Walls (Short Story)

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”