The Hole In My Wall

“Everything in my life is a disaster!” I thought to myself, as I planted my body down on my mattress and glanced at the hole that I had punched into my wall. I analyzed it, and noticed that the darkness inside it stood in stark contrast to the color of ivory white that was painted on my walls. I become aware that the space inside the hole was greater than what I had in my bedroom.

My bed was located in the upper left corner of my room. There was a narrow passageway-about 6 feet in length and 9 inches in width-separating my bed from my door. The space of the passage was filled by my black executive chair. To the right of my bed, my carpet was not visible due to it being cluttered with unfolded clothes, beaten up books, shoddy magazines, and gooey candy wrappers; and at the bottom end of my bed was a large, black, and empty bookshelf that rose to the ceiling. It had been collecting dust for three years. The mid-point between the wall and the floor were littered with stuffed animals, Yu-Gi-Oh cards, bobbleheads of baseball players, and other miscellaneous junk that I no longer had a use for, yet somehow could not get rid of.

Even my ceiling and walls were not exempt from being covered up. They were filled with all the posters I had ever owned. Each one was a representation of my past interests, from childhood to adulthood, including those that I had outgrown several years ago. There was not one inch in my bedroom that did have space-except the hole in my wall.

I stared blanky at that hole while laying down on my bed. I was trying to ease up on myself since, at this point, I could feel the blood pulsating towards my head. My cranium was as red as a fire hydrant. I believed that if I did not relax quickly, I would have had a brain aneurysm.

I was not angry at my wall, but rather with the direction of my life. Esther, the second most important woman in my life (next to my mother), was ignoring me. I had called her nine times in the past three days, but to no avail. That is when I lost it, and bashed a hole in my wall.

“Why won’t she respond?” I asked as I got up and pushed around my possessions, picking up wrinkled clothes, heavy books, and torn-up magazines. I was searching for my sleeping medication so I could end the day early. “I just don’t understand what her problem is. Why does she have to be so difficult?”

I shoved aside my books, clothes, magazines, and other belongings, but still could not find my drugs. “Where are my sleeping pills? Where are they? GOD-DAMN IT!” I shouted as I lifted up a heavy book and threw it against my ancient chiffonier. I started to pick up various items on my floor and recklessly threw them around my bedroom until I became so engulfed with anger, I broke down and cried.

A large current of tears came out of my eyes, followed by a stream of mucus. “Can my day get any worse?” I shrieked. I moved my foot one inch to the left and stepped on a cylindrical object. It was my amber-colored prescription bottle. “Finally!” I hollered. I breathed a sigh of relief, clasped the orange pill bottle, and opened it. “I have to get some sleep,” I stated. My medicament was no larger than a penny, but it had enough pharmacological power to take out all 175 pounds of my body. I gobbled them all up and then crawled back to bed.

As I settled down, my anger and sadness subsided. I leered at the hole in my wall and kept thinking about Esther. My brain kept repeating the same thoughts for three straight days: “Why is she so stubborn?”“ Why can’t see things from my point-of-view?” “Why doesn’t she listen?” “Why is so pushy at times?”

These ideas frequented the space in my mind until my medicine took effect. “This medication is knocking me on my ass!” I remarked. My head rested upon my Bamboo pillow, I floated on an imaginary cloud, and I slept like a baby.

It was two days after I smashed a hole in my wall. I went outside to the pier at the Niagara River, my favorite place of my hometown. I was sitting in a small chair in front of a public washroom. The Niagara River separated the Empire State from the Heartland Province, and I was on the former’s side.

From across the river, I saw the luscious green of the trees, high above the river, from one end to the other. The trees were so far away, and they were so thick with vegetation, that all I could see was foliage. The only space where the greenery was non-existent were the large, white mansions which dotted the scenery. A few were in the west, and a few were in the east.

I perceived that each mansion was designed differently, but they each had some features in common: they all had pillars in the back, were several stories high, and had massive decks built that faced the Niagara River. (I assumed the mansion’s owners constructed them so they could enjoy the view of the Niagara River, and New Yorkers could relish the view of their decks.) My eyes got watery.

The water was as calm as it could be, but was never completely still as that was its nature. Its only rough movements came when the jet skis zipped across the water, causing a slight rift from the middle of the river, pushing the water back and forward until it had a negligible impact on each side of the two countries. I gazed at the sky and noted that the left side had long, thin, flat cirrus clouds with holes in them. By contrast, the right side was cloudless and clear.

As I continued to examine the sky, I discovered a hidden element of its essence that I had always been unaware of. It was of such beauty that my jaw dropped to the ground. I was surprised that I had missed it throughout my 28 years of existence. Its aesthetically pleasing component was its apportioned multi-dimensional colors, each one having its own space in the sky, but connected in a coherent sequence. At its top was light blue, which covered most of the sky. Right below it was light turquoise, and underneath it was whiteness with a touch of light blue. My eyes filled with tears.

At the pier, I observed a nuclear family. They were arranged at an old, wooden, raw umber colored picnic table, whose surface had several spots where the paint had chipped off. It was clear that the picnic table needed to be refurbished. Its ugliness contrasted sharply with the joyfulness of its youngest occupant.

On one side were mom and dad. They were dressed for the weather and had matching outfits: Hawaiian shirts with beige shorts. Both were using their cell phones and paid no attention to their progeny. On their opposite was their small daughter, about seven or eight, who was dressed in an pumpkin orange dress with the design of sunflowers all over it. My lips trembled.

My face sulked down in the direction of the light grey concrete, and I placed my warm hands upon my cheeks. This gorgeous day was making me feel sad and depressed. It seemed like everything I discerned forced me to feel small due to Esther not being a part of my life. I held back tears for a few minutes and detected approaching footsteps.

“I’m sorry about that,” giggled the munchkin. “She ran away. Over here girl.” I was not cognizant of it at the first time I spotted her, but the small girl was playing with a dog. It was a mix between a chihuahua and a toy poodle whose stature was as small as a newborn kitten. Its fur was bronze, but with the sunlight that shone upon its fur, it had a touch of light mahogany brown.

“May I pet your dog?” I inquired. “Sure,” the kid responded excitingly. I protruded my index finger up to the hound’s mouth. The pooch engulfed her fangs around my pointer as if I was red meat, and gnawed my flesh. I didn’t feel anything, not even a prick.

The frail creature had the energy of the Tasmanian Devil, the ferociousness of a lioness, and the attitude of a warthog; but she was just a pup. I let go of her, smiled, and wiped a tear from my eye. The tot guided her tyke back to her table and I lowered my head down towards the cement.

“Candy, you’re so funny,” I heard the kiddie say to her doggie a few minutes later, as she laughed her head off. I jerked my head upwards and witnessed Candy entertaining her best friend in atypical fashion. She was playing with a home-made wind decoration. Its peculiar design stuck out as a distinguishable accessory of creativity: it was unique in the sense that it could not be found in a large corporate store, yet novel because of its few constituents. It consisted of a long, thin, white piece of string that was connected to the felt roof of the bathrooms I was seated behind, and was suspended next to a pillar. Five, seven inch, grey sticks were tied to the string, with each stick almost being an equal length apart. Candy pawed at the stick furthest from the ground and grabbed it with her teeth.

She pulled it away, but it always got loose and swung away from her like a pendulum. Then it moved back towards her and lightly knocked her in the face. Candy backed away, raised her tail straight up, and grinned. When the stick stopped moving, she tried to grab the stick and repeated the same process.

This lased for about five minutes until the bambino picked up her poochie and swung her hips around like Elvis. “Oh Candy! Oh Candy! You ain’t nothin’ but a hoouuund dog!” Her voice rose as she enunciated the word “hound”, while she mimicked a dog howling. I glanced over at her parents, but they found a way to amuse themselves. The mother lifted up her cell phone in the air, took a selfie, put her phone back where it was, and continued to live in her cyber world. “I’m going to be a powerful social media influencer,” she quipped to her inattentive husband without looking at him. Although he did not reply, his body language conveyed a much stronger message: he swiped right on his phone the whole time. Neither of them could relish this precious moment of reality, of watching or playing with their daughter and dog on a lovely day. They were too caught up in their own superficial world of likes, swipes, clicks, and shares. At this point, I couldn’t handle it anymore. I left with tears gushing out of my eyes.

I sat in my executive chair and wiped the tears from my eyes with a tissue. I had just returned from a beautiful, fun, and sunny day at the Niagara River; and yet I was depressed. My day had given me fresh tears and false hopes. Every time I absorbed the sun, soaked in the fresh air, and cherished that girl and her headstrong canine, it reminded me of my own failure.

In my mind, I was a loser on account of the fact that Esther no longer wanted me in her life. Psychologically, I imagined my soul as a lost and hopeless astronaut drifting aimlessly in his spaceship, with no concern for where he was going, and only seeing the empty vastness of the universe. Physically, I envisaged an imaginary knife stabbing me in the stomach, and a sensation of throbbing pain spreading throughout my body!

As I clutched my stomach and held it tightly, I remembered Esther’s counsel. “Concentrate on something else as best as you can,” her raspy voice replayed in my head. “And focus on that while breathing deeply.”

I glimpsed around my room, but could not find any space. There were too many things to fix my attention to. My head twirled around like a merry-go-round, from one end of the room to another. I only processed magazines, books, candy wrappers-anything except actual space. My stomach and my chest tightened, and I felt like the fire alarm of my central nervous system was ringing at full blast. “Ahhh!” I screamed. I was about to scream again until I glued my eyes to the hole in my wall.

I glared intensely at the hole as I centered all my concentration on it. My body was still in excruciating pain. The pangs in my stomach and chest got tighter. “Ahhh!” I yelled. This time my pain was more vociferous than before. My eyes watered as I squinted at the hole. I opened my mouth and inhaled as much oxygen as I could. As my chest expanded and then contracted from the breathing, I felt slightly less pain in my chest and stomach. The voice of Esther was also there reminding me to breathe.

Five minutes after I began to place my focus at the hole in my wall, my body was free of physical and emotional discomfort. My stomach and chest were back to normal, and the fire alarm of my nervous system was completely turned off. My breathing had returned to eupnea. I was motionless, emotionless, and surprisingly, thoughtless.

The maelstrom of depressive and frantic ideas that normally overflow in my brain had been replaced by a sea of tranquility, peace, and most importantly, stillness. My entire body was stiff as a board, and the only thing that mattered to me was the hole that I had created.

After a long period of silent fixation, Esther’s voice came back. “Meditate to understand yourself,” her voice was repeated in my brain at a hushed tone. For the first time in my life, I realized she was correct.

While my mind was still free from the flooding of painful thoughts and worries, I moved to the floor, assumed the lotus position, and meditated. Within 30 seconds, my eyes opened-literally and figuratively-and I knew why I was in this position. It was at this moment that I realized my life was forever changed.

For the last sixteen months of my life, I was the one who was stubborn, egocentric, and did not listen to Esther. I was the one who did not take her advice, listen to her, and even screamed at her when I was angry. It wasn’t Esther who was to blame for my problems; it was me. My ego was as large as a dinosaur, and I was too pigheaded too care for her opinion.

I finally understood that she was only trying to help me. As I now realized my ego was my own worst enemy, I instantaneously killed my ego, and I decided to take advice from anyone who was willing to help me. I also called Esther immediately.

Sweat started to form on my forehead and temple as I picked up my cell phone. I wiped it off with my hand and tried to be confident. I could hear and feel my heart pumping in my chest. My hand was shaking rapidly. I inhaled deeply and got the voicemail. “Umm…Hi Esther.” My voice rose to a high pitch. I slapped my hand against my forehead. “It’s Clarence. Um…uh…it was great listening to your voice mail.” I removed the cell phone away from my head and shielded my eyes. My faced turned red as a tomato. Within three seconds, I put the phone back to my ear. “Um…” I whimpered. “Listen umm…I’m sorry…for not listening to you. You were right and I was wrong. I realize now you were only trying to help. I would still like to see you. Please call me back soon. Please.” I hung up the phone and threw it on the floor. I sat on my executive chair and pouted. “She’s not going to call back,” I said sheepishly. After five minutes of contemplation, I got up and commenced cleaning my room.

Four hours had passed from the time I called Esther. My room had radically changed. Not only did it not look like a pigsty, but it had more space than before. For the first time since I moved back in with my dad, I could see my carpet. All my books and magazines were neatly inserted in my shelf. Each was pushed in at an equal length. Not one item stuck out more than the others. All my clothes were perfectly aligned in my closet. My dresser was refurbished with brown stain, and it sparkled as great as the new ones at the furniture store. The walls no longer had posters on them. Its only blemish being the hole in the wall.

I was tired of cleaning for the past four hours. I sat down on my executive chair. I could feel my blood pulsating throughout my body, and the sweat dripping from my arms, neck, and head. I took a deep sigh. I knew I did something productive, but I could not feel the emotional satisfaction that I normally did. Although I was proud, I wanted Esther in my life. I fixed my gaze at the hole in the wall and thought of her for a few minutes.

My life was almost meaningless without her. I sighed again and checked my cell phone to see the time. “What’s this?” I screeched. “Esther left a voicemail!” I quickly listened to it. “Hi Clarence,” Esther stated enthusiastically. “I did receive your message and I accept your apology. I would like to meet with you today. I have an availability at eight. Please come by.” I jumped up and down, and was as ecstatic as that little girl I met earlier at the pier. “Yes. My therapist wants to see me again.” For a brief moment in time, I experienced a feeling of euphoria throughout my entire body. I felt like I was on cloud nine. This extreme state of happiness did not last. I checked my cell phone for the time. “7:50! I have to leave now,” I exclaimed! I rushed out to meet with my therapist.

It was one o’clock in the morning and I was relaxing at the pier near the Niagara River. I heard the sound of crickets chirping in the background. The docks were illuminated by street lights. I put my attention towards Ontario. The darkness made it impossible to see the mansions, but in their place were yellow lights. The scenic green trees from the day gave way to its nocturnal counterpart: a pitch black silhouette of itself that dotted the landscape where the trees once were.

The sky was colored extremely dark blue and had almost no cosmic matter-except its cavernous space. The water was as calm as it could be, but never found its level as that was its nature. I scanned the night sky and admired the limitlessness of space. As I looked around, the only celestial object I identified was a dimly lit star. It barely could be seen by an unobservant viewer. Although it was weak, I noticed it had potential because it was the only star out that evening. When all the other stars were absent, this one shone a light unto my world. “I’m so happy my therapist decided to work with me again,” I declared.

I felt empowered. I no longer thought of myself as lost astronaut. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I was the captain of my spaceship. Instead of floating aimlessly through space, I was now enjoying the vastness of each and every star that I saw. I stood up and smiled at my star. “Life is so beautiful,” I asserted.

As I stared out my window, I appreciated my little bright star staring back at me. I was glad that I had a star in my universe. Its bright light may not have been much, but it gave me hope that my life would get better. I said good night to my star, turned off my light, and went to bed.

The only problem I had was the hole in my wall; but I didn’t care about that. All I cared about was sleeping and living my life with purpose. I put my head against my Bamboo pillow and rested. I was ready for whatever challenge life was going to throw at me.

A few minutes later, my dad barged in. “Hey son. Oh, sorry,” he sounded apologetic “I didn’t know you were sleeping,”. “That’s okay dad.” I retorted. “Hey, can we talk tomorrow? I had a big day today and I’m just too tired.” I exclaimed.

“Sure son,” he replied. “Hey, can I ask you one question before you go to bed?” he inquired. “Yes”, I answered. “Why do you have a hole in your wall?”