The Wall

FEATURED in The Writing.Com Newsletter - Mystery: Beginnings, Middles & Ends - Editor's Picks, November 24, 2010

He was in the basement watching his favorite program on TV, Swamp People. He simply loved watching those Louisiana tough guys from the Bayou catching nasty gators in those deep waters. He just loved to hear their Cajun accents and watch their rogue attitudes; they were the meanest sons of bitches ever in the planet. Oui. Ça va bien!  Nothing compared to them in this whole wide world - not even the Crab Catchers or the Ice Road Truckers. They got up early, rode those small boats up long, twisted rivers which looked like living mazes and they hunted big, hungry monsters with mean yellow eyes and nasty attitudes. Then, while one man pulled the alligators with a long rope that had a stinky piece of rotten chicken stuck in their throats, the other man had to aim the rifle to shoot and kill the beast - in a tiny little spot in their heads – and, all this, before they started twisting and rolling and maybe even pulling them into the dark waters. Très bien! He admired them. Tough, real tough guys. The swamps fascinated him. He thought he’d never ever have the guts and the courage to do something bold. But, what could he do best? He often thought about that and it really depressed him. His life was boring yet he never had the courage to change and do something really different.

Raymond Johnson was a loner. While drinking his Bud and staring at that white wall in front of him, Raymond Johnson thought about his life. What had he ever done which was different, really different? He sighed loudly. He stared at his feet with the dirty socks and thought about his job. A handyman. He was a handyman and would always be… a handyman and the janitor for the same high school he had gone to years before. All of his friends - Paul, Joseph and Benjamin had succeeded in life, had careers, had a family… but what about him? Nothing. Nothing at all. Just this boring job and a room in the basement which belonged to the high school. It was a big room, with a little bathroom and the furnace, way back. That was his home. He had a bed, a desk with a lamp, a table and a chair, an old closet and a soft red couch near the TV which was right in front of that big white wall. Ah, that big white wall. It was so plain that it often disturbed and distracted him. He needed to paint it or cover it with family pictures but, of whom? He had no family. There were no photographs by the bed on his bed-side table - so posters, maybe. Yes, he might order the Swamp People poster. It would look nice. That basement was his most private place and his little piece of heaven. He had no other place to go. He had nobody to go to.

He got himself another beer and switched the TV off. He had always planned in changing the color of the wall or doing something about it --- move the couch right in front of it; move the TV closer to the bed. That was a real bleak wall and it made him feel depressed. He really needed to do something about it but… TV and beer after working from 9 to 5 in that school --- fixing faucets, mending pipes, cleaning rooms, dealing with teachers and kids was simply enough… yes, those nasty kids that laughed at him and called him names --- all that was enough for him at the end of the day. He took it all quietly. Accepted it as part of the job. Did that mean that he wasn’t brave enough? No sir, it didn’t, yet, he needed to do something about his life right now and, for starters, do something about that wall! That would make him feel better.

Raymond searched for the 5 cans of paint. During one of his long walks he saw the cans sitting there, in front of an abandoned house. He took off his white janitor’s uniform and put on his blue jeans overalls. He smiled. He was about to make a difference in his life!

He went to the small kitchen, washed his dirty hands and looked at himself in the little mirror which was next to the small sink. He was tall, well built and blond. His blue eyes were really nice and he liked them. Raymond also liked his thin mustache over his lips and he liked the way he combed his long hair, in a yuppie ponytail, behind his back, kind of a Willie Nelson look. He was becoming older and wiser but,  when he opened his mouth, he… stuttered. Damn stutter. This was the reason women, normally attracted to him, disappeared when he said the first three words. He smiled at his reflection and cleaned a small dirty spot on his golden tooth then he dried his hands. I am going to paint that damn wall! Change it. Make it look nicer --- for me, right now! Something needs to be done; I need to change my routine, my life.

He sat in front of the wall and looked at it closely. There it was. It was always there - that same dark spot which… disturbed him… during the day (and night), as if somebody was there, peeping through it, observing him. Sometimes he thought it was a spider or a fly because it… moved slightly – but it wasn’t. Other times, he swore he saw an eye, watching him - but it was a spot with a little hole inside it. Did that spot have a life of its own? But how could this be?  I’m nuts, that’s it! I’m nuts, it’s boredom. How could a spot on a wall make you feel uneasy? A spot is a spot - not a hole.

He opened the cans of paint and was happy to see that he had green, blue, red, black and yellow paint. He could mix them and make other colors. Immediately, he started to paint. First, he covered that dark spot but he had to put a lot of white paint over it as the spot seemed to be somehow... empty; it was sucking the paint like an endless black hole. Finally, after many attempts, he managed to cover that mysterious spot.

And so, little by little he realized a picture in his mind; one which demanded a place in this world – and it would be only his. He worked on that wall off and on but more on than off, especially after work and shortly he realized it was --- very good. He was proud and surprised at himself. Every now and then he thought of telling someone about the mural on the wall, and each time he thought about it he dismissed the idea.

Over the next weeks, he worked hard and was more than happy to come to his room at the end of the day. No more TV. No more sitting alone, unproductive. He never felt so good in years. He forgot about swamps and teachers, kids and clogged bathrooms.

The wall had a picture now: a deep blue sky, white clouds and dark green trees and lots of vegetation - a forest, deep in the mountains. He didn’t know where all this came from but he was inspired. It finally occurred to him that, when a young boy, he had always wished his parents had sent him to Boy’s Camp for the month. They never did because of his epileptic attacks and they wouldn’t take chances with him. He loved the outdoors and the wild life, he loved that feeling of freedom by simply being outside, somewhere. He silently cried in his room when his parents told him that he wouldn’t go. All his friends were packing and talking about going fishing, swimming, hiking and eating marshmallow by the camp fires. He never forgot that day - he felt betrayed by both his parents and by God.

While painting his mural he lost around 10 pounds – maybe because he had quit drinking beer and, he wasn’t sitting in front of his TV as much as he used to. Maybe that was the point – or, maybe it wasn’t. He wasn’t sure. He painted and painted and forgot about time, day or night.

He wasn’t too aware of what he was doing, which was, painting a mural and making it look like a big forest  but he kept going – it was a place where he could escape to and find peace and quiet. He could go fishing there, he thought, for long hours. Go for long walks. He could make a camp fire. Build a tent with branches. He’d climb trees and go hunting. Look for wild berries. All of those… endless possibilities. Nobody would disturb him or make fun of him. He felt good. He smiled. He felt brave enough to make real good changes. He had to find the hidden power in his truth.

One night he noticed the… change when he fixed his eyes firmly on the wall and noticed that it was as if the forest was becoming… real. He blinked his eyes and looked at the concrete floor, then back to the mural and it was becoming … alive! Was this really happening? He heard the wind blowing and the green, yellow and red leaves of the green and brown trees were moving softly. He heard the soothing wind. He felt goose bumps on every inch of his body and thought that he was becoming crazy. He heard the noises of distant birds, hidden in the depth of this beautiful 3D mural and he felt something pulling him inside it, like a strange longing force - this was crazy! He approached the wall and, cleaning his face with a bandanna, he lightly touched the paint on the mural which he had been working on for over many weeks. He looked closely - it was night, quiet, warm and mysterious in there. He liked it. And, this time, Raymond was sure it was real because when he stretched his hand it simply slipped and went… through the mural and into… another place, into an unknown world in the… wall! Was this Paranormal Activity? His heart was beating fast - and, with the woods slowly surrounding him he stepped nervously into the forest and immediately became part of the dampness and noises. There were stars in the sky. He looked back and saw the room, the TV, the couch and the 5 open cans of paint on the floor. He saw that it was still daylight in the basement --- the afternoon sun rays were coming from the small, broken window but inside that marvelous forest… he could hear the sounds of birds settling for the night. Where was he? What was this? What was happening? He knew night was coming but he had to continue, he had to walk into this…surreal place. He smiled. Maybe he was dreaming but it was a good dream and he didn’t want to wake up. Without hesitating, Raymond took three steps more into the wall and he was gone --- as if he was enveloped by the protective branches of the tall trees, the moss and the silence. He never turned back. He never looked back.

When he was walking by that clearing again, deep down in the forest, he noticed a tiny shiny spot, standing there, in that empty space in between the thick tree trunks. Why hadn’t he noticed that brilliant spot before? Was it because it was getting dark? What was it doing there? He had been so busy that he hadn’t noticed that light before. He dropped the pieces of wood and the fish he had caught on the wet grass. Curiously, he got closer to the spot, placed his head against it and peeped into the hole. His eyes couldn’t see well because it was so bright in… there. He needed to get accustomed to the light. When he finally did, Raymond saw a man, a man in a room, in another dimension, on the other side of this hole, watching TV and drinking beer. He looked sad and bored. He stared in amazement. Why was he there? Did he know him? Puzzled, he blinked his eyes. He cleaned his forehead with his bandanna and looked again. Surprised, he recognized the man sitting quietly on the other side of his forest. It was… him, Raymond… just sitting there and doing nothing. Nothing at all.



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