In Solitude She Mourned

If walls could talk! I’m offended! What do they mean if walls could talk? I can talk. Just because they can’t hear me doesn’t mean I can’t talk!

If a tree falls in the middle of the forest and there’s no one around to hear it, does that mean it doesn’t make a noise?

Of course it doesn’t and it’s the same here. Just because they can’t hear me, doesn’t mean I can’t talk!

Oh the stories I could tell. I’ve stood here for over a century and my walls have enclosed family after family throughout those years. Sometimes I surround a children’s playroom, others I’m turned into the walls of a living room — what with their rowdy TV’s — and still others my walls give privacy to someone’s bedroom.

In fact that reminds me. I once stood tall and protected the bedroom of a young lady. A lady whose life just broke me. She had the strength of a warrior princess and she needed every ounce of that strength to survive this thing called life. It hurt me to watch her despair.

Oh boy, am I glad I’m just an old internal house wall. If her experiences are what they call life, I tell you now, I don’t want to experience life at all! Oh no, it broke my cladding just watching this young lady’s pain and turmoil.

This is a story that needs re-telling and I can only hope that someone will be able to hear my tale one day. She deserves to be remembered by someone other than an old bedroom wall.

The beginning of the story, as I know it, all started when this young woman, in her early thirties, purchased this house. The house where I’ve been a part of the internal structure for over 100 years.

This young lady, who others of her species call Sarah, moved in one bright sunny day. With her was a long-term platonic friend, Sam and her two young boys, Tyniki and Harley. Both boys were under ten years of age and Sarah had been a single mother for most of their lives.

It was exciting for us to have young ones gracing our rooms once more. It’s always fun when there are little ones in the house. Or usually that’s the case.

All was well at first but I began to see the struggles Sarah had to contend with. What with working full time, watching her finances, raising her boys. There wasn’t a whole lot of time left for herself. In fact it was only the hours after her boys had been put to bed that she could let her hair down, put her feet up and be herself.

Here’s where I witnessed the transformation as I was one of her bedroom walls.

Each night, after her responsibilities were taken care of, I would watch as she entered her bedroom. Usually she would flop down upon her bed in exhaustion and as she lay there she began to confide in me.

She never believed walls could talk either, so she was confident I’d keep her secrets safe.

It was during the darkest hours of the night that she’d pour out her woes to me. Nothing over the top but common woes I guess, those that would affect single mothers the world over and I enjoyed listening to her authentic self. I learned more about her in those lonely night hours than most people ever learned throughout her lifetime. In these four walls she could be totally honest without fear of judgement.

I watched the ups and downs of her life and began to hope for better for this beautiful hearted woman. She certainly didn’t deserve all that life had handed her, that’s for sure.

Each night she would lament her pain, her losses and thank the blessings she had in her life.

Then things began to change and her dreams looked like they would come true. I was so pleased and looked forward to her happily ever after.

Yes, she met a man. A man that tore down the walls around her heart, a man that treated her like a princess, a man that adored her and she adored him.

Suddenly, there was more happiness in the house, more laughter and an extra person to love. All this coincided with the departure of her friend Sam. So the timing couldn’t have been more perfect.

Over the following months I noticed Sarah smiled more and both Tyniki and Harley seemed happier, more settled and overjoyed to see their Mum so happy.

The cause of this happiness was a man called Brien.

At night, when Sarah and Brien were alone in their bedroom, I watched as she laughed and giggled, as they cuddled and talked about their dreams, their future, their plans, as they confirmed their love for each other.

I shuddered at the fact I also had to witness their love. Oh, they should have painted my cladding bright red as I blushed and creaked in an attempt to give them their privacy, but really what could a wall do in such circumstances. I had no choice but to witness their intimacy.

Witness the way Brien loved Sarah right down to her soul. He worshipped her, he stimulated her mind, gave pleasure to her gorgeous naked body and loved her to the bottom of her soul.

Night after night, they revelled in their love and sacrificed their sleep.

The family living in my house were happy.

Until they weren’t.

It seemed like it all happened overnight. The destruction of one woman’s heart. It was a terrible thing to witness.

One day I heard Sarah open the front door and call for Tyniki and Harley. They come running and she smiled happily to see them. After hugs hello all round, Sarah began to prepare dinner and go through the motion of her evening duties.

Washing done, homework checked, a bedtime story read, finally kissing her boys goodnight and turning off their light.

Sarah then wandered into the bedroom and I was shocked to see the tears running down her face. She flopped face down across her bed and sobbed the night hours away. I don’t believe she slept a wink.

At this stage she didn’t let me know what had happened and I felt hopeless watching her lay broken and fragile.

As the morning dawned, she wearily climbed from her bed, plastered a smile upon her face and walked out of the bedroom to complete her morning routine.

I could hear her laughing with her children as she got them ready for school, after which she got ready and left for work.

Late afternoon I’d hear the front door open as Sarah called the boys and heard the laughter and happiness of these three moving through the evening hours.

Then I would watch as she walked into the bedroom in the late evening and once again sobbed the night hours away.

With morning, it would be wash, rinse and repeat, forever with a smile upon her face until she climbed into bed each evening and sobbed her heart dry.

Slowly she began to confide in me and I was horrified to hear the traumatic experience she was living within.

Sarah began to explain that she had recently discovered she’d fallen pregnant. She was very nervous about telling Brien and she certainly was not ready for his reaction.

She explained to me that Brien was adamant that the child could not be his but Sarah knew it was. She’d never been intimate with anyone else since she’d fallen in love with Brien, so how could it not be his?

Brien was quiet when she first told him but when she arrived home from work the next day, it was to discover that Brien was gone. He’d packed up and left without letting Sarah know. All she had was a ragged piece of paper that Brien left upon her bed, before walking out forever.

Sorry I couldn’t tell you what was on that piece of paper until now, I may be able to talk but I certainly can’t read.

It wasn’t until Sarah whispered aloud the words on that piece of paper and I heard her read these heartbreaking words.

Sperm count of Mr Brien Davis equals a zero count from the tested specimen. Signed Dr Tahlia Swoon

I watched as these words tore the heart from Sarah’s chest and left it discarded on the floor. Never to beat with happiness again.

Here she stood, pregnant and alone once more.

She was broken, destroyed, tormented in unimaginable agony.

Each night she’d wearily climb into bed and cry the hours away. Absolutely shattered.

Night after night.

And each morning she’d plaster a smile upon her face and wander through her days. Never letting anyone see the pain behind her smile.

She knew that piece of paper was a lie. If the count was true she’d not be pregnant but she was. Also what doctor writes in their own handwriting such test results on a torn and tattered piece of paper?

No doctor, that’s who!

This was Brien’s cruel goodbye, his cowardly act of rejection.

Oh, I felt so helpless. I wanted badly to ease Sarah’s pain but dammit I’m just a wall.

Weeks flew past as I watched her happiness during the daylight hours and her despondency through the night. I watched as she lost weight, her skin sallow and her eyes deadened.

I knew this was too much for any one human being to handle and I was proven right when she suddenly stopped crying one night. As she began writhing around on her bed in pain, moans of despair escaping her bloodless lips. Dry eyes scrunched tightly closed as she tried to keep her screams locked inside.

I watched knowing there was nothing I could do.

Hour after hour of agony as Sarah thrashed around on her bed. Anguish evident in her tightened muscles, her back arching after every contraction, as she silently and alone, expelled her unborn and underdeveloped baby from her womb.

I watched as she curled around the bloody mess and broke once and for all.

I didn’t think it possible for anyone to survive such pain and I knew her heart was forever broken.

But it was in awe that I watched her find her strength as she rose from her bed the next morning, plastered a smile upon her face and walked out into the kitchen to prepare breakfast for her small family.

I heard her laughter at the boys antics, I heard her kiss them lovingly as she said goodbye and when they climbed aboard the school bus, I heard her call out “I love you” just before the doors closed.

I watched as she stoically dressed for work, taking a deep breath, throwing her shoulders back and putting one foot in front of the other as she went about her day.

The last thing I heard her say before she walked out the door to head to work, was her utterance “if only walls could talk!”

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