Guilt

If walls could talk, I would say goodbye. I can’t imagine what I look like anymore. There must be at least three or four different paints stacked on top of me. They’ve covered up my scars where old cabinets and fixtures were installed. I can feel the screws and nails and scrapes and scuffs that have been so cleverly hidden. I remember the time they ripped me open so I could be filled with pipes. I long for my brother whom they tore down so they could move freely from the kitchen into the dining room and the TV room. As much as I must look different from my first days, so much more do the people who’ve lived here.

First there were two of them, then three, then four, then five, then back to four, then three, then five again, and then back to three. For a while now, though, it’s just been the two. I’ve learned their names are “Honey” and “Sweetie.” When the other three were in the house I used to hear “mom,” “dad,” “daddy,” and “mama.” But I noticed that these two have always preferred “Honey” and “Sweetie.” As far as the other three, I gathered they’re collectively “the kids” but I could never keep their names straight. Honey and Sweetie move slower now than when there were five of them. Their hair is gray. They eat and sleep a lot earlier than they used to.

A few months ago, Honey fell down. He laid there, crying, pleading for Sweetie. I stood baffled and confused. I wished to cry out like him, to shed tears. Sweetie didn’t come for a long time. It was dark when she finally arrived. By then, Honey was too weak to talk. Sweetie started to cry too while she fumbled with a small box she fished out of her bag. She spoke to someone who must’ve called for help because it wasn’t long before two oddly dressed strangers with a long table-looking thing came in and swept Honey off of the ground.

I was alone for a while. I had been alone before, but never this long. I watched the light come and go, birds land and fly off again. Eventually I heard a sound and unfamiliar voices. A bunch of men with bright green shirts filed into the house carrying boxes and wood and metal pieces. I thought I saw tools like the ones Honey used to fix a cabinet every now and again. I saw one of them take away a chair in the TV room and replace it with a different one. I could hear banging up above me, but no one ever came near me.

Soon the green men left. It wasn’t long before I heard sounds of people entering again and Sweetie’s voice. Oh how I wanted to jump for joy! And then I heard Honey’s voice, and how I would have beamed if I had teeth! It took a while, but eventually I saw them enter the rooms in front of me. Sweetie was in front of Honey, who was holding something shiny and metal that looked like the pipes inside of me, though much smaller. Honey moved so slowly as Sweetie guided them into the new chair. Sweetie took a small box that was attached to the chair and moved it backwards for Honey who laughed loudly.

Sweetie called Honey’s pipe thing a “walker.” He never moved without it again. When Honey would get up from their chair and come towards me and the kitchen, I could see Sweetie watching, brow furrowed and lips pursed. This went on for a while, Honey moving gingerly and Sweetie watching nervously, until Honey fell again. I couldn’t see what happened exactly, I only saw Honey tumble in front of the special chair. This time, Sweetie was there right away. However she didn’t cry, she only shook her head and muttered softly. Soon, similar people with a similar looking long table from the first time Honey fell came into the house and took Honey away again.

No green men came this time, though. It was just silence and darkness while I waited. It wasn’t lonely, though. The empty chairs and otherwise unchanged appearance of the rooms reassured me that they would be coming back. When the kids left, there were boxes upon boxes of stuff. Everything here was still in its place, so surely they would be coming back.

When they did return, Honey was using the same walker. Sweetie was still leading them to the special chair. This time though, I saw Sweetie slip something new on Honey’s feet. I don’t know what it was exactly, but it seemed to cover his whole foot and the word “slip” drifted across the room and landed gently on my surface.

I was surprised at how little things changed after Honey’s second fall. They wore their new slip-things on their feet and shuffled around with the walker. A few nights later was when I heard them talking at the dining table.

“We can’t stay here anymore, Honey,” Sweetie said.

“I’m not going to fall again. I have my shoes, I have my walker. I’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, in the house maybe. But what about at the store? Or in the yard? I can’t keep you locked up in here forever or watch you every minute of every day like you’re one of the kids.”

“What are you saying, Sweetie? We can’t move. This is, this is home.” They gestured around, my insides fluttering as their hand lingered, pointing at me.

Sweetie reached across the table and grabbed Honey’s hand in both of theirs. “No, this is home. You and me. Home will be wherever we are.” It was Honey’s turn to sob now. Honey’s body shuddered as they gripped Sweetie’s hands and tears fell to the table. Sweetie began to cry too. “But I can’t take care of you by myself anymore, Honey. I can’t. What if I fall? Cory, James, and Mary, they’re all so far away.”

Honey cried a while longer before speaking again. “I need some time to think about this.” Sweetie nodded and gripped Honey’s hands tighter. They sat in silence until the light had gone before they both went upstairs.

If I could cry, I would have at that moment. Had I known they would leave, I would have tried to uproot myself, tear out the floors and use my pipes for arms and legs so that I might protect Honey for Sweetie. I’ve kept them warm, kept them dry, held their food and their plates. I’ve witnessed their smiles, testified to their laughter, been a silent guardian while they’ve sat alone in the shadows. I’ve been everything they could ever need from something like me. But never enough, it would seem.

Nothing changed at first. And then the boxes arrived. Strange men came in and out, moving strange objects from places in the house I’d never seen before. The kids–Cory, James, and Mary, I had finally learned–came at one point to claim their own boxes. For a while the TV room and dining room remained unchanged. And then they took Honey’s chair. And then the couch. Then Sweetie took away all the pictures from all the different tables and other walls. And soon the dining table was gone, and then my cabinets were emptied.

The day they left, Sweetie was crying. They went upstairs first, and then slowly came back down. Everything was empty, everything was gone. Honey and Sweetie shuffled through the living room, tearfully taking in every detail. Eventually they came to me. They came so close. Sweetie touched the counter and I never wished for hands more than at that moment, to reach out and hold their hand as they did Honey’s that night they decided to leave me. If only I had been one of them, maybe then would they have stayed. Maybe Honey would have been safer. Soon they turned their backs on me, and I watched as they walked out of view. I heard the door close, and then silence. Not the silence of before, the silence of a house waiting, anticipating someone’s return. This was an empty silence.

I could see, I could hear, but I could not keep them safe. I could bring no smiles to their faces or spring to their step. I could hold things for them, but not hold them. How small my role has been, to stand and give structure, but no real protection. I’ve been a helpless witness. How I wish I could have spoken then, if only to say goodbye.