of these kids carving their names into the side of this church over the years and I imagine what they look like now. I think about how they’ll live on forever in their little etching.

And after thinking for a while I get up off the grass and start walking towards my apartment. Across the street, past the church, glancing over at that barn house and then up the path to my door. The people who I left are now gone and I feel stupid for avoiding them. Small talk didn’t seem so bad.