The Wall

Every morning when I looked at it the wall frowned back at me.  Occasionally it would look glum or even pleasant depending of course on how low your standards of pleasant are, but at me it always frowned. The frowning, in my opinion, was totally uncalled for because I couldn’t think of a single time when I had been rude or…. no wait….. I think there had been a time when I scribbled the word F&*K YOU over and over again. It was the time when I was railing against the world for making me so singularly stupid that I couldn’t score beyond a C+ however hard I tried. I mean, seriously, did I have any brain space, or even any brains?

That was one time. But ever since I can remember the wall had this brooding, moody look about it. Like, as if it was holding secrets deep within itself. Secrets, that if spilled would bring an end to many relationships. But no dark thoughts today. The clouds were ringlets shot through with sunlight, the breeze was cool and the flowers were laughing back at me. I was not going to let the wall deflate my happiness.

As far as walls go, this one was nondescript. It was old, peeling though it did have a dirt and grime soaked dignity about it. In some places it had gouged out holes giving it a leering, drunken look. But there were patches where it had a starched, well-preserved look. And the shadows that it threw were always, dark and mysterious. I could’ve sworn that I once saw the shadow of a man in a beret smoking a pipe even though when I looked around there was no one who fit that description. If only it could speak!

This morning someone had thrown a cup of coffee at the wall. The cup spun in the air for a few seconds and then it was gone, broken into pieces leaving a dark coffee stain behind. Perhaps it was a sign of passion gone wrong. Or maybe, just maybe, it was someone getting back at the wall for frowning at it. There was an air of sad resignation as it absorbed the coffee and the anger with calm forbearance. I almost felt sorry for it. The least I could do was scribble something in sympathy. So I wrote PEOPLE SUCK! The marker I was using ran out of ink somewhere between LE and S. My vehemence appeared muted.

Tomorrow there will be men with tools to break the wall. It is going to be rebuilt. Made higher. And stronger. And repainted. All this was said in a gush by the neighbour who seemed delighted by this change in the wall’s fortunes. I’m always amazed at people’s enthusiasm for newness as if it signifies a change in their fortunes. The tone of voice is always tightly ringed with hope and pleasure. I suppose that’s a good thing. The fact that the wall is undergoing a significant face-lift. Maybe now it will smile back at me.