If Walls Could Talk

If walls could talk…I’d love to know what my childhood home would have said about me...

295 Mountain Drive is where I used to be. I was sturdy, for a mobile home. My sisters and I held up and connected our brothers, known to you as the ceiling and floor. I was on the right side and stretched the length of this home, all the way from the Little Girl’s bedroom, through the laundry room, kitchen and living room, to the Mother’s bedroom.

There was a family before the Little Girl, they had a Little Boy. I don’t remember him now. But the Little Girl was with me for 20 years. I watched her grow up from just 2 years old. She was so happy, her little pigtails bounced happily as she played with her toys. She liked to have tea parties with her stuffed animals, she loved to paint and draw, I even could see her when she was outside in her little pool on the deck.

Grandparents would come and have sleepovers and then make pancakes for breakfast the next day. She liked it when Grandfather made baby pancakes and Grandmother’s coffee smell filled up the home like a warm cozy blanket. Pizza was her favorite dinner, and Mother worked very hard to give her that treat. Sometimes Little Girl cried if she fell or hurt herself, but Mother held her and always made her feel better.

While I adored Little Girl, I watched Mother too. She was strong and did her best to keep us around Little Girl and keep her safe. It was just Mother and Little Girl, and late at night when Little Girl was asleep, I could hear Mother praying for help because sometimes it was just too hard and too much with not enough money. There were pets along the way too, cats, hermit crabs, and so many goldfish.

As the years went on, Mother became sick and Little Girl became sad. Little Girl wasn’t so little anymore, she was growing, and having to grow up quicker than she should. But she still had a wonderful imagination, and I knew she’d become something great one day and just as strong as Mother had once been.

Time, wear and tear were not kind to my sisters and brothers and I, and we also became sad. My brothers below started complaining that they were falling apart as holes began to appear in them…moisture can be a cruel thing to wood. My sisters and I began itching from the bugs that started to infest us. But we stood tall and united. We had to, for Little Girl and Mother.

Little Girl became more sad, and Mother more sick. They became more and more stuck inside within our Walls, until one day they couldn’t afford to stay in this home anymore.

Little Girl and Mother moved, and a new family moved in, content on fixing my brothers and making all the itchy bugs go away. By this time though, we were tired, but we still kept this home standing up and safe.

As the years went by my sister in the front of the home said she saw Little Girl drive by the home a few times. She said Little Girl was really grown up. She said Little Girl would sit and look at us for a long time, as if remembering her times within us.

One day the new family left, they were not with us for long. My sisters, brothers and I were empty for some time before a huge truck came. The Men ripped the cinder blocks from under my brothers, who screeched from losing their support. The Men hooked up their truck to my sister in the front, and next thing we knew we were being dragged from where we had been for so many years. We moaned and whined as we creaked down roads to some new place.

And here is where we have come to rest. I’m disconnected now from my sisters and brothers. I occasionally hear them whispering to me as they decay, but mostly I hear the other decaying Walls telling their stories of their Little Girls and Little Boys, those who they kept safe for years.

As I lay here rotting, I still think of Little Girl often. I hope she’s happy, wherever she is. I do wish I could talk to her new Walls, to see how far she’s gone and how strong she is. I sometimes wonder if Little Girl still thinks of me. If she remembers her time within my sisters and I, her little feet running along my brothers, her tiny hands brushing our sides, her laughter filling the Walls with joy.