longer avoid the living room, she took a deep breath and ran her fingers through her hair, trying to neaten it as best she could. She didn’t want to look like a slob in front of the wall, but she also realized that it couldn’t be helped. She was in cleaning mode after all, wearing old sweatpants and a T-shirt advertising Rolling Rock beer.
Simultaneously nervous and excited, she plunged down the three steps into the living room and got to work, once again doing her best to avoid eye-contact with the wall. Eventually, though, it became unavoidable, as she had to vacuum the floor directly in front of the wall’s feet. When she got to that part, she was calmer than she expected to be and slowed her pace significantly, moving the vacuum back and forth leisurely, being careful not to bump the wall’s baseboard. She smiled shyly at the wall, her eyes fluttering without her even realizing it.
“ I’m sorry I’m such a mess,” she shouted over the sound of the vacuum. “But, it’s cleaning day. What are you gonna do, right?”
The wall made no response, but she giggled and dropped her eyes to the floor, happy because she knew the wall didn’t care what she looked like, didn’t care that her hair hung in stringy tangles and she was wearing dumpy clothes. Didn’t care that she wore not a single smear of makeup.
It was then that she knew she was already—against her better judgment—falling in love with the wall.
* * * * *
That night she decided to eat her dinner downstairs in the living room. She made a simple meal—macaroni and cheese and hot dogs—and brought out the TV tray so she could eat comfortably and watch a movie.
As the meal progressed, she began to feel more and more uncomfortable about eating in front of the wall. Eventually, she put her fork down and looked at the wall straight on. “I feel so stupid,” she said. “It never even occurred to me that you might like to share my dinner. I’m such a knucklehead sometimes.”
Looking down at her plate, she saw that she was almost finished and that made her feel a little sad and even more foolish. She picked the plate up and held it out to the wall. “You’re welcome to it,” she said and tried to smile.
Quickly, the smile slipped from her face and she put down the plate. “I’m sorry,” she said, without looking up. “I feel terrible.”
She put the plate aside and tried concentrating on the movie, but the situation was just too awkward. She turned the TV off. “I guess I’m just too tired from all that cleaning,” she lied. She stood up with the plate, regarded the wall with regret. “Well, I guess I’ll just say goodnight then.” She stared at the wall. It stared back and made no response. “Ok,” she said. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Goodnight.”
And she sadly trod up the stairs, put her plate in the sink and then went to bed. She spent the night tossing and turning, wondering how on earth she could have been so unthinking. It would be a miracle if the wall wanted anything to do with her again after the awful display of rudeness that she had shown.
She prayed the wall would forgive her and vowed to make it up to him tomorrow. She would make it a very special day for the wall. He would see. And after that, he would have no choice but to realize how sorry she was and he’d have to forgive her.
* * * * *
The following day, she was up bright and early, showered, put on her best dress—the yellow one with the purple flowers—applied makeup and did her hair the way she knew most men like it: thick and wavy and able to be tossed over her shoulder or tucked behind an ear, especially to convey a deep interest in what they were saying. Deep listening. That’s what that gesture meant to men and there was no denying that most of them found it incredibly sexy.
Once she was ready, she stood at the top
Simultaneously nervous and excited, she plunged down the three steps into the living room and got to work, once again doing her best to avoid eye-contact with the wall. Eventually, though, it became unavoidable, as she had to vacuum the floor directly in front of the wall’s feet. When she got to that part, she was calmer than she expected to be and slowed her pace significantly, moving the vacuum back and forth leisurely, being careful not to bump the wall’s baseboard. She smiled shyly at the wall, her eyes fluttering without her even realizing it.
“ I’m sorry I’m such a mess,” she shouted over the sound of the vacuum. “But, it’s cleaning day. What are you gonna do, right?”
The wall made no response, but she giggled and dropped her eyes to the floor, happy because she knew the wall didn’t care what she looked like, didn’t care that her hair hung in stringy tangles and she was wearing dumpy clothes. Didn’t care that she wore not a single smear of makeup.
It was then that she knew she was already—against her better judgment—falling in love with the wall.
* * * * *
That night she decided to eat her dinner downstairs in the living room. She made a simple meal—macaroni and cheese and hot dogs—and brought out the TV tray so she could eat comfortably and watch a movie.
As the meal progressed, she began to feel more and more uncomfortable about eating in front of the wall. Eventually, she put her fork down and looked at the wall straight on. “I feel so stupid,” she said. “It never even occurred to me that you might like to share my dinner. I’m such a knucklehead sometimes.”
Looking down at her plate, she saw that she was almost finished and that made her feel a little sad and even more foolish. She picked the plate up and held it out to the wall. “You’re welcome to it,” she said and tried to smile.
Quickly, the smile slipped from her face and she put down the plate. “I’m sorry,” she said, without looking up. “I feel terrible.”
She put the plate aside and tried concentrating on the movie, but the situation was just too awkward. She turned the TV off. “I guess I’m just too tired from all that cleaning,” she lied. She stood up with the plate, regarded the wall with regret. “Well, I guess I’ll just say goodnight then.” She stared at the wall. It stared back and made no response. “Ok,” she said. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Goodnight.”
And she sadly trod up the stairs, put her plate in the sink and then went to bed. She spent the night tossing and turning, wondering how on earth she could have been so unthinking. It would be a miracle if the wall wanted anything to do with her again after the awful display of rudeness that she had shown.
She prayed the wall would forgive her and vowed to make it up to him tomorrow. She would make it a very special day for the wall. He would see. And after that, he would have no choice but to realize how sorry she was and he’d have to forgive her.
* * * * *
The following day, she was up bright and early, showered, put on her best dress—the yellow one with the purple flowers—applied makeup and did her hair the way she knew most men like it: thick and wavy and able to be tossed over her shoulder or tucked behind an ear, especially to convey a deep interest in what they were saying. Deep listening. That’s what that gesture meant to men and there was no denying that most of them found it incredibly sexy.
Once she was ready, she stood at the top
Similar Books
