They Wouldn't Say a Thing

If walls could talk, they would definitely keep it a secret – for one reason, and one reason only.

I would know – I am an entryway wall.

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I run opposite a set of stairs to the second floor and oversee the front door. This is my honour and responsibility.

I am not sure what year I was born; no one ever hangs a calendar in the entryway. All I know is I have served 3 house owners. There was old Mrs. Green, a widow who covered me in flower-print paper. When she was here, the house smelled of tea, scones, and hot jam. The latter of which she used to make with the large bags of berries that her grandchildren brought into the house for her. At the end of those days, they would enter the house with muddy boots and scraped knees only to exit looking smart as buttons, each carrying a jar of jam in their small hands. She was a good sort, Mrs. Green.

The next house owner was a family of silence. Not one of them spoke a word in the time they stayed. There was a father and two sons who used their hands to speak to one another. After releasing me from the tight (and itchy!) confines of Mrs. Green’s wallpaper, they painted me a rather sharp shade of orange. Occasionally, the boys would receive guests who exclaimed how bright I was. It would always startle me after not hearing voices for so long! I never learned how to speak their hand language but there were times of great happiness, anger, and sadness in which I could understand some expressions. The father had large, wide hands with calluses and he looked rather tired most of the time. One week, they simply moved their hats, coats, and shoes into cardboard boxes and left.

The third house owners started as a young couple. The man was large in stature and had wiry black hair over his head and face. If I were a wiser wall at the time, I would have compared the man to a bear. His partner was a slight woman; short and fair. The companion brought with them was also short and fair of hair, though this one had four legs. A Labrador, so I heard.

Sam was the man’s name; Helen was the woman’s and the dogs was Arya. They lived a very active life together, often leaving the house for days on end, only to return dusty and unwashed. Not that Arya minded being dirty, the creature would often take the time out of their day to shake any newly accumulated muck onto me! I didn’t like Arya very much.

One day, Helen sat on the stairs across the entryway for a long while. She wasn’t putting her shoes on to leave, nor waiting for any deliveries. She just sat there, looking down at a small plastic stick. Waves of crying crashed over her face intermittently. While her face scrunched, I could see that she was crying over a variety of emotions. She wasn’t sad, nor happy, she was somehow both. Arya was disturbed by her noises and padded in to check for danger, eventually deeming the entryway clear of threats, and slobbering on me on the way out.

When Sam came home that day, he cried too. In much the same way.

I am not sure what was in that little stick but since that day, Helen started to grow. Her body ballooned exclusively in the middle. Eventually, she had grown so large, Sam had to help her get her shoes on! One night, they both scrambled out of the house. Sam was carrying a huge number of bags and Helen appeared to be struggling to breathe. For the first time since they moved in, I felt scared for their safety. Arya joined me for the next hours, eyes and ears fixed on the front door. Several of Sam and Helen’s relatives visited to walk and feed Arya, but there was no news for a few days.

Eventually, Sam entered through the front door. Arya was ecstatic! They jumped up at Sam like a puppy, licking his bearded face with fervour. He hushed the dog and pushed them back a little. Helen emerged from the door behind them, holding a large cradle. Inside was a baby and Helen herself was noticeably smaller.

I was stunned! That thing had grown inside her! That is definitely not how walls are made!

Another difference between new walls and babies is that babies grow up. Over time, I learned the little one's name was Holly. She grew from a baby to a toddler in no time at all. Soon enough she was using waxy crayons to draw unique works of art on my surface, not that I minded. What a privilege, to watch Holly grow! She was beautiful, black of hair, pale face and, chubby cheeks! If walls had hearts, she would have touched mine.

Arya was walking into the entryway on their own by the time Holly learning to ride a bicycle. They wanted to be alone. Their face was speckled in white and their legs shook as they walked. Despite my earlier chagrin at Arya’s nature, they had grown on me over the years. Arya was a constant companion to Helen and Sam and, since her arrival, had treated Holly with softness and admiration. I saw that admiration in Arya’s eyes when the vet visited. It was the last look she wore when she closed her eyes for the last time. I liked Arya. They were a good dog.

After a period of encompassing sadness, Helen once again sat on the stairs, a little stick in her hand. This time, I was prepared for what was to come, and so were they. Soon enough, another small, crying parcel entered the house in Helen’s arms. He was named Andy. He was fair of hair and much more fragile than Holly.

Holly and Andy often used the entryway to plan all levels of mischief as they grew up. If I could have giggled with them, I would have. Their antics could be truly genius! Little masterminds of chaos! I remember one day, Holly lifted Andy onto the clothes rack in the entryway, covering him in coats. When Sam went to get his coat to leave, little Andy leaped out at him! Sam shrieked in such a high pitch it had them all in hysterics. They gasped for breath in between deep belly laughs and Sam tickled Andy in revenge. It was a happy house with them all together.

One night, as the family was sleeping, I heard something scratching at the front door. A thin wire made its way through the letterbox. It had a curve at one end which hooked the handle and pulled down, opening the door from the inside. In strode three men wrapped in black clothing, wearing bandanas over their faces. The tallest wore a blue bandana and walked in first. He signaled with his hands for the others to follow. It reminded me of the hand language of the silent family who used to stay at the house. These men didn’t have any of the silent house owners' familial companionship. Instead, they seemed to be angrily rushing whatever it was they were in the house to do. It quickly became clear what that was when the man in the blue bandana started passing possessions to his companions. A console, a laptop, and a wallet had passed hands between the three when anger rose within me. This family didn’t have much, what they had taken already would take years to replace. How dare they take from those children! I became further enraged as I tried to do something, anything to stop them but I am only a wall, there was nothing I could do.

They had cleared out the house in a matter of minutes when the upstairs light turned on. Stood there was Andy, looking tired and confused. He was dressed in his favourite red pajamas.

The men froze. Blue Bandana tried to talk to Andy in a funny voice. It made Andy smile and my heart dropped. He began to descend the stairs and reached his hands out to the man. ‘If only Arya was still here’ I thought, they would never have let this go so far.

Concrete and metal as I was, I was conscious, dammit! It was time to do something!

“OUT!” I rumbled deeply.

Blue bandana only paused before lifting Andy into his arms. The other two men had gone back outside and I heard the start of an engine. I must have not made a true noise. I could have sworn I talked!

“Hey! You, blue man! Get off my brother!”

It was Holly! Brilliant, light-sleeping Holly! I was directly underneath her bedroom wall, I must have made enough noise to wake her up! She stood at the top of the stairs and glared down at the man bravely.

Seeing he was outnumbered in witnesses, Blue Bandana dropped Andy and scarpered. Holly pushed the door shut behind them with righteous dignity. Andy seemed very confused as to why the blue man wasn’t as nice as he was acting. Holly explained to him what had happened and went to wake their parents. After a full investigation of the house, some more men arrived, these ones were dressed in police uniforms. They all spoke for hours in the living room before returning to the entryway. One policeman turned around when he was about to leave and asked Holly;

“What woke you up?”

Nobody ever looks at a wall but at that moment, Holly’s eyes fixed directly on me.

“The wall did.” She stated as if it were the most normal experience in the world.

That day stayed in my memory for many years.

What came next was years of normality, I saw the children grow into adults under their parents’ care. Holly’s long string of boyfriends being introduced in the entryway before she found ‘the one’; Andy’s even longer string of boyfriends before he found ‘the one’. Holly and Andy moved out soon enough. They had children of their own, which soon became regular visitors. Holly had a daughter that looked just as she had when she was young. Her name was Bea.

Helen and Sam were soon old, stooping low as they walked. They bought a strange machine one day, that ran up the side of the stairs and attached to a chair. Once sat in the chair, they could press a button and the chair would travel up a railing to the top of the stairs. A welcome addition to the entryway and their swollen ankles.

Unfortunately, a grim part of normality is sadness. Sam passed away. He was sick for a while and then, gone. I felt such sadness for that strong, burly bear of a man who had moved in all those years ago. Time had taken his strength and now, his life.

The funeral was a small affair and once most had left, Helen, Andy, and Holly were alone in the house. Andy and Holly had agreed to move back into their childhood rooms to stay with their mother for a few days. Holly turned to face me that night. She had an odd look on her face. A frown of recollection.

“That night, I could have sworn…” She placed a hand on me. She sighed.

“Ah, it was probably a mixture of dream and reality. If only you could talk… the stories you could tell!”

Her touch felt warm. Nobody ever touches walls; they just brush past us. It was a new experience for me. Holly’s hand was soft, wrinkled, and held the weight of my past in its palm.

Bea saw her mother and placed her smooth, young hand next to hers.

If walls could talk, they would keep it a secret. Who would believe someone who heard a wall speak, anyway? I could tell stories, yes. It would take some practice. Perhaps one day I will, but not today. I am privileged to have been an observing part of this, and other, families.

I am honoured to know them and I will defend them as best I can. That’s why walls are built, to keep people safe. Safe enough to enjoy making jam together, safe enough to not speak a word but understand one another perfectly, and safe enough to grow as a family through life, and all its trials.

If walls could talk, they would keep it a secret, to protect you.

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End

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A/N: Hi there!

I hope you enjoyed reading my entry for the 'If walls could talk' prompt. I definitely found this one challenging! I enjoyed working on a larger project though!

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Much Love,

ThatWriterWoman