by Gina Ranalli
She had to admit that once in a while she missed the wall in that way, but she was wise enough to know that they’d done their best to make it work and it simply hadn’t. She was not stupid enough to try again and have to go through the agony of another breakup.
No way. The first time had been hard enough and she needed to move on with her life. What he did with his life, romance-wise at least, was of no consequence to her.
She forced herself to keep remembering they were better off remaining just friends, even though he was obviously having a harder time making the transition. She would just have to be firm with him, always showing him that she still cared about him, but being extremely careful about not sending any kind of message that he could misconstrue.
For the time being at least, the board game was helping quite a bit. It at least kept them from going for each other’s throats.
* * * * *
Things were going smoothly enough between them that the woman finally agreed to patch up the walls dings, dents and scratches from all their past brawls.
This time, she bought spackle and not one, but two gallons of paint from the hardware store. She’d wanted to paint Wally a nice soothing shade of blue but he preferred a bright green. They made a compromise and she enjoyed letting her creative spirit loose while painting him in cheery stripes from baseboard to ceiling. He was the only wall in the house that was not eggshell white and for that alone, she couldn’t help but feel fond of him. It was times like this that she remembered why she’d fallen in love with him back in the day.
When she was finished, she stood back and admired her handy work, speckles of green and blue freckling her face. She laughed. “Oh, stop it!” she said. “I seriously doubt that I look cute covered in paint and spackle!”
Pause.
She blushed and gave the wall a little curtsey. “Well, thank you, Wally. I must say your new colors make you look quite dashing yourself.”
Then she remembered the mental line she had drawn. Sensing that she was close to crossing it, she quickly announced that she needed to clean up the brushes and cans and go take a nice hot shower.
“I had fun too,” she said over her shoulder as she jogged up the stairs, anxious to get away from the wall, but to do it with tact. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings, after all.
* * * * *
As his roommate, the woman didn’t feel it was appropriate to continue dusting his baseboards and corners and giving him the weekly dab with a warm washcloth. Unfortunately, the result of her backing off from that particular chore caused yet more strife between them.
During a commercial break one night, she couldn’t help but asking, “So, do you think you’ll ever get around to cleaning those cobwebs out of your corners?”
She’d tried to sound as nice as she could, attempting to make it seem like nothing more than conversation, but the wall knew her better than that and immediately became defensive.
“Well, what if we have company sometime?” she asked. “I’d be mortified if anyone saw you looking so grimy. They’ll look at me like I’m the slob. Besides, I keep the rest of place clean, the least you could do is keep yourself presentable.”
The program came back on and she quickly turned the volume back up to prevent an argument. But the wall didn’t forget. As soon as the next commercial came on, he was right back at it.
“How am I supposed to know ‘what company’?” she said. “Just company. It could be anyone.” Knowing where he was going with this, she beat him to the punch. “And not that it’s any of your business, but no, I’m not currently seeing anyone new. That isn’t what I was implying. I’m simply trying to make the point that a little less dust and a little more cooperation on your part could make us that much happier around here. But, if you’re going to be so sensitive about it, just forget I brought it up. Sheesh!”
The wall may very well have forgotten that she brought it up but the woman certainly didn’t.
* * * * *
One of the shows that they had always enjoyed watching together was “This Old House,” and one day the woman, while searching for old VHS movies featuring Tom Hanks, came across a bunch of videos of the do-it-yourself fixer-upper show. Excited, she bought them all and raced home to show Wally.
Curled up on the couch with a mug of tea, the woman pressed the play button and the first of the tapes started. She hummed along with the opening music, happy that she was able to find something that she knew the wall would enjoy. At least, she reasoned, it wasn’t sports.
“Wow,” she said, halfway through the program. “Would you look at that wall! I had no idea there were walls like that.”
Truly impressed, she continued to comment on the handsomeness of certain walls. For some reason, she thought doing so would almost be like complimenting Wally himself, as if all walls were related in some way, though they had never met.
She went on and on, admiring the walls, and didn’t even notice that the wall was making no contribution to the conversation. It wasn’t until they’d watched three tapes in their entirety that she noticed the wall’s sullen demeanor.
“What’s wrong?” she asked. “Don’t you feel well?”
When she received no response, she knew that once again, the wall was giving her the silent treatment. She questioned him for several minutes before she realized what she had done. “Oh my God,” she said. “You’re jealous!”
Naturally the wall denied it. Quite adamantly in fact.
“Of course you are! What else could it be? I swear, sometimes, I just can’t believe you. It’s not like I meant anything by it.”
She rose from the couch to remove the tape from the VCR. “Now you’re just being paranoid. Do you honestly think I would be saying things to hurt your feelings on purpose?”
Doing her best to remain calm and not get angry at such preposterous accusations, she said, “Well, I guess we’ll save the rest of the tapes for another time. I think we’re both pretty tired right now. I should really hit the sack anyway. Work tomorrow, you know.”
Giving the wall a quick peck goodnight, she hurried out of the room feeling as though she’d narrowly dodged yet another bullet.
* * * * *
When the dust and cobwebs continued to build up, the woman didn’t mention it again. She simply followed suit and stopped cleaning the house.
It wasn’t long before the wall noticed that dirty dishes were piling up on the coffee table and the rug hadn’t been vacuumed in quite some time.
“Why should I” she said, when the wall asked her about it. “You refuse to do your share around here, so fine. I refuse to do mine.”
All the protests in the world would not get the woman to change her mind on the matter. As a result, the two of them gained more roommates, namely swarms of fruit flies and armies of ants. The woman knew that cockroaches were probably not far behind, but she hoped that her point would have gotten across before then.
In the meantime, she simply swatted the fruit flies out of her face and stepped over the ant trails. It didn’t take her very long to adjust to her new roomies, but the wall was another story all together.
It turned out that he had a phobia of bugs and found the ants particularly disturbing.
Throwing a used tissue on the floor, she said, “I can assure you, they aren’t termites.”
The wall remained unconvinced and the woman was at a loss as to what to tell him. “You just have to trust me,” she said calmly. “I would never allow you to be eaten by bugs.”
* * * * *
The second she came home from work the next day, she dropped her purse and ran into the living room, a panicked look on her face. When she saw what the problem was, she could have killed the wall. “Jesus, you scared me to death! All that screaming about a little ant crawling on you.” She couldn’t believe the wall was being such a baby. “‘Get it off! Get it off!’” she mimicked. “I swear you sound like a little girl.”
She couldn’t help but be slightly amused at the
situation. The wall had always pretended to be so strong and macho, as if a tornado itself couldn’t harm him, as if he were bullet proof, and now here he was screeching like a banshee about an ant.
“Okay, okay. Calm down.” She tried to shoo the ant, but it was a stubborn thing that started to head for higher ground the moment it sensed she wouldn’t be able to reach it. Quickly, she pulled off her shoe and squashed the thing with her heel.
If she thought the wall was behaving like a wimp while the ant was alive, she quickly discovered that all the previous screaming was nothing compared to what he did with ant guts spread across him.
Dropping the shoe, she had to cover her ears, scanning the floor for a tissue with which to wipe off the dead creature. The wall settled somewhat once she’d cleaned it up, but she still had to go and get his favorite washcloth and give him a thorough scrubbing before the whimpering stopped entirely.
* * * * *
“I am not drunk,” she shouted at the wall one night. She waved a bottle of wine at it. “Look! It’s still half-full! And who are you to judge me anyway? You’re not the boss of me!”
She twirled around in the center of the living room, pretending she was a ballerina.
“Fuck lady-like,” she yelled. “Look who’s talking, Mr. I-Scream-Like-A-Girl! I don’t have to listen to you anymore! It’s not like you’re my boyfriend!”
Continuing to dance and drink the night away, she woke up in a heap on the floor, her head splitting, her stomach churning and Wally bitching.
She sat up, wincing at the sunlight, and coughed. Raising her bloodshot eyes to the wall, she croaked, “Don’t you ever threaten me with a fucking intervention again, you self-righteous prick! Just because you don’t drink—just because you’re Mr. Straight-Edge—don’t think you’re so superior to me.”
She wanted to lay into him even more than she did, but she had to race to the bathroom to puke and after that, she just didn’t have the energy anymore. Instead, she crawled into her bed, muttering, “A cry for help, my ass.”
* * * * *
The woman could no longer deny that she was on the prowl for a new man. There was an errand boy at her office who was starting to look like he might have some potential, despite being exactly 19 years younger than she was.
She took to calling the kid at all hours, which was not okay with the wall.
Sitting in her armchair, she covered the mouthpiece of the telephone and hissed, “Will you be quiet! Can’t you see I’m on the phone?”
Still glowering at the wall, she spoke into the phone: “Sorry about that. So, tell me about your graduation.”
Pause.
She screamed at the wall, “None of your fucking business!” Then sweetly into the phone, “Oh, I wasn’t talking to you. Go on, sweetie.”
With one ear pressed to the phone and the other with her index finger inside it, she said, “Yeah, I live with my ex. That doesn’t bother you, does it?”
Flicking a piece of lint off the knee of her pajamas, she asked, “Is that your mom in the background?”
Abruptly, she pressed the phone to her chest and shouted, “Don’t you have anything better to do than stand there staring at me?”
When she returned the phone to her ear, she was surprised to hear a dial tone. She jumped up from her chair. “This is all your fault,” she yelled, and for second time, threw a cordless phone at the wall. Instead of two pieces, this one broke into three.
* * * * *
Out of desperation, a co-worker asked the woman if she would dog-sit for a week. The woman happily obliged, stating that she loved animals more than she loved people and had considered getting a dog herself.
When she brought the little poodle home however, Wally did not share the same sentiment. “How can you hate dogs?” she asked him, honestly bewildered. “Look at this little guy. He’s as cute as a button.”
The dog struggled free of the woman’s arms and raced around the room, sniffing everything in sight.
“You are not allergic, you big liar,” the woman said. “Do I look like I just fell off a turnip truck?”
Complaints, complaints. It seemed like that was the only thing the wall was capable of doing these days.
The woman assumed the dog sided with her because for the entire week it peed on Wally’s baseboard, which he never let her forget.
* * * * *
She suspected the wall was up to no good.
“A cat?” she asked. “Why do you suddenly want a cat?”
She was munching Doritos and watching a “Boy Meets World” rerun.
“No way. It’s out of the question,” she said. “For one thing, I just don’t think you’re responsible enough to have a pet.”
Licking her fingers, she replied, “Yes, it’s true that cats are fiercely independent but I know you and I know that I would be the one cleaning its poop box and making sure it got fed and had its shots and all that crap. So, you absolutely cannot have a cat.”
But the wall wouldn’t let up. It was starting to remind her of all the times when he had wanted sex and she hadn’t, and how he’d somehow had a way of just wearing her down until she gave in and put out. Most men had that knack, it seemed. Nag, nag, nag, until you’ll do anything just to get them to shut up already.
The more she thought about it, the more determined she became to not give in. It turned into an argument of course, like everything between them always did, until she was finally able to get him to agree to a compromise. She would get him a goldfish.
“That should keep you entertained while I’m at work and if you prove that you’re responsible enough to take care of it for, say, six months, then we’ll talk again about you getting a cat. Deal?”
They had a deal, but the fish died a week after it arrived and the wall never mentioned pets again.
* * * * *
A thunderstorm startled her awake one night. Sitting up, she peered across the room, trying to see the time, but the power was out. Frowning into the dark, she called, “Wally? Are you crying?”
Downstairs, armed with two candles, she sat on the floor and did her best to comfort the wall.
“I had no idea you were afraid of the dark. Why didn’t you mention this while we were together?”
She listened, a concerned look on her face, then said, “Oh, sweetie. We all have traumas from our youth. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
Patting the wall, soothing it as best she could, she remembered her own childhood traumas, like being left alone for long periods of time, which in turn gave her an intense fear of abandonment.
“But, look at me now.” She smiled in the candlelight. “All grown up and completely recovered. I’m living proof that you don’t have to let those old fears and hurts rule your life forever. You know what they say: living a happy life is the best revenge.”
The smile abruptly slid off her face.
“What do you mean, you have no idea what I’m talking about? I’m talking about…” She trailed off. “Oh forget it. You’ll never understand. Proving yet again why we weren’t meant to be together.”
Drumming her fingers against her knees, she waited as the wall stammered around, trying to make excuses for his rudeness.
But the woman wanted no part of it. She stood up and said, “I’m sure the power will be back on soon enough. The street light will come on and you can have your little nightlight back.”
She blew out the candles. “No, you can’t keep them. That would be a fire hazard because, frankly, I just don’t trust you with fire.”
Satisfied that she had really stuck it to him, she went back upstairs and fell asleep without giving another thought to his fearful whimpers.
* * * * *
She no longer felt comfortable being in the living room in just her underwear and told the wall so with more than a twinge of annoyance in her voice.
“Yes, I know you’ve seen it all before, but now it’s different. I mean, you don’t even have the common decency to look away, for crying
out loud. That’s not very gentlemanly, if you ask me.”
Wearing a robe despite the fact that the temperature was pushing 90 degrees, she stood in the center of the room, a bottle of nail polish in her hand.
“It’s not very fair that a woman can’t even paint her toe nails in the privacy of her own living room if she feels like it. Did that ever occur to you, Wally? That I might enjoy having the damn living room to myself once in a while? No, I’m sure it didn’t. Because you are truly the most selfish ex-boyfriend and current roommate that I have ever known in my entire life. Just once, I’d like to be comfortable down here without you ogling me. And don’t try to deny it. We were together for quite a while, if you recall. I can sense when you are ogling me in that way.”
Disgusted, she took her nail polish up to the bedroom, where it was at least five degrees hotter, but at least she didn’t have to feel like a sexual object or listen to the wall’s pathetic denials. The way he insisted he was so innocent was almost enough to make her puke.
