Wall of Kiss

by Gina Ranalli

  Wally wasn’t amused. He stared back at her blankly.

  “Aw, honey, I’m sorry. I know you’re probably worried. No need to put on that macho act for me. It’s probably nothing a little topical ointment won’t clear up. But, first, we should wash the area with some good old fashioned soap and water.”

  She did just that, scrubbing the area very gently with a warm wash cloth and saying reassuring things to Wally all the while. “There—how’s that?” she asked, as she scrubbed the fungus away. “Feel better?” She smiled lovingly at the wall. “Now what do you say I make us some dinner? Pork chops sound okay? I know they’re one of your favorites.”

  Stopping at the top of the stairs, she turned around and looked at the wall. “Of course you don’t have to wait for dinner to have a beer! I’ll get you one right now, baby. Don’t you move a muscle!”

  * * * * *

  They ate while watching sports on TV. Well, Wally watched while the woman daydreamed. They’d been together for several months now and while, admittedly, some of the fire had gone out of their relationship, she was still just as happy as she’d ever been. They didn’t need to have sex every night, after all.

  Of course, watching something besides sports would be nice too. She thought about mentioning this to Wally, knowing that he would be his kind and understanding self, but then, given the scare with the fungus, she didn’t have the heart to bring it up just then. Tomorrow or the next day would be perfectly fine. There was no hurry.

  * * * * *

  But, the next day the fungus was back.

  The woman did her best to remain outwardly calm, but inside she was growing more and more concerned. What exactly was wrong with Wally? Should she consult a doctor?

  Broaching the subject to him though, turned out to be a mistake.

  “Honey,” she said. “No one likes to go to the doctor. But sometimes it’s unavoidable. Wouldn’t you feel better finding out exactly what it is, especially since it’s most likely nothing serious? I mean, how could it be? You never even leave the house!”

  Sitting on the couch, listening to his protests, she realized that getting him to a doctor would be next to impossible. “Okay,” she said. “How about a compromise? How about I just call my doctor, who incidentally is a very nice man, tell him your symptoms and just see what he has to say. Does that sound fair to you? Not too scary?”

  Wally didn’t like that idea any more than the first idea but, she decided, that was just tough noogies for him. She was worried about him and wanted some answers. Convinced it was just some weird virus that was going around, she simply wanted to put their minds at ease. He wouldn’t even have to know about it until after she’d spoken with the doctor and learned that, as she’d known all along, it was nothing to be concerned about. Nothing a little cream couldn’t fix.

  She resolved to call the next day from work.

  * * * * *

  Explaining the problem to the doctor turned out to be more difficult that she’d imagined. For starters, the receptionist would only give her a nurse.

  “That’s right,” the woman said into the phone, trying to keep her voice down to prevent eavesdropping. “It’s a fungus of some type. Or maybe a…well, I hate to say it, but maybe a mold.” She tapped a pen against her desk as she listened. “Well, it’s sort of…um…at crotch height I’d say. Yes, my boyfriend.”

  There was a slight ruckus on the other end of the phone and she frowned impatiently. When the nurse came back, the woman said, “Listen, I just want to make sure it’s not an STD or something. Can you at least tell me that?”

  Rolling her eyes at the ceiling, she said, “I cannot believe you just suggested consulting Home Depot! Is this some kind of a joke to you? Let me speak to the doctor! Oh, he isn’t available, huh? How convenient for you! I bet you don’t even work there! Are you just some random patient who picked up the phone?”

  The laughter in her ear was more than she could bear. She slammed down the phone, enraged. “Just wait until the doctor hears about this,” she muttered.

  * * * * *

  But Wally wasn’t getting any better and even a call to the landlord didn’t do her much good. He could only suggest a good solid scrub with hot water and a can of Lysol and as much as she hated the idea, she was running out of ideas of her own.

  She poured the Lysol into a bucket and hoped the smell wouldn’t give her away as she told Wally to stand still and let her scrub him yet again. When he asked what was in the bucket, she lied and said it was a medication she’d received from the doctor, who knew all about this type of fungal infection.

  As it turned out, the Lysol did work best of all, but not for very long. Not for forever, which was the cure she was searching for.

  With no options left, she went to Home Depot, though not for any sheetrock as the moron on the phone suggested, but for a gallon of paint. A beautiful red paint—blood red, the color of passion and heat.

  She was smiling as she left the store, thinking that this could be just the thing they needed to get a little of the old spice back.

  * * * * *

  Even Wally was happy about the solution she’d come up with. As she stroked him with the brush, laughing because he kept saying how much it tickled, it was the best she’d felt in quite a while. Eventually, she brought the brush down around his “sensitive spots” and before she knew it, her clothes were off and she was rolling against him, leaving claw marks in the wet paint, covered literally from head to toe in blood-red. She looked like a murder victim. Even her labia appeared to be bleeding.

  Afterwards, as she lay panting on the drop cloth, half-asleep and listening to Wally’s whispered sweet nothings, she realized just how bland their relationship had become and how happy and relieved she was that it was now back on the right track.

  Every relationship has its little bumps in the road, she thought, on the verge of her snooze. But, it was nothing serious. Maybe I just became too preoccupied with my job. I need to make more of an effort. He will be my husband after all.

  Through half-lidded, sleepy eyes, she gazed up at him and felt the love gushing from her heart. He stood so tall and handsome in his new red suit. A beautiful, loving mate, and just before she fell completely into sleep, she found herself wondering what kind of father he would make. The thought made her smile while she dreamed.

  * * * * *

  The next ‘bump in the road’ was a long jagged crack, zigzagging up from the baseboard of the wall to nearly seven inches above it. It wasn’t a wide crack—hair-thin actually—but nonetheless, the woman freaked out when she saw it.

  “How the hell did this happen?” she asked, bending over to examine the crack. She was trying not to sound angry, but it was difficult at first and then became impossible.

  “Oh, don’t you blame this on me,” she snapped at the wall. “I’d never do anything to hurt you and certainly not on purpose!”

  She plopped onto the sofa, arms folded across her chest, lips pressed together in a hard tight line. Glaring at the wall, she simply could not believe her ears. For nearly a full minute she was speechless. When she finally spoke, her voice was nearly as cracked as the wall. “Fine!” She leapt up from the sofa and pointed an accusatory finger at the wall. “I will put up with quite a bit, but I will not put up with this! I love you and you damn well know it and for you to hold me responsible—well, forget it, Mister! If that’s how you really feel, then maybe we just shouldn’t be together!”

  Bursting into tears, she ran for the stairs. Just as she reached the top, she stopped, whirled around and looked at the wall from her higher vantage point. “I am calm!” she screamed. “I’m perfectly calm!”

  That night, she slept in her bed, rather than on the floor beside the wall.

  * * * * *

  The following day was a Saturday, so she was stuck with the wall. She did her best to ignore him, going about all her regular cleaning chores with barely a glance in his direction. She pretended not to hear him over the loud hum of the va
cuum when she was in the living room and she certainly could not be bothered to give him his weekly scrub that he claimed to love so much.

  Instead of watching any TV that night, she stayed in her room and read a tattered old paperback. She could hear him yelling down there, pleading with her to at least turn on the television for him, but she ignored it. Let him stew, she thought. Let him stew and really think about the consequences of his words and actions. Maybe next time he won’t be so quick to place blame.

  * * * * *

  Sunday was a little better. Wally was full of apologies and she finally forgave him, though she did her best not to look at his crack and wonder where it had actually come from.

  They shared dinner and small talk before watching a movie he let her pick out. Naturally, she chose Sleepless in Seattle again. Nothing could cheer her up more than sweet sexy Tom Hanks. Now there was a man a girl could marry!

  By the end of the movie, the chill had gone out of the air and they shared a few laughs and things felt almost normal again. And though she slept downstairs beside him once more, she still refused to fuck him.

  * * * * *

  The crack remained but was seldom thought about, much less discussed. The woman came to think of it as a scar on his beautiful body and, like some scars, you do not ask where they came from unless the scar-bearer brings it up first. He didn’t, so she didn’t. They had a mutual unspoken agreement to put it behind them and get on with loving each other unconditionally.

  Sometimes, this was easier said than done.

  For instance, there was the day when, seated in her armchair next to the wall, reading aloud to him, she glanced up to look out the window. Outside, wearing skimpy cut-off jeans and a halter-top, their neighbor from across the street was washing her car. The woman shook her head, about to say something about dressing like a tramp in public, when she looked at the wall, her own eyes widening.

  “You’re checking her out, aren’t you?” She tried to sound playful, but knew right away that the wall could sense the tension in her voice. “Don’t deny it! I just saw you totally checking her out! You’re busted, Mister!”

  She listened to the wall, her eyes narrowing. “You’re only making it worse for yourself by denying it so adamantly. If you hadn’t been checking her out, you would have just laughed at me.”

  Pause.

  “Oh, bullshit!” She stood up and threw the book across the room. “If you think she’s so hot, then why don’t you just go get some, huh? If she’s so much better than me, then just go get her!”

  This time, she refused to let the wall see her cry and waited until she was safely in her bedroom with the door closed before burying her face in a pillow and wailing herself hoarse.

  That same night, however, she crept down the stairs and quietly seduced the wall. She did it not because she was horny, but because her self-esteem needed it. She needed to know that he still found her attractive and, judging by his reaction, he definitely did.

  She realized that, once again, she’d flipped out over nothing and apologized to him, whispering, “I’m sorry about earlier, baby. I know you love only me. Must have been my crazy female hormones getting the best of me again. Forgive me?”

  And with a little playful coaxing, he forgave her several times over.

  * * * * *

  Things were okay for a while. Better than okay, really. Things were back to the way they were when they’d first discovered each other and fell in love.

  The woman was back to sharing every possible moment with the handsome red wall; together they looked at the photos she’d taken that long ago day of what she considered to be their first “real” date.

  She went back to calling home from work whenever she had a spare minute or two, just to remind him of how he meant the world to her.

  And their sex life had exploded into galaxies colliding and stars going supernova. It was fireworks every night and still they were just barely satiated. It was as if they’d become adolescents again, something they’d never had the joy of being together.

  The woman was certain that a marriage proposal would be forthcoming in mere days; weeks at most.

  Briefly, she toyed with the idea of telling Wally that she’d become pregnant. It wasn’t such an impossible notion, really. They never practiced birth control.

  But, in the end, she decided against stooping to the level of some other women, so desperate as to trap a man into marriage. That was just low-down dirty playing and besides, she had no intention of breaking the vow of honesty that she’d made to him so far back in the beginning.

  A lie was no way to begin a happy, healthy marriage.

  * * * * *

  Several months passed and he still hadn’t popped the question.

  Though she denied it, even to herself, she was becoming crabbier with every passing, un-proposed-to day.

  “Would it be so much to ask for a little help around the house once in a while?” she bitched at him. “I mean, for Christ’s sake, you’re home all fucking day! Can’t you just once get off your lazy ass and do something of use around here?”

  She stood before the wall, hands on hips, awaiting a response. The wall just stared back at her, expressionless.

  “Oh, don’t give me that innocent look!” she yelled. She started to leave the room and then turned back and snarled, “You know, you can be a real son-of-a-bitch sometimes!”

  Even the name-calling—something she’d never done before—did not get a rise out of him, which infuriated her even more.

  “Okay,” she said. “Have it your way. But don’t ever expect me to dust your fucking baseboard again, do you hear me, asshole? Am I getting through that Mr. Macho tough exterior? I’d love to see you try to dust it. Just once, I’d love to see you try!”

  She absolutely could not believe that he was giving her the silent treatment at a time like this, when she was so clearly upset. She threw her hands in the air. “Okay, fuck you too!”

  Once again, she started to walk away and once again she stopped, this time to grab her favorite blue vase, which had once held such gorgeous stolen roses, and hurl it at the wall as hard as she could. It shattered on impact and left a deep ugly wound in the center of the wall. So deep, the old white paint was clearly visible through the red, but in that second she didn’t care. She was glad and hoped she’d hurt him badly. Even if he needed to be patched up, he still wouldn’t be in as much pain as she was. Not even close.

  Her teeth bared, she screamed a final “Fuck you!” at the wall and this time she did leave, though not to her bedroom. She stormed out of the house, slamming the door as hard as she could and when the slutty neighbor from across the street smiled and waved at her, she screamed, “And fuck you too, you fucking whore!”

  She got into her car and sped off in a cloud of pissed-off scorn.

  * * * * *

  It wasn’t until later that she wondered if the police might become involved. Was she now guilty of being a batterer? Even though she was a woman, she thought she probably was and the law wouldn’t care that he’d had it coming to him. That he’d been antagonizing her.

  She could only hope that if the bastard did decide to press charges, the judge would go easy on her. She’d never had a history of violence before and what were the chances that she’d done any real damage to Wally? He was 12 feet tall, for crying out loud! He was much bigger than she was—maybe she could claim self defense?

  Either way, she felt certain that he would wonder where she’d gone and, even better, wonder if she was ever coming home.

  Good, she thought. Let him wonder. Let him worry. Let him see what it feels like to walk in my shoes!

  She spent that night in a motel and went to work from there the next day, dressed in the same clothes she’d been in the day before. She ignored the strange looks from her co-workers and she most definitely did not call home to leave a message of love.

  * * * * *

  When she did arrive home, she was distressed to see a stack of bills wait
ing for her in the mailbox. She snatched them up, went inside, and marched right up to the wall, waving them in front of it.

  “You see these?” she asked. “You know what these are? They’re shut off notices! And do you know why we have shut-off notices? Because I’ve been footing all the bills on my measly salary from the crappy-ass job that I hate, that’s why! But do you care? No, of course not! You’re more than happy to let your woman bring home all the bacon while you just hang around all day, watching TV, watching that goddamn slut across the street, doing God only knows what else! Don’t you think I’d like a chance to kick back once in a while? Has that ever even entered your selfish little mind? Maybe I’d like to hang around doing nothing all day, while you go earn some fucking money and then come home to find me doing what? Hanging around, of course! And then, when you’re exhausted and aggravated from your shitty job, you could run around and make me dinner and dust my fucking baseboard! Now, wouldn’t that be a great change! Huh? ANSWER ME YOU BIG FUCKING RED ASSHOLE!”

  But, of course, the wall didn’t answer her. It just stood there looking bored and disinterested and not even slightly worried about the bills.

  She was just about to lunge at it, slam her fists into it, when the telephone rang. Glaring at it, she briefly considering ripping it out of the wall and throwing it at Wally.

  Instead, she snatched it up and yelled, “What?”