If walls could talk

If walls could talk

If Walls Could Talk 

Addison Roy 

I take the same route everyday, I take the same train, walk the same distance and end up at the same building. I say hi to the same neighbors and have the same conversations with the same people over and over. The city is loud and full of life. And so am I. Somehow, I find comfort here. I mean hell, moving away from my small suburban town was all I have ever needed. 

I head to work, my dream job finally mine. I’m literally designing clothes for a living. This is the life I was meant to live. The bell chimes as I push the glass door open. The scent of my wildflower air freshener hit my nose as I was greeted by my co-worker, Gabby. She’s always so excited to see me for some reason as if it isn’t a Thursday and I haven’t seen her almost every hour of every day since Monday. 

She exclaims, ¨Good Morning Sunshine,¨ sarcastically. 

I grumble, ¨Morning Gab.¨

It was just one of those days, we knew we would be busy. We have a big weekend ahead of us. Prom was coming up for the surrounding schools and most of the girls from the school had gone through us to design their dresses, which is quite the task to design 60 dresses in less than a year. Most of them have been picked up and the girls have been satisfied with their results, well all except for one. 

They were all so different yet so the same. So, we worked long hours which turned into long days turning into long months, to prepare these dresses for them. When we finished one we would call the girls, they’d squeal with excitement and then come in the next two hours to pick up their creations. It was fulfilling to know people needed you, to know that you were making their days. We would finish up around 7:30 pm every night, Gabby and I would head to a nearby diner for a late dinner on most nights. We would usually be served by the same waiter. A man just around our age, tall with dark hair and a calm voice. 

He comes over and says, ¨What can I get for you ladies tonight?¨

We both answer at the same time, ¨Just water please.¨

We laugh because we often find ourselves reading each others minds. That kinda happens when you spend so many hours together. She’s like my sister, well she knows me better than my sister honestly. 

And sometimes having Gab makes me forget my family isn’t with me, she’s family. But sometimes I do find myself wishing I was still getting tucked in by my mom at night and scraping my knees playing tag with my cousins. There’s not much tag to be played in the city and especially not when you’re 22 years old alone in said city. 

But even though the city makes me feel alone, nothing compares to how I felt in my own house. If your walls could talk they’d have a million stories but since they can’t, nothing ever gets said about all that happened in the big white house down Dream Lane. So ironic that our house was on a road named that since living in that house was nothing short of a nightmare. 

As we get served our waters the waiter, whose name tag glistened in the dim lighting, reads Peter. I thank him and he asks what he can get for us. We politely ask for our usual, and he smiles and heads back to retrieve our turkey club sandwiches. 

Gabby and I begin talking about our plans for the summer, she mentions going home to visit her family in upstate New York, and says she’s been craving the great outdoors or some bullshit. Whatever that means. I guess I don’t get it because I’ve never craved any part of my hometown, rural Virginia. But that’s just me being a messed up kid of the system I guess. 

I mentioned possibly visiting my grandparents and Gabby’s face lights like a Christmas tree. 

¨You? Going to visit family? No chance!¨ 

I laughed the comment off although it kinda stung and moved on. Peter drops turkey clubs down and asks if we need anything else. I politely decline and reach for a fry on my warm plate. 

We finish the food and ask for the bill. As we walk out and part ways something takes over me, I’m not sure exactly what it was but I think it might’ve been a sense of appreciation. Appreciation because I didn’t need to leave the place I love to visit the people I didn’t. I could just be here even if I had to be alone in a bustling city. At least I was not alone in a silent four walls and a large white home full of empty promises and missing love.