If Walls Could Talk

“If walls could talk” she muttered to herself as she paced nonplussed around the room, and there stood I. Just staring at her. Only God knows how long I’ve stood here, and only he knows how long I’ve seen her pace around the room. I was of a white color with a slight tint of yellow, I had been painted many times and it always served me well, it was refreshing if one could say so. But now, the abiding paint had long dried out, and what was left of it was reminiscent of that era. I had scrapes and dust, and at places, one could see what remained of the long-forgotten color I had once been painted, I was an old wall indeed. She had lived here for only a few years, and never had she displayed any sort of love for me. She was a beautiful lady, a fine woman. With her brown curls that would fall ever so softly, in such a spectacular manner over her shoulders, she had green eyes, the most beautiful green eyes anyone could have had the pleasure to see. She would’ve taken my breath away, if only I could breathe. Oh, how badly did I want to hug her at times, to whisper something in her ear, but I was just a wall, and if I did manage to sneak a word by, she would’ve not understood it. There was something about her, and her long fingers and perfect skin. But I knew, she was only sojourn here. After prowling around for quite some time, she grew tired of it, and lay on her bed. And there I could see her, she was closer, but I could not utter a word. Her face was filled with melancholy and deception, and there was nothing I could do, but painfully look at her. There were paintings and posters all over her room. Fortunately, I did not have any on me. I would see her at times hiding papers behind the posters, papers which at occasions would bring a smile to her face and would fill my concrete entrails will joy. Her smile was a delightful one too, in those special times I had the opportunity to see her smile slip through her lips, I would wish for me to have been human too. Those papers would be folded so carefully and put with the outer most delicacy behind the posters. And every time her dad would come in, with his prevalent brown moustache, and slicked back hair, always prowling around the room, as if looking for something, she would laugh, his eyes would move to look at her briefly and the turn back as he left, and I would laugh too, even if she couldn’t hear it. In those times the air smelled of fresh wood, and the current of air that would slip through an ajar window would bring this strong smell of mangos, oh the mangos, how much did she love them. From her window I could see the small mango trees they had; I remember when they weren’t there. I remember when all of what there was, was only grass with a few ferns and weeds growing around. The moonlight would accompany me then, before people came, I mean, she was ravishing, and when I got a chance to see her ray of light fall from the skies and balance itself on the corner of the window, I would feel accompanied, though I was always lonesome, her ray of light would make this loneliness of mine a shared one. That was back when the house was being built, and somehow in that very specific turn of events, I appeared, and I’ve been lonely ever since. I remember the first guests, oh they were the most wonderful couple, I still hold them very dear to me. It was an old couple, a man with a long white beard and short hair, his eyebrows were also white, and his eyes were of this deep blue sea color, even though I have never seen the sea, only through descriptions have I been able to think of it as this marvelous, blue, infinite beast, but not in a malicious manner, oh no, the sea is as beautiful as the moon if not more. The man was dressed very elegantly, with a white button up shirt, and black suit pants. He even had a hat on, it was a white hat with a black line crossing right through it. His wife was also very beautiful, she had brown eyes, this deep, almost black brownish color, but when the light would hit her just in the right side, they would turn to this sweet honey color, it was delightful. They came into the room, I remember, they came in holding hands, it was this fierce, feverish, aphrodisiac emotion they both felt, they would look into the eyes of the other with this passion, and sentiment, and they would both smile, though the old man would give in first. They looked at the house with awe, and that was when, for the first time, I felt a warm touch. She had placed her hand on me, it was so warm, it felt so human, it was unlike any other feeling I had once felt. And perhaps she felt it too because after she let go, and stepped back, she said. “This is going to be our home.” To which the old man smiled, and soon after, they left…

The sound of machinery, the birds chirping, the metals clanking, all the clattering that would happen outside, it was something that would extend for many months, which all passed me by in the snap of a finger, as one day, all sound seized, and I was left only with the birds chirping. Right under the window, and far into the pasture, I could see that tiny sapling, with its thin trunk and few green leaves, it was picturesque.

The couple soon moved in, they even had a dog, and I soon learned that his name was Twinkle. What a marvelous creature he was, he had this long white fur, it was like a carpet, but a thick carpet, and he always smelled of pine trees. They would both smile as soon as they would see him. They had their bedframe right against me, and I could see them from above, almost as if I were an omnipotent being, even if there was nothing God-like about me. But I could see them. There was this scent to them, which was only of them, and later in my life I learned that it was only old people that had this odor, but I must say, it was a very warm, it was a very comforting odor. Every night they would lay down beside each other. The old man would turn on his tiny golden lamp, which would barely bring any light to the room, but it was more than enough for him. He would then take out his glasses from a wooden drawer that stood next to the bed, and a book. And he would seat, alongside her until he felt the urge to go to sleep. And she, well, she always had crosswords in between her hands, and would often fall asleep first. It was such a comforting view, almost as if they were hugging me, every time the old man leaned in to kiss her in the forehead before burying himself into the bed.

Oh and when they painted me for the first time, I never had them so close. I felt human, I felt as if I could just start talking to them, as if I could go out with them as they were accustomed to every morning, I felt that I could caress twinkle’s soft fur, and I even imagined myself doing so, but, it was never like that, I was still a wall, and they were still human, and this way it would’ve remained until the end of time.

“Oh god, Winston, look. This poor wall hasn’t been painted in ages.”

“Surprised how we didn’t notice, honestly.”

“Well, don’t worry wall. You will be as good as knew.” She said with a smile on her face, and he smiled too.

“Thank you,” I whispered, though no one heard it.

Their brushes would tickle me, and I couldn’t help but feel that slight comical discomfort that would come with every stroke of their brush. It was paint, and many times I would see the old man leave the room to come back with yet another bucket, and then another one, and another one, until they had painted the room. And when they were done, they didn’t say a word, they only smiled and kissed. It was a quick one, but I could feel the warmth even from a far.

Every morning, they would go out into the pasture, I could see them from the window, and how she would always pour water on that tiny, little, weak sapling, with Twinkle following her around. She would even lean in and talk to the plant, perhaps that plant, that little, tiny, almost fatuous plant, felt the same way as me. I would see them appear and disappear from the limited view I had from the window, but every time I saw them, my concrete soul would brighten. And when the sun was setting, they would go into the house, and I would hear them, and the barking, and the muffled voices. I would hear the clanking of their metal utensils, of their pans, of their cooking pots. And the smell, oh that exquisite smell, combined with their laughter, brought life to the house. The darker the outside got, and the more desperate the moon was to come out, the warmer the house felt. It was as if their presence made the house a home, and made a wall feel human. In the times I would hear them eating, the moving of the plates, the paws of Twinkle, the silverware, the muffled voices, I would join them. Even though they never noticed me there, I was there, even when I didn’t move from where I was, I was there with them, and I ate every meal with them.

“Teresa, you know I love you, right.” He said, with a smile.

“Oh Winston, I love you too.” She said as she grabbed his hand.

“I love this house we have, and the work you do outside is just wonderful, and Twinkle, look at how excited he is.” He said.

“Look how well-“he continued.

“And how far.” She said.

“Our lives have come; I am truly the luckiest to be sharing it alongside you.” He said.

And they would then move on to what he read on this or that, and how he thought how the plants were this or that. But on these moments was that I felt just like a guest at their house, a truly welcomed guest.

But there came a day when the sun didn’t shine as brightly, where the smell of pine tree of Twinkle didn’t feel so colorful, so exuberant. That day felt cold, the house didn’t feel like a home, it felt forgotten. That day, as it was habitual, they went inside after a long day outside. And I heard it all again, all their movements, the clanking, the clattering, the muffled voices, the paws, everything. But there was something in the air that day, it all felt gray, so much so, that even when the sun had long parted, the moon was too shy to shine brightly. And then I heard crying, she was crying, and I heard him trying to comfort her. But they were desperate tears, almost as if they were screams. I heard a low thud as something fell to the floor, I knew it was her, I knew she had fallen to her knees. Her screams were the most gut-wrenching. That day when they went upstairs, I could see him trying to comfort her, hugging her, kissing her in the forehead. But under her eyes there were dark patches, her nose was red, and her face got older by a few years in just that night. They did not utter a word, but rather that night, without even reading their usual readings, they went straight to bed, and hugged each other, holding one another tight, and I could see tears flowing down her cheeks and the tears marking their presence on the bed sheets.

The months after that were atrocious, little by little the house continued to lose more of its color, it was as if the air was simply there to exist, as so was everything. Suddenly, their morning duties weren’t as habitual as they had been before. They would both stay inside; he would stay on his bed, and she would go around the house. And it was of great difficulty any move he had to make. She would walk him up and down the stairs, wrapping one of his arms around her neck and helping him go down, and so was the same odyssey to do anything else.

“I’m sorry Teresa, I want to help you, let me-“ He cried.

“No, don’t. I don’t want you to help me, I want you to rest.” She said when she came into the room with a tray with a plate and some food.

“You will eat this, and you will get better.” She commanded.

“Enjoy it well.” She whispered before going downstairs. I could feel her voice breaking down, and it was almost as if I could picture tears flowing down her cheeks as she went downstairs. Once he was done, he moved the tray to a side, and with both hands, he moved a leg out of the bed, and then another. “God, please, help me.” He said as he tried to get up. Forcing all his weight on top of his two chicken-like legs. He plummeted to the floor as soon as he tried to, and I saw how he just lay there, crying, with his fists against the wooden planks of the floor, and his face too.

“Winston?!” she yelled from downstairs, and I heard as she ran around the house and then upstairs. Her head then sneaked through the doorframe.

“Oh Winston, come here. Wh- Why would you do this?” she said.

“I want to help you Tete, but I can’t.” he cried.

She grabbed his head with her arms and placed it on her lap.

“I don’t want to die Tete.” He finally broke out.

“No, don’t say that. You are not going to die.”

“Winston” she said, fiercely.

“Look at me.” She demanded.

“You will not die.”

She then helped him get up, grabbing him under the arms and dragging him towards the bed to then place him on top. I could see how he tried to grab onto the sheets to get up, but he just didn’t have the strength to do so…

A few months passed and they changed the room, now there was this white bed, a small white bed, with a bunch of machines, and cables all around. There was this beeping, it annoyed me greatly. And now that I was looking down at him, and he looked so slender, so weak, so powerless. I felt so alone, I felt as if I had failed him, if only I could’ve said something, if only I could speak, oh I would’ve said so much if only I could speak. And that’s when she reappeared, with her weight against the doorframe, tears in her eyes, she was just looking at him, and he felt it too. The air current that came from the ajar window, was now cold and felt empty. The tiny sapling was now bigger, but he looked so desolated, and so did everything in the house. She walked a few steps closer to the bed, though with great delicacy. She slowly, and ever so softly hugged him over the tiny railing of the bed. I felt as if she was hugging me too. There wasn’t a single smile or laugh in the house during those months, it was melancholic. Until one day, I heard just a long beep, it didn’t stop, it was annoying and continuous. She was there in the room, with a chair next to him, looking out the window. And when she heard it, she busted out crying, but this time it was worse, it was worse than the cries I had heard that desolate night. They were gut-wrenching; they broke me completely.

“It will be okay, Teresa. I swear it will be okay.” I said, but there was no sound. I tried yelling but nothing came out, it was endless nothingness. It was just me above, I was just a wall that looked down on them.

Soon after, some people came and grabbed him. They were taking him, why, I did not know. And when they took him, she just sat in the empty room, looking out the window. Her eyes were exhausted by the tears it produced, and the dark patches below were evidence of that. There was a knock on the door, and then it opened. It was this young man, who I doubt I had ever seen before. But as soon as she saw him, they hugged, it was a long hug and one that could’ve stayed in that place for a lifetime if they had allowed it. He then grabbed her by the hand, and lead her outside, she could hardly walk…

And who knows how much timer later, it was now the young man and his wife in that same room. And never have I felt so desolated, perhaps I was in the company of people, but it wasn’t my old man. They had a beautiful baby girl that ran around everywhere, and who is now the one that inhabits that room, oh how much would I wish to say something, how much would I give to be anything human. “If only walls could talk.” I said to myself.