Echoes of Sorrow

“If walls could talk”, says Ramona, “ but that’s my idea” she explained it to her professor's assistant. “Nial stole it from me, we met the other day and I voiced my ideas which he stole from ME, it’s not fair”, Ramona complained.

“I cannot help you, this was the story submitted prior to yours, therefore I cannot help you”, the assistant insisted without even looking at her.

She knew there was no way she could prove the story to be hers now that Nial took credit for it and everyone had heard him reading it. She just stood there in denial, in surprise, in mesmerise, she did not know what was it that she felt when hearing her words coming out of his mouth. The one she kissed behind those very walls that have seen it all and have been aware of her struggles to write that exact story, the same walls that make her story vivid, and now his story.

“It is NOT fair, Mrs. Flinch!, I demand to speak to your superior, my professor”, Ramona started shouting. What the assistant did not know was that Ramona was having a nervous breakdown. This was the tip of the iceberg and now she just could not stop.

Who even cares that her story was stolen, who even cares that there’s a story like that, who even cares about his kiss, his lips, his mind, his allure? No, no, who even cares about his lies?

“All I want is for you to hear me, I have written it, not Nial, he stole it from me, he … he… stole it from meee!”, whimpers and cries and shakes were starting to take control of her and then, in an instant she found herself in her room.

“Oh, if walls could talk wouldn’t they dare to mention my story”, Ramona mumbled this in her mind.

The walls seemed bigger and she seemed smaller. Smaller not just in size but in everyone’s eyes now that she was thought to be this literary thief, this baby drama and passive-aggressive new student. The school decided to transfer her to her room because she fainted after her tantrum. Her walls were particularly aware of this secret. This nervous breakdown she suffered was also used as a perfect stunt for when she needed to abruptly disappear and forget about the situation. This was not in her control, it was the walls that helped her understand herself better, and love herself with all that inner struggle she was feeling. Because the walls did not care, they were her refuge, her carrier, her safety net. The walls were hers.

Ramona moved out of her sofa and read the note she wrote, a missing piece of her stolen story which was on her coffee table:

“Walls don’t talk, you don’t talk”

Oh, but if walls did talk, what marvels they could describe. But of course they did talk now through Nial’s mouth so full of lies and deceptive words. Those words and his mouth trashed her story. Trashed the idea of her story. Oh, if she could just smash his face with those very words that he used against her. Her own words.

Ramona’s mind started wandering further like those moments we all have when we imagine how we would react in a confrontational situation, in that circumstance that we overthink for not being smart enough, for not being spontaneous enough to win the argument.

“And then, I could even make him eat up all the words of my story, I would cut all the words from that piece of paper he printed and hand it over on a spoon to him so he would eat them all and …”

A knock at the door.

“…not now, not important that. This important now, Ramona was training her mind to come back to the original stuff, this great revenge plot that she…”

A second knock on the door.

“…ahhh, not even in my day dream can’t I have a win?” pestered Ramona thought slowly heading towards the door.

“Nial!”, she said in a rather enthusiastic voice that she definitely did not intend, but maybe the surprise made her react that way. “You little thief”, her mind followed.

“I do hope you know it was not my intention, it just happened, I had your story in my backpack and I was put on the spot so I had to improvise, I could not lose my scholarship and you are so smart and creative that I knew you would make up another story in a second, I am just sorry if…” Nial started excusing himself to Ramona.

“I DON’T CARE!, You knew about my story, Nial, you did not care, so I DON’T have to care, goodbye, good riddance and all that” she slammed the door in his pretty blue-puppy eyes dark haired face.

“As if! Can YOU even imagine! The Audacity” Ramona was talking to herself out loud in those very walls that were her stolen story’s main character.

“And you, who have seen him, you should have warned me somehow, oh, if walls could talk, I am positive you have seen what he was doing behind my back, when I was in the bathroom or whatever, you (pointing at the walls) failed me!”

And these types of injuries were daily occurrences for the walls inside her room. The walls had witnessed it with Ramona, and before that with Angie, and before Angie with Damon and then it was Claire and before that it was Cameron and oh, so many names and times and all that constant troublesome shouting of the teenage years. Why couldn’t they all just enjoy the silence as the walls enjoyed the silence when the people were sleeping. The silence so pure, so good, so wholesome, so cleansing of the soul, so very powerful and tranquil. And the night chills and the night birds’ trills and the wind so gently caressing the outside walls with the precision of feather, that only then, in plain dark, the walls could finally feel free, uncontained, moved out of that place, somewhere in the heaven of the walls where field surrounds it and sun warms it and rain washes its memories of time, of so much time. Too long.

And then that annoying alarm clock of Ramona’s initiate a new endless day of disdain. Her constant scroll on that modern tool she never leaves out of her hands or sights, that wakes her up and controls her days with urgent emails and notifications and details of other people’s days, that constant pollution of useless information, that draining energy it leaves in the room after being input in the walls, (IN MY WALLS, if walls could speak, this is what they'd utter) to feed its battery. Oh, how much the walls would love to speak and shout and fall down onto that phone for good.

These walls could talk. But it was not human talk.

Ramona played out loud her TV. She was cooking something that seemed rather fishy. She was fishy. A couple of weeks ago, a month or so after her arrival in the walls’ room, she started telling the walls how much she hated the walls. Imagine that, hating something she just does not comprehend. Simple hate and lots of shouting. The walls had had enough and with the help of the wind at night, they started making strange noises in her room in order to spook her and hopefully determine her to move out. But she interpreted it as something magical as if there was a connection between the two of them, as if they were friends, as if the walls were listening to her troubles and cries for help (she was constantly having mental breakdowns because she just loved a boy that used to come by and never really kissed her) and the walls were answering in assistance. Like a friend in need, like a shoulder to cry on.

But the walls had had enough of that, the school was built around 400 years ago. That’s when the stones were collected from that beautiful river and transformed into the antique walls of an old school that stood the test of time. The school stood the test of time because she material of the walls was powerful, its making coming from an ancient river where the stones had been there for most of the time, in peace, in the flow of the water, in the warmth of the sunny days and in the gloom of the rainy ones. The memories, that beautiful life that once was and stopped when a farmer took the stones and forged it into the wall. It hurt. Being made square and rectangular out of oval and round shapes that could move through the flow of the water. It hurt to be sculpted into something it was not. It hurt to be forced onto being the witness of time for people and not continuing to be the witness for nature. Nature was home. Society was doom. More doom and gloom when students like Ramona appeared every now and then and disturbed its attempt at coping with what life made it be.

“And YOU failed me!, standing there so tall and quiet, so hard and harsh, so dusty and full of yourself to witness everything, to know of everything and to laugh at everyone for you are the know-it-all and I wrote that story about you and YOU let me fail” Ramona said hitting the walls with her pillows.

The walls were so fed up with her behaviour. The walls heard that ridiculous story she imagined they told her, oh, the walls were so glad that the boy who did what he did when they heard her complain about her disastrous situation. She should not be the creator of that story, the boy would do better, he was never shouting and always chilled, and quiet and peaceful. The opposite of this Ramona, so debilitating. The walls thought that she was debilitating not just for herself but somehow that vibration was being transmitted to and into the walls. As if it was sucking all that negative energy inside the walls. The walls could not be peaceful with that negativity. It was debilitating for the walls too.

Ramona’s story said that the walls were her power, her secret ability and force because the walls were strong, the walls were holding a whole school. The walls were sheltering students, people and ideas. The walls were so omnipresent and so vital to her mind for the walls were limiting her day dreaming to the inside of the room. She knew she had the structure and safety of the walls to wander in her day dreams and tell the walls all about her adventures and they would always be there for her, never leaving, never complaining, always listening and always pampering her with that comfort night walls noise that they were doing only for her. The walls had a secret and they whispered it to her. That’s what Ramona explained in her story.

That the walls had the voice of history that stood there, the strengths of time, the joys and sorrows of those who have been there and left or gone, the new generations and she, Ramona was the new generation. She was the reflection of all that history, if that history would not had occurred, she might not have occurred either. So, she has the walls to thank for that. The walls were the safety place for so many generations ahead of her. Maybe even her great-great-great-great-grandparents.

Ramona was feeling safe and contained and limited in damage-making when inside those walls. And when they sang so sweet to her at night, she knew she was taken care of.

Such a disastrous situation. If walls could talk, they would state the opposite. The walls wish for peace and quiet which people find in the safety of the walls. People go to school to create words and arts of words and stories that make up for their lack of understanding that nature is the only thing that’s peaceful. Nature is in the walls, however, the walls would rather be something like a fine-tuned piece of nature. It’s structure had been changed not by time or nature but by human mind and hands. Nature suffers when man alters it. But man believes nature is happy to be transformed and finds shelter and safety in this idea. It’s not the nature or the walls that bring safety to Ramona or to any other people’s lives, it’s the idea that what they created out of nature, the people’s creations can offer this refuge. The refuge. The peace.

But the only thing that can bring that peace and freedom of the refuge it’s the actual thing of which the walls are made: stone, water, air and nature. Life. Living life as it is.

“Oh, if walls could talk”, both Ramona and the walls thought to themselves.

“If walls could talk, they would explain it all for they have witnessed it all and the walls know of it all”.

Wouldn't you want to know what the walls have to say!