Here They Gum

If walls could talk, I'd have a podcast. Or maybe it would be more of a long-winded rant? An angry email in vocal form, perhaps.

Never has a wall been more unhygienic, more disrespected. But it's a long-standing tradition. It makes people feel important, like they're a part of something bigger. Like they're connected to people whom they've never even met. Who would I be to whisk those feelings away with my words?

Who would I be to say, "Stop putting your chewed gum on me! That's repulsive! How would you like it if I stuck saliva-soaked Hubba Bubba to your clean canvas?" Though my canvas has been unclean for quite some time. This quirky little tourist attraction stirred itself up decades ago.

I used to be able to feel the elements against my sturdy brick build. The tickle of the wind, the heat of the sun, the soothing cleanse of the rain. But now, I just feel dirty, sticky, stuck.

I used to be able to smell the aromas of my city. The strong coffee, the mix of foods from every cuisine from vendors and restaurants, the very faint sea salt of Seattle. But now, I just smell Juicy Fruit. Big Red. Spearmints and peppermints and the insides of mouths.

These grievances would take the wind out of these innocent folks' sails, this much I know. And, while I long for those days of cleanliness and simplicity, I know the other walls see me and wonder how they could ever garner half of the attention I receive. I'm not sure that's a selling point for me, though.

It is quite beautiful, at times, to see the joy on the crowds' faces. The hesitancy but determination to get close to me, to add to my collection. The photographs are beautiful and interesting. I look intriguing, I will admit. It's not these excited, creative beings that I abhor. It's the thing they've chosen to do to me. To cover me. Hide me. Put a costume on me to make me important. They wouldn't look twice at me without this gimmick they've designed, this spectacle I've been forced into portraying.

Even if they must invade my alleyway and shed a spotlight on my humble home, why not decorate my 50 feet of masonry with some pleasant stickers? I understand that it would be a logistical nightmare to adorn me with locks like some famous fences and bridges, but they represent eternal love, at least. What does gum represent? Why, oh why, does it have to be gum?

Hope filled me just a handful of years ago when, finally, at last, I was scrubbed clean. They washed away the amalgamation of gum, peeled it from me for hours upon hours. With it went the memories, the legacy. Underneath the famed mass were my eroding bricks, sugar and spit tearing me down bit by bit, year by year. But it didn't matter; I was free, and I could breathe, and I could be.

But I felt different. I felt empty, abandoned. I suddenly longed for the additions I so desperately wanted gone. A craving to be added to instead of taken away from coursed through me. And I never felt so lucky as when my friends returned. The Gum Wall was gum-free, yet they returned to avenge me. They took my makeover in stride and got me back to business as usual. The chewed gum and its chewers flooded in once more, and I felt more like I was being clothed than being covered. Like I was being restored rather than being stained. Knowing they cared enough to come back to me, though they had to recreate me from scratch, though they could have started the trend over on any other wall of my stature, filled me with joy and purpose. It made me appreciate these people, this quirky (read: slightly gross but endearing) little activity that made it onto the travel itineraries of millions.

As of now, though I like to imagine a different timeline where I can always smell fresh scents and can feel sensations across my bricks, I'm thriving under my colorful coat. Like anyone, I have days I want to be changed, I want a new look, a new story. I want to be left alone, unbothered. Yet I have fallen into the comfort of who I am. Overall, I am filled with joy to be the Gum Wall.

Maybe if I could talk, I would hold back my snide comments about which gums are the least pleasant or how humiliating it is to be smothered by the objects that have inhabited people's mouths. Maybe I would spur people on, encourage them in their quest for togetherness, camaraderie, group mentality. I am standing, I am loved, which is more than many walls could say. Perhaps I would thank them for making me a part of their tradition, of their simple happiness. If giving me the gum from their mouths keeps a smile on them, all these years have been worth it. I hope I remain standing strong for many more years to come to see many more years of gum. Hmm, yeah, on second thought, maybe it's better that I can't talk.