Part One
I looked in your eyes and for the twenty seconds I was mesmerised,
I forgot that the sun rose in the east. The sparkle, the gentle glisten that
fell into my sight reminded me of a clear sky on a soft summer's night.
I began to tell our grandchildren the stories of our first
encounter, it went a little like:
My heart felt safe. The walls didn't crumble the first time we
spoke but the bass in his voice definitely shocked them into cracking. My walls
were the only safety I knew so I didn't allow him to pursue. I ran. But he
chased me, he wouldn’t allow me to succumb to the voice of my fears. Every time
they showed up, he also appeared. Since my fears were my comfort and always
been my cheerleader, I listened when they advised me that he was no good for
me.
Insecurity began to lace up my shoes.
Disappointment handed me my coat.
Doubt held the door open.
Discouragement was the wind in my hair.
Since these were the only friends I done been had, A1’s since day
1, I took heed to their counsel. I ran.
Afraid of the comfort and security that would ensue from
disappointing my fears and doubting my insecurities, I continued to stay on the
move.
One day came where he pleaded his cause. Like a lawyer fighting to
keep his client from the death sentence, he petitioned me. The day came but my
friends warned me this tactic has always been in his artillery. He worded his
sentences carefully and ensured the full usage of my name. Grace slid from his
tongue like a perfect plie and there was a hint of desperation in his eyes.
“please,” I feared he was near tears, “just give me an hour of your time”. Something
began to rise in me that shared no relation to pity.
I felt a crack again. It was as subtle as the sun piercing the sky
at dawn illuminating the dew stained grass. I checked myself, my walls seemed
to have sustained enough damage for my eyes to catch a glimpse of what was
behind.
I spent enough time to peruse what was living behind there but I
brushed it off because I had not seen her in quite a while. Her hair was unkempt
and dishevelled, sleep seemed to be in a fight with her eyes. Her nails were
long and dirty and her face seemed to be as blank as the walls she lived
behind. It was apparent that she had not seen or had any human contact in
decades, she seemed as thirsty for conversation as she was for water. Her lips
were cracked from thirst. How she survived the years is everything a miracle.
For many reasons unknown she responded to the bass in his voice.
Her heart fluttered like a hummingbird flitting between bushes.
My frantic attempt to repair the walls proved futile because I
couldn’t stop him from speaking, worse yet, I was captivated by his bass-ridden
song.
My friends purposed to do damage control. When I was asleep, they’d
visit me in dreams with false premonitions of how this one was like all the
others. They predicted that he would eventually leave. Once awake, I decided to
‘wait him out’
Logic inferred that maybe we could ‘humour’ him for the duration
of his visit. Logic further suggested, that after a few brutal, aggressive
answers, he’d give up. So that was the plan.
The hour was agreed, planned and confirmed. Logic and company
decided that all they needed was 20 minutes. That after this he would conclude
that he was wasting his time and they could resume control over my life.
I arrived with jitters and he appeared fresh faced and sweetly
fragranced. Without warning, there was a crack. This time the corner of my lips
pointed upwards as well. Fear reminded me of the plan, I tried to resist. Fear
replayed the movie of how this would end and I fell back in line.
He spoke and Fear or Doubt would respond.
I grew distracted every now and then thinking about the girl I saw
behind the wall.
I looked up and realised an hour had been and gone. I shuffled
glances between my watch and his eyes. He received the signal. As I mentally
packed up to leave, his hand involuntarily reached across the table and met
mine.
There was another crack. Another crack I did not care to suffer.
But I looked in his eyes and something seemed familiar. It was
like a taste of something I had before but couldn’t quickly identify. As his
hand lingered on mine, I felt a deeper touch as though something had been
healed, like my pain healed his. I had the power to cure his hurt? It was confusing
and unexplainable.
I could feel very little because walls were still intact but I
positioned my heart to understand. My friends told me to run but my mind didn’t
get the message to my feet quick enough and then he began.
This time his words sounded like they came from a teenage boy who
was found in the rubble of an earthquake. His voice was tarnished with the
glory of fell walls but mighty was his story of survival.
As he spoke my ears perked because his story sounded familiar. It
spoke of a time when he was young, he fell in love, had his heart broken, and
vowed never to love again. He spoke in awe of his little boy escaping those
walls and specified that it was in likeness to the girl who lived behind my
walls.
I flinched and retrieved my hand from under his. My friends wasted
no time chiming in with the juvenile taunts of ‘I told you so’ mockeries. I
grabbed my purse.
Insecurity paid the bill.
Disappointment held the door open.
Fear was the wind in my hair.
I ran.
The solitude of the night sky was the perfect canvas for me to
unpack what Fear and Insecurity were telling me. The things I perceived to be
true.
The overwhelming distinct taste of truth repeated the question of
‘how did you know?’
He knew about the walls; he knew about the girl. It was like he
had seen a horror movie about my life and still enjoyed the worst parts of me.
Insecurity invited confusion to the party and they ran a marathon
in my mind. Sure I had work the next day but this mystery was bound to be
solved even if I had to rename myself ‘Nancy Drew’
I couldn’t go back and ask him now. Pride was here now so forget
that scenario. But I couldn’t let it go. I was desperate to find out who she
was, intrigued to get to know him more and curious about these walls.
Why were there walls?!
The last recollection of that night was me being so highly annoyed
that I couldn’t mute my thoughts in order to go to sleep.
Part Two
But sleep came. My dreams were silent and was only interrupted by
the obnoxious blaring of the alarm on my phone. 6am. I rolled over in a bid to
make sleep come back but was unsuccessful.
The only memory my mind would replay was the jeering smirk
lingering around his lips. It spoke more to the healing properties of sharing
stories than seeking an opportunity to
mock me.
I set about being intentional to delete the events of the previous
evening from my memory. My friends were enjoying slumber as they were slow to
mock me at the break of dawn. Maybe they were reserving the jeering for a more embarrassing
moment.
I showered, got dressed and made up my mind that it was the last
time I would see him so it doesn’t really matter. Damage was done and controls
were in place to prevent any further cracks.
What I couldn’t live with was the cracks made to my security
devices. They felt irreparable. I couldn’t get them plastered, the walls
scoffed at my attempt to Band-Aid a situation which clearly needed a wrecking
ball. Or him.
I snarled at myself with disgust “how dare you even think of him”
Fear retorted. Yup, my friends were awake. They replayed the scenes I carefully
tried to forget. They added jingles and special effects. No detail was excluded,
no detail left to question. Naked, open, bare. Vivid memories, it was like I was
there all over again. I remembered things I didn’t notice initially. I recalled
the peace that flooded from his eyes when he spoke. I reminisced about the way
his upper arms would gather chill bumps when I laughed. I recollected the way
he started intently at my thoughts as they rolled of my tongue. I recall
begging for me to let him in. I remembered.
My lips parted to release a pitiful sigh. I envisioned for the
five seconds what it could have been before Fear interrupted my fantasy. Then I
imagined differently as all the ‘shoulda, woulda, couldas’ played by.
I filled my lungs to their capacity and slowly released it. Almost
as if I didn’t want to exhale just to discontinue this process.
I did no further research on cracks and little girls, there was
work to be done.
I gathered thoughts and lunch. Drove to work and allowed the day
to pass.
Part Three
I closed my eyes and
exhaled. Work was long and my body was thankful it was in bed. It was time for
rest.
The phone buzzed. I sought to understand what demanded my
attention and threatened my rest. It was a text. It was from him. Instantly, my
whole body started to suffer. My hands got sweaty, my heart beat increased, my
feet got hot and a headache introduced itself.
Before opening the text, I plotted my response. It went a little
something like: “Hey, nice to hear from you!!! Thanks for inviting me out the
other day, I really enjoyed myself. Not sure if I can make it out again though
because I’m fully booked”
But his text was a bit deeper than I had anticipated. It read “Hey
beautiful, I had a great time with you the other night. I feel like we
connected on a deeper level. I just want to let you know that I am praying for
your walls and I am willing to march around them like Jericho’s until they come
down. If you never want to see me again, I understand but please, all I need is
an hour if your time. Again.”
My generic response wasn’t going to cut it so I put the phone down
so I could continue panicking. Then my friends woke up.
These guys never seem to be awake except when they are least
wanted. However, I knew I could count on them to talk me out of situation and
provide the necessary evidence for justification.
Fear chimed in “remember, he is just like all the others”
Insecurity reminded me of all my shortcomings and how that
disqualifies me from being with him.
Doubt merely scoffed at the idea
Disappointment was telling me that it was waiting to be used.
So I left my phone, afraid to touch it.
Insecurity showed up again with a vengeance and a point to prove.
Whilst listening to a podcast, a group of friends set about discussing sexual
history and what matters in their future potentials. They spoke about the
things they wouldn’t like to see and one by one insecurity took me through the
list. She reminded me that my past excludes me from having a great future. She
showed me the heart of a man who would prefer someone without a history. So, I
used that paintbrush to paint all men. So, he wouldn’t want me because of my
past so I don’t have to reply to his text. Job done. And it was a good one.
For as long as I could, I hid. From my own phone, as if I didn’t
pay the bill. As if he could see me unintentionally ignoring his text whilst I
battled with my friends. As if he anticipated my reply but knew what it would
be and factored it into his question.
I kept reading the text. Of course I didn’t open it because I had
my read receipts on I really had to pretend I was busy. I mean, it is like a
full time job wrestling with thoughts in your head. Repeatedly I read the line
“willing to march around them like Jericho’s until they come down”. On my fifth
read of that line, there was a crack. It was like my walls had responded to
that one line in the text and by some authority, they knew they had to come
down.
I wasn’t prepared for what I saw next.
Part Four
Up next was like a scripted scene on reality TV. Except there were
no lights, no camera, no director yelling ‘action’
My fingers moved to reply before my mind could approve the words,
before fear jumped in to do his work. Tears formed in my eyes though they never
made it to my cheeks I typed:
“Hey, nice to hear from you!! Thanks for inviting me out the other
day. I really enjoyed myself. I really just want to tell you how much I
understand what you mean about how we connected on a deeper level. I really felt like the world shifted when your hand
touched mine. I felt like I didn’t have to pretend with you around, I felt
safe. Your eyes told the story of how I could fall in love with the monsters in
me and somehow you would still rescue me. I felt peace, I felt comfort and
maybe this is crazy because we have only been out once but I don’t want you to
march around my walls, I want to let you in, fear stops me”
Of course I didn’t send the text. That would be the uncomfortable
option.
Fear gasped as though I had dug a spear into his heart. I could
see him slowly running out of oxygen but something allowed me to stand there
and watch him die.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hurt too. It was like losing an
old friend. That day I lost an old friend. After all, I took his advice,
listened to his music and danced to his rhythm. For twenty-five years I have
been alive Fear was my friend and in that draft of a text message, I lost him.
I grieved. And there was a crack.
All my other friends just looked on in disbelief. They lost a
friend too!
The beauty of it all was the revelation that he wasn’t the one
cracking my walls. I was responsible. His presence made me want to open up but
it was none of his own doing rather all of mine.
I desired to get in touch with the girl who lived behind those
walls so I arranged to meet her.
Surely Insecurity had something to say this time she cowered in
her approach to me. She was riddled with anxiety but spoke nonetheless, shaky
voice and all. “Erm,” she stuttered “maybe that’s not a good idea”
I had no response because I was feeling homicidal. Killing Fear
heightened my taste for blood. I wasn’t afraid to kill them all.
Maybe she saw that in my eyes and slowly backed down. I called her
as she walked away because I wanted her to see the dagger that I hurled in aim
of her forehead. Her death was quick and painless. I mourned, only because I
was dissatisfied with the way she died. Maybe I should have let her cry and
suffer like I did.
I met with the girl. She had a plethora of stories and an
extensive collection of memories.
She was me.
She told me stories of happier times in my life before innoncence
was erased, before childhood came to an abrupt end, before survival was my
default mode. She displayed times when I smiled, when I was happy.
Part Five
I was free, I was fearless, I smiled, I cried, I hurt and bounced
back. I never gave up, I ran, I stood up for what I believed in, I had faith,
hope, love and a spring in my step. She played me all these memories that I
barely noticed how time escaped.
I so badly wanted to know more of who I was so I stuck around.
What I wasn’t prepared for were the scenes which detailed the construction of
my walls.
I was ten, or maybe even eight years old and I had friends. We
were nowhere near rich but we managed to eat food. I was touched for the very
first time. The first brick was laid because even in my naivety, I knew there
was something wrong about this particular activity. It didn’t feel right. I
couldn’t gather the words to express the events that occurred much less the way
I felt with each time it happened and with every failure of mine to describe
what happened and how I felt, another brick was laid. The blood of my innocence
seemed to be the cement holding it all together. I couldn’t tell anyone so it
kept occurring. A notification was sent to my brain telling me I was being
robbed. I had to take control, I had to build security devices.
Control kicked in. I was in charge when I could rather than
have it taken. She showed me each brick, through the touching, mental blocks
and being in control, how individual bricks were laid down. Some of them
significant enough to have a name engraved.
Like watching an emotional enough movie, I was screaming at the
scenes being played “don’t do it”, “it’s a trap”, “why doesn’t she just tell
someone”
I had questions and feelings. But she couldn’t hear me. She was
masked with pain, anger and a vendetta to make things right. To make herself
whole again.
Thus the walls were built. To encapsulate and preserve whatever
innocence, though it was scarce and fragile. She was fuelled with determination
to rebuild herself so she kept the little girl hostage, imprisoned she vowed
never to let her go because she never wants to lose her.
She held on to her.
She was me.
I didn’t realise that I did myself more harm than healing. I
failed to recognise that my attempt to save me was futile.
My idea of me being a saviour did not involve a cape and spandex;
my idea was to build walls around the last time I was free.
Whilst this transpired, I imagined that I had been here on this
self discovery journey for hours. Days even.
The text!! He texted me, I forgot.
Before I responded to the three day old text, I could hear a
trickling. It sounded like a gentle river which had overflown its banks. Not
rushing but still bustling along.
I turned around and noticed it was coming from behind the walls.
I investigated, I asked her why there was water and why its flow
was steady and constant.
She replied “It’s all the tears you never got to cry because you
were trying to hold it down. It was for all the times I nearly drowned because
you were crying on the inside”
The look in her eyes reassured me it was okay to let it go. She
had that proud parent grin forming around her lips.
As I wailed, she disappeared. I wonder where she went. Later, I
found out she didn’t go anywhere, she just wasn’t imprisoned anymore.
My text reply to him was simple: “Hey, tell me where and when and
I will try my best to be there”
Instantly Doubt and Disappointment held hands. Without notice,
they found themselves a door. I had a slight inkling one day we might meet
again so I bid them goodbye for now.
Part Six
Like a woman in labour I could feel waters breaking. Before long,
there I was standing in a pool. It barely reached my kneecaps but it threatened
to keep rising. What was strange but not disconcerting was the pieces of rubble
I saw in the water. I knew what it was. Just like she had told me about the
tears, she also let me know eventually, her freedom would destroy the walls.
I cried. I cried because I knew I was free, I cried because I knew
I was loved. I cried because I thought I was free but I never truly was until I
unpacked my past to discover old parts of me which were never healed. I cried
for the taste of freedom. I cried because I released so many others from my
pain. I cried because I was merely breathing but now I can live again. I cried
because my past wasn't a blueprint but a foundation. I cried because I had
found love and he was beautiful.
The End
For months on end I battled with the desire and the reason why I
never thought to ask her her name. Surely she was important enough to have one.
One day, I encountered her presence whilst I took a day trip to the countryside.
The only question I posed was to enquire of her name. She smiled and the clouds
parted as rays of sun gently rested her cheeks. “You can call me Grace”
Inquisitively I questioned her further because she didn't say that
was her name. She simply said “I was here all along, pulling you through, and
that's what grace does”