Memoir of a Wall

"If walls could talk", the woman wrapped in a beach towel said while sitting and brushing the sand from her toes. She must be referring to the frisky teenagers picnicking during sunset on the beach. I've seen this countless times over the course of my existence. It's barely worth mentioning any more. Acts of love and affection, I can kindly overlook or look the other way. Its acts of aggression, war, or heartaches that I wish I wasn't privy to. It wouldn't be long before the waves would be lapping to where the woman was sitting now. I'd be gargling salt water in some hours from now. Delicate white foam would be my midnight early morning lather. While the ocean mirrors the sky, as if reversed and lending clouds to the earth. While it dazzles in sheer silver and diamonds. I have the best view 365 days a year.

"Can you believe those two", the woman says to a man that has come up. He partially leans his boogy board against his body, the corner touching me.

"You were young once, come on."

"Young, but not so publicly unaware."

"Oh get over it prude, why so judgy. They are kissing. At least they aren't out committing thefts or some other crime."

"True, but they are oblivious to families."

"How were most families started."

"Haha okay okay I get it you are on the side of the kids."

"No side, just dont care. You ready to go."

"Yeah, dust some of that sand off. I dont want it in the car."
"Aye Aye Captain!", he saluted, "I'll  be there in a few minutes.

The woman gathers her things and walks the walkway to her car. The man uses me as support while brushing the sand from his feet. Before leaving he gazes out over the water.

"Have you ever seen something more beautiful?"

There was a group of dolphins just a little from shore. people swimming, skimming and playing paddle ball. I had to agree. The man was about to leave without his wallet and boogy board. He must really be blinded by the beauty. I creaked.

"Your wallet", I inform expecting it to be another item I'll inherit unless the sea takes it.

"who said that?", the man was looking around perturbed.

"Thank you. Wherever you are. You dont need to be afraid. I almost fogot my wallet. I want to reward you."

"Reward? I cant except money, I would have no use, but I could use some repairs.

"Who is saying this? Where are you?"

"If walls could talk what would you say?"

"I'd say you know my wife, she says that all the time, did she put you up to this?"

"I don't know your wife. Just met her today as she dusted her feet. She had said 'If walls could talk'."

"I've been here since 1952. I've been given new facades over the years. Repaired and reinforced multiple times. Sometimes I'm taller when the sea erodes the sand bank leaving me more exposed. I'm close to the sea bluff. This is what a gentleman from the costal commission has said. They are trying to eliminate me. Can you help stop them? As repayment for my help?"

"It was just a wallet?, the man scratches his head not sure what he was getting himself into.

"What the hell are you doing down there? Such a pervert, watching the two?", the woman yelled at him.

"What? No. Are you crazy! I'll be right there."

"Hurry up!"

"Um, I'll be back tomorrow. I live in town. I will be back. I want to hear some stories. I'll  look into how I can help save your structure or ummm you I guess. Bye. See you tomorrow."

"Bye.", I say expecting to never see the gentleman again. I didn't want to let him go. This had never happened in all my years. No one had talked with me. I wasn't sure how long this ability would last. Maybe it was the man.

I refected on all the traces of life I witnessed and encountered from my creation in 1952. My creator had worked harder and longer to create me in a timely manor to protect others from the hidden power of the ocean and it's waves. His blood sweat and tears were built into my structure. Mixed into the mortar maintaining my form.  He and the hands of his workers now long forgotten, washed away with the sands of that time, but I remain as a relic. I once had Bette Davis visit the beach and lean against me, after she moved from here amongst other people.

The next day the man true to his word, visited me.

"Can I sit?"

"Please, I provide many useful functions."

"This is so crazy. The things you have probably seen!"

Turns out the man is a writer and a content editor for websites. We come up with the idea of him publishing a novel, a memoir of a wall. It would be touted as fiction. The joke being it is actually non-fiction. The man gets me. He has a great sense of humor.

I reflect on my living knowledge. The floral prints and striped umbrellas of the 1950's. The drugs and surfers of the 60's. The boomboxes and music of the 80's. The loneliness of the current times while fewer people frequent the beaches.

I begin a story about a girl, Lotty. I revealed how her story was as much mine as hers . She was a runaway. She slept on me for months while she tried to find a job. She would burry her things near me each day. She had removed a stone and placed a page of her diary behind it. When the wall had been repaired, she returned. She had written all her her hopes in the form of wishes on the page behind the rock. I guess she had accomplished all of them. She put the page from her diary in the wet mortar of the new facade. I navigate him to the location. I see the amusement come over his face as his eyes lift and the wrikles soften. This small piece of proof draws him closer to me and my stories.

I tell of the kids who use to eat burgers and fries sitting on me kicking their feet against me. feeding the seagulls their leftover remnants.

"Did it hurt being kicked?"

His thoughtfulness shook me. It was dizzying for a time, but not too bad. Nothing like earthquakes. I still have fractures from those. The three children were like the three stooges. The children's drolleries kept me entertained and endeared me to them.

"Seagull poop, and the occasional dog or beach goer peeing on me even more execrable acts than the kicking. The smell only intensifies with the suns heat. Then I'd have to wait for my sea bath or the rain to come depending on the pee location. Rain is a much needed shower at times. I cant smell it myself, but I can tell when people are repulsed."

I talked, he listened and recorded notes. The gentleman promised to visit everyday.

The next day I told the story of the drug smugglers. The border patrol had used me as camouflage in the sting that brought them down. The camera had been rested on me to get the original incriminating pictures. I'd seen the hand off of large packages of marrijuana. There were two boats involved funneling the 1200lbs of drugs to shore to be sold in town and neighboring cities. I could see the beleaguered looks in the mens faces as they approached shore. The frustration and terror with the inevitable capture and arrests.

Worse was the time immigrants ran to shore. The profound looks of sincerity and joy having survived a rough trip. The hopeful looks to the possibility of a new home land as they rush the land as a football team blitzing. Some refusing to look back, already trying to forget and move on. Unfortunately another camera had rested on my walls capturing it all. I couldnt help but root for some as they climb my wall and ran to cover and dispersed, trying to fit in undetected in town. A bold act of conqconquering for these individuals. Similar to the explorers of the past; conquistadors, columbus, Hudson and Magellan.

I told stories of lovers carving their initials into me. The pain that branding caused. I told of graffiti that marked me. The people who came to clean the graffiti and beaches. I told of dead whales and seals found. How their rotting corpses, picked at by the scavengers had taught me of death and the cycles of life. I told the story of a man who had robbed a store burried the money and gun near the wall. Returning two years later to retrieve his loot. Ultimately getting away with the crime. I told of engagements, of birthday parties, of babies eating sand, of people being rescued. I told until there was nothing left to tell. Until all my secret stories and observations were shared.

"Please tell me about you now and things of the world outside of this place.", I beg of the gentleman.

"I will start when I return tomorrow. I will bring some supplies to fix a couple of your problem areas. I can't do anything too significant. It has to be under the radar because I haven't secured any approval. I can fix a eroded area and add a waterproof sealer to to help keep your cracks from worsening. I saw the ordnance that is being called upon for your removal."

"Oh yes, so the whispers are true. Well I guess I don't need to be fixed up to be removed."

"That won't be immediately. Probably 6 to 8 years. They are slow to enforce and it can still be voted on."

"So there is hope. You will work on petitioning. Any work you do will be appreciated. I'm starting to feel my age."

"You and me both", the man sympathized.

"Bye"

"Bye enjoy the view without me."

"I will, I'm not going anywhere. Ba- rump-ba-bum. I'll be here all week."

(For a brief moment the man personified the wall. He thought about what he might look like as a human before walking off smiling to himself)

The next day the man returned later than usual. He began repairing me. At times it tickled. Was cool or hot. Whatever he was doing seemed to be remedying my ailments.

"So you know I'm a writer and content editor named Jacob. I have a wife. We met when I was 30yrs old. She's a pain in the behind most times, but the light of my life. If you can understand that."
"I think I do."

"Okay. Do other walls talk?"

"I don't know, never met one. Ask another and we can figure it out."

It's true. This wall was a single free standing wall with no others connecting to it. The man stopped looked around and took a drink of water. He wiped sweat from his forhead with his sleeve.

"Dont say stuff like that. It's bad enough I think of it when I'm naked in my bathroom taking a number two or doing personal account stuff with my social security number. I keep looking at my walls like spies. So far none of them has said a word I can hear."

"Oh sorry, hadn't thought of it like that. So I'm your only unique friend."

"Yes, so far. I keep thinking maybe they dont want me to know. I threatened to puncture one the other day if it didn't start talking. My neighbors are going to think I'm a schizophrenic or crazy."

"No response?"

"Not a creak."

"May you scared them. Anyways, please continue."

"I have two kids. One is studious the other not, but very artsy. I love them."

The man told me stories of cruise ships, of camping trips, movies that they loved. He told me of his dog. He told me how one of his kids had prpared dinner and set the table. One plate of food went missing. The food was eaten before me sat down. Then the dog had swelled up because he was allergic to shrimp. He was caught as the thief. He had to be taken to the vet. I shook with laughter at how he delivered his stories.

"You need to stop shaking, or I will have to stop telling you so many humorous stories."

"I will try."

He returned and completed a little repairs eachday for two weeks. Stopping each time a person came near. He would work and talk. He told of kids toilet papering his home and the disaster it was to clean up. He told me of his home and it's remodel. I was interested in the stone and plaster used. He indulged me in all of it. He told me of current events. He told me of his parents and his childhood. Showed me the scar from where a dart went threw his hand one night in college. He even added his lucky coin to me. He said he'd carried it his whole life, it was special to him, but I could have it.

By the time the work was done we knew eachother better than most friends I think. I stood stronger. He could have been a masonry his work was so sound instead of a writer. His book, 'Memoir of a Wall', was received well. His wife thought it was inspired by her and others thought it was an ingenious perspective for a novel. I even saw a few beach goers reading it more than a few times. It brought his family closer and brought him acclaim as a writer. I was just happy to help, as it reads from the novel, and I was and am. I feel famous now, even if no one really knows it's about me. After all I have an entire book about me. We never could discover how or why we could talk. No other walls disclosed this ability. I think he preferred it this way. We are friends and always would be.

(8yrs pass)

Petitions and votes, angry letters and protests, measurements and ordinances filled the following years. I always needed work after a couple years and unfortunately Jacob got sick with cancer. He couldn't do the work himself anymore. He visited, but that was increasingly difficult. He kept me up to date with knowledge of my fate and did all he could for me. When he knew the inevitable was coming he came up with another genius idea. He took two large pieces of me. He worked hard with the city to have benches put in. He spoke with the artist Commissioned with making the benches. He asked if along with the other tiles and ceramics if he could include a special piece of something. The artist agreed. Jacob made sure it was added to the bench being placed at the same beach where I use to stand, facing out to sea on one of the legs of the bench. I was no longer a force protecting against the ocean, but I was home, where I had always been. No longer the mighty shield, but still a part of a spot providing a sitting place for children and adults looking out at sea. The other parts of me lost abilities to see after being repurposed or breaking down at the dump. There must be something unique about me and my purpose at my original location. Jacob would recover from his cancer, I like to think I helped in that too. The fresh air he was forced to take in helped his mentality I think along with our chats.

(Years Pass)

He visited for years, until he was an old man. He was here when he passed away. He had come to visit, patted me and said 'good bye old friend, sorry to leave you here alone, but I've gotten old and wish to join the sea'. I replied, "Good bye old friend, Meet you there one day". On the way up the hill he stopped at the railing for one last look. He had a heart attack. Later his family would spread his ashes in the ocean here. I know his spirit is out there and dances in the waves. My beloved author.

"Did you get all that, or do you need me to repeat any of that."

"I think I got it. I cant believe this."

"I know, it is pretty unbelievable."





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