Fading White with Love

I have heard the phrase, 'if walls could talk,' countless times in my life. I am old now. The once vibrant white paint covering me has faded to a dull yellow. If you were to look at me now, you would never see the years of laughter and the heartaches I have witnessed. Recently, no family has inhabited me, filling my space with their lives. I am lonely. I am desolate. In truth, I am probably close to condemnation, but I still have hope. There is life left in these walls if only the right person can find me.

I am silent, taking another long nap in the afternoon sunlight, when the unthinkable happens. The front door opens, waking me, and I see a young couple standing there with an older man who looks angry to be anywhere near this house. I am sure it is because the asking price is lower than he prefers, cutting significantly into his commission. Yet, the couple looks compassionate, eager to be anywhere on the planet so long as they are together. I have housed many just like them, and joy consumes me. For a moment, I want to spill every secret I have, several lifetime's worth. I want to tell them how wonderful a home I can be, but before I can say a word, the woman squeals in excitement, startling the two men with her.

"I love this place!" she exclaims, practically running to the fireplace that has seen better days. Bricks are crumbling, and the mantle looks ready to sag. I stifle a laugh, admiring the strange woman who can see the potential I still have to offer. Assuming it is her husband and not just a partner, her husband looks skeptical.

He takes a few steps forward, looking directly at me before turning his attention to the rest of the room. "Honey, I know you see all the possibilities, but this place will need a lot of work." I know he isn't wrong, but I am still hurt by his words. For a moment, I hate him for it. For a moment, I want to scream. I want to tell him everything I have given to other families, the lives I've raised here. I don't. I can't. Someday, if they buy me and begin to renovate these old walls, I will tell them everything. In front of the realtor, though, I will hold my tongue and watch.

"I know, dear, but doesn't that mean we can make it what we want. There is so much history here, so much potential. We can restore this place to glory and make it our own. At the listed price, we have the budget for the renovations," his wife argues. Already this woman is becoming my favorite.

The realtor clears his throat before diving into some facts about the place. They move away and walk up the stairs to see the rest of the house, but the trio isn't gone for long. When they return, the realtor is still talking, now about mortgage rates and the need for an inspection. The husband nods as if he already knows all of this, and he probably does. I have no idea what is now common knowledge. It is impossible to stay informed when my walls have been empty for years. When the realtor finishes, they exit, leaving me alone again with my thoughts. It isn't long before I drift off back to my nap.

I am unsure how long I have been empty again, the days blending into one another when the front door opens again. The young couple stands there. The woman's excitement pours off her, and I can feel it in my chipping paint. The man does not look as eager, the concern palpable. They make their way inside, keys jingling in his hand. It is clear they are my new owners, and I nearly scream in excitement. I resolve to speak the minute they close the front door, but it doesn't seem the husband is keen to do that. He looks like he wants to bolt and find a new place to call home. I have seen enough to know he is only doing this because he wants to please the woman he loves, and he has succeeded. He has made her incredibly happy, even if he resents every moment.

Finally, the front door closes after what feels like years, and I can reveal who I am. "Welcome to your new home," I say. My voice sounds hoarse from disuse, foreign to me. Both adults freeze and begin to look around, and I wish there was some way I could wave to them. Instead, I use the words I have. "It's your wall. The one directly across from the fireplace. I know this house doesn't look like much now, but I've raised eleven families within these walls. I know I don't look like much now, but I have so much potential and so many secrets to share."

There is stunned silence, and neither of them knows what to believe. I expected as much. They probably think they are going insane hearing voices. That is easier to understand than a wall talking to you. I wait for any sign of life from the pair, eager to reveal my secrets and what I know about life and happiness.

It is the woman who reacts first, but it isn't quite the reaction I am hoping for. There is a combination of shock and disbelief when she speaks. "Robert, did the wall just talk to us?" Robert doesn't speak, but I watch him perform a feeble nod, immediately followed by a nod from her. "Alright, then." She turned to me, looking me over thoroughly. "I promise you, we are going to restore you, but there are things I want to change. Is that okay?"

"Cheryl, you aren't seriously asking a wall for permission?" Robert is annoyed by the question, but I appreciate it. A level of respect is shown, a reverie for the lives I have helped raise.

Cheryl shrugs, her blue eyes nearly rolling to the back of her head in annoyance. "I'm being polite. Rob, I told you this house would be perfect. Just think of the possibilities of having a house that knows the past and secrets to a successful life. It's like having another friend, only one with far more insight than we could ever have on our own." I admire the passion pouring from her soul.

"Do what you need to to make me suitable for your family. I long to be revived and hold another family in my embrace. My life has been empty for the past few years, and I am excited to share in yours," I say, hoping to convey sincerity. My voice is less hoarse, already revived by the presence of people. Like all things, love was the only thing I needed, and having a family to care for again was my greatest desire. I feel as though Cheryl, and hopefully, eventually Robert, will stay and be that family.

Yet, Robert still doesn't speak. He only sighs in frustration before walking away to the kitchen. I know he is focused on the plans in his head. He seems the type to be goal driven. I have seen a few of them in my time, and they are the hardest to win over. To people like that, I am merely a place to rest their heads at night. To Cheryl, I am so much more. To this woman, I am home. She sees everything I can be to her family. She watches him walk away, sorrow deep in her eyes. "I'm sorry for him. He didn't want to buy this place because of the work. I talked him into it because the inspection came back clean, and I couldn't get past your charm and potential. I never thought it would turn into something like this, but I promise he will come around."

I want to nod, to embrace this woman, but I am a wall. I am nothing more than worn-out drywall and paint. I am putting all of my faith into Cheryl and Robert because I have no other choice, but I hope someday they will put their faith in me. I will do everything in my power to protect them. I will be the home they want. I will love them. And I will impart the secrets I have kept. I will give them more than any other home. It is the least I can do. "I have no doubts. I promise to love your family as I have loved the others. I will do what I can to protect the things you love. I will stand strong during the tragedies of your life and shield you from the coldness of the world as best as I can. This is all I can offer, but first, I have to ask you for an initial investment of love. I am putting my trust in you both."

I can see the tears forming in Cheryl's eyes. "Thank you." Those two words are all I need to hear. This couple has found their home.