If Walter Could Talk

If Walls Could Talk, I hope they’d be like my Walter. You never know who is going to change your life. For me, meeting Walter was life changing. We met when I moved into my new apartment, my first day in New York City. It was the most I’d ever spent on anything, this apartment, and my first time alone in a big city, especially one as famously dangerous as New York City. Walter however, made me feel safe. He was a presence in my new life immediately and though I was certainly not prepared for him, he’s become the most constant, supportive, and secure part of my new life.

My name is Jane and I moved to New York City as thousands of young women before me have, to break my way onto Broadway. I’ve been on stage my entire life. It began at church when I was two years old and I did a little dance at my Baptism, much to mother’s chagrin. I’m told my father was completely delighted and that makes sense, making my father laugh was a central preoccupation of my childhood. I loved nothing more than seeing that huge grin and hearing that laugh that could fill an entire room.

I also loved making him cry, not tears of sadness or pain, but moving him. When I was in the 7th grade and played Ann Frank in a school production, I nearly blew the whole performance when I caught my father out of the corner of my eye with tears streaming down. That was when acting became real to me, it went from being a place where I could show out and have the kind of attention I craved as a child, to a place where I could reach my father in a new way. A place where I could feel his pride and admiration beyond the bond of father and daughter.

Leaving my father back in North Dakota is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Thankfully, I have Walter, who reminds me so very much of my father. They have the same laugh, that particular kind of gregariousness that he possessed and I’ve loved all my life. Also like my dad, Walter is a great listener. He listened to me the whole first night I moved into this cramped, dark, and unfinished apartment. I went on for ages and he listened so faithfully, just as my father might have if I had called him. I didn’t want him to worry about me.

And Walter has listened to me every night since then. Walter has been something to lean against, a way of propping myself up, physically and emotionally. He’s run lines with me and helped me find the confidence in my characters as I’ve auditioned day after day after day. He’s listened as I’ve sung songs deep into the night and provided a sturdy base as I stretched and twisted to prepare myself for dancing in chorus lines and costumed dramas. Selfless is one way to describe Walter.

When I got my first job off Broadway, Walter was the first to hear about it as I leapt about this apartment, vibrating with joy at my big break. Walter is the first thing I see every morning and the last thing I see at night. A massive sturdy, brick and mortar stalwart, endlessly attentive and protective. How Walter came to be will forever be a mystery to me. It’s a mystery that I unfold every single day with no hope of a solution. Nevertheless, I will always be glad Walter is there.

Walter certainly took some getting used to. On my first day at my new apartment, unpacking, decorating, worrying over every little thing, I heard a voice. It sounded like my father. It came from my bedroom and I assure you, I was as terrified as a new New Yorker would be if they’d heard a voice in their apartment, even one that sounded familiar. Upon investigation, there was no one there, but the voice remained.

Naturally, I assumed stress was making me crazy, I was hearing the voice of my father in the walls in some kind of crazed attempt to steady my unsettled nerves. You are likely to still think that I am crazy, that I went in, a little broken in the head and have only further diverted from my faculties as time has passed. I can’t argue with you on that, it’s legitimately crazy. My wall was talking to me. That wall right there, has a voice and an opinion, and a laugh.

It was Walter’s laughter that calmed me down. He had my dad’s laugh, that guffaw, that soothing, reassuring, and beloved belter of a laugh. As I reeled in attempting to corral my fractured psyche into some kind of rational explanation of the situation, Walter laughed and I heard my father in him. My heart eased, my anxiety lifted. I felt peaceful, even as the insanity of the moment was causing my head to spin. Walter introduced himself to me and we both laughed at the utter absurdity of a wall introducing itself with the name, Walter.

Since then, Walter has become my closest friend, a true confidante. I have made new friends in New York and even boyfriends, but Walter is my best friend. I talk with him whenever I am alone and he fills the gaps in my soul left by not being able to talk with my dad every day. Walter is wise and thoughtful, complementary and rarely cross. Perhaps being rooted in one place for so long gives him the patience of a saint as a coping mechanism. Then again, I’ve never sensed the need for coping in Walter, he seems perfectly resigned to being where he is.

For their part, Walter doesn’t remember time before me. As I said, I’ve pondered the mystery of Walter and I’ve not been shy about interrogating Walter about his nature, but eventually it became tedious as his answers never changed. The world began for Walter when I arrived. He leapt into being the day I arrived and with nowhere else to go, he lives to spend time with me, listen, be supportive and provide counsel. I don’t know where his personality or intelligence comes from, it’s a mystery as to how a wall can have so much insight into people.

I see that look on your face, you think I am making this up. You think this is all in my head. I can’t prove you wrong. I’m the only one who has ever interacted with Walter, no one else appears capable of hearing him. I introduced a guy to Walter once and carried on a conversation with the two of them, with me acting as Walter’s voice. That relationship ended pretty quickly. I imagine he thought that I am as crazy as you think I am. Regardless, Walter is fully real to me. I can see, touch, and hear Walter. His voice rings through the room when I am home and comforts me.

In the end, isn’t that what matters? The fact that I’ve found comfort? You’re so focused on Walter being inanimate and a wall that you are missing the point. I’m fine, I’ve found something that has brought me comfort, support and joy. If you were capable of being honest and expressing yourself vocally, you’d admit that you are merely jealous. But no, you’re just a cat, you can’t talk. Not like Walter. You’re not even listening to me, are you? Fine, just stop scratching Walter, he hates that. Otherwise, if you can stop seeming so judgmental, you can stay. Your name is Chester and yes, it’s because you remind me of a cartoon Cheetah, get over it. It’s not like you can tell me what your name is.