Wall to Wall

If walls could talk in human languages, I would be commiserating with the babysitter.

“What loud troublemakers these little ones are,” I’d say. She’d agree, of course.

The babysitter, seventeen-year-old Marley, stares at me — or, perhaps at her reflection in the shut-off TV attached to me — as she presses her hands to her ears while the boys, Mylo and Wes, scream in tandem. If I had human hands, I would do the same as a pitiful wail she cannot hear rises from the hardwood floor.

I, the deep teal Accent Wall of the Living Room, am ready for the Building Block Wall to be disassembled and ‘put to bed.’ Marley has been enticing the children to go to bed since 8:00 this evening with little luck. Instead, they have put their efforts into making a wall with their favorite set of building blocks. The Building Block Wall, each block either red, blue, or yellow, is currently made of rows four blocks long and columns five blocks high.

”Higher!” the Building Block Wall says. “Higher, higher!” Being little more than a toddler if likened to human age, the Building Block Wall does not always seem to realize that the boys cannot hear its pleas.

Wes, the still-screaming four-year-old, places a red block at the top of the wall.

The Building Block Wall cheers. I sigh before saying, “Now is not the time to be reinvigorated. You will be asleep like Mylo and Wes soon.”

Marley turns from me and walks over to the boys gathered around the Building Block Wall, who are already in their matching tractor-patterned pajamas.

“Listen, guys, it’s 8:30. It’s bedtime. Yelling about bedtime will not make bedtime go away.”

“But yelling made that bad dog go away,” Wes says. Mylo, the five-year-old, deepens his scream to a roar. “We were outside and we yelled at it and it turned around and ran!”

Marley shakes her head. “Guys, bedtime is not a bad dog to scare away. Let’s just head upstairs. I think I hear the bunk bed calling for you. It misses you when you stay awake too long.” She reaches out a hand to each child.

“No!” Mylo yells. He balls his fists up and rears a leg back.

“Help,” the Building Block Wall whines right before Mylo knocks most of the top two rows of blocks across the floor. They clatter before remaining silent, solemn cubes separated from their kin.

The Building Block Wall, what is still standing, gives a cry. “Fallen! Fallen!”

I sigh. “Yes, you’ve fallen again. Don’t fret, the children will build you again, too. But not now, do you understand? They are going to bed now. You’ll be rebuilt tomorrow.” I’ve had to reassure the Building Block Wall of this many, many times. It forgets between each putting-away that it will revive once more.

“Yep, we’re not going to do that,” Marley says, grabbing on to Mylo’s wrist and marching him to the stairs. “We’re not going to be mean to the toys just because it’s time for bed. You’re going to hurt their feelings, and then they aren’t going to let you play with them. Now, it’s bedtime. Bedtime.” Wes follows after her and his brother, their footsteps echoing around me and making me faintly tremble.

“Fallen,” the Building Block Wall mumbles. “Help? Help?”

“I can’t help you,” I say.

“Please?”

I sniff. Marley had reminded the boys to say please to be polite today. Apparently, the Building Block Wall had been listening as well.

“Of course, you listen to the humans and remember what they say, but not what I tell you. I see.”

“Please? Please?”

Before I can answer, I start trembling again, but less this time around. Marley emerges from the staircase. Her ponytail is down now, and she rubs at her eyes.

“At least they weren’t that messy today,” she murmurs. She’s right. The boys had watched me — or the TV — for most of the time she’d been in my house. The only toys they had gotten out and played with were the blocks.

She walks to me and picks up the tub the boys’ parents keep the building blocks in that had been leaning against me for most of the afternoon.

Kneeling down, she starts picking up the scattered blocks.

The Building Block Wall hums, seemingly interested. “Help? Higher?”

“Ah, no, she’s probably going to put you away,” I say.

“Away? No!”

Marley has all the fallen blocks in the tub. She scoots over to the little wall, one hand reaching for the yellow, topmost block.

“Not away! Higher! Please!”

Her hand falls. She purses her lips, then pulls her phone from the back pocket of her jeans.

“9:00,” she says quietly. “I’ve still got hours before they’ll be home. I’ll clean up later.”

Reaching into the tub, she grabs a yellow block and places it beside the topmost one on the Build Block Wall.

“Higher? Higher!”

She is careful with each block, making sure there are no gaps or overhangs that would impede the integrity of the Building Block Wall. She rearranges what the boys had created so that the wall is long rather than tall.

“Higher,” the Building Block Wall whines.

“There’s no need to pout,” I say. “She’s making you sturdy.”

When all the blocks have been used, the room is silent for a moment. No cries from children. No cries from building blocks.

Marley looks up at me — or her reflection in the TV — and wrinkles her nose, smiling.

“Reinvigorated!” the Building Block Wall cheers. I laugh and it laughs with me. If walls could grin like humans, I would be smiling at the Building Block Wall along with Marley.

Marley is a good babysitter.