Within the Cocoon

If walls could talk…that is the common phrase I hear all the time. I should know, I am a wall. I have seen many families reside within the room I have been watching for decades. Presently, it’s quiet, but I prefer there to be life. I enjoy observing the humans live their daily lives. Most seem to follow the same social pattern. However, there has been one particular case I have found to be intriguing. And this is the story, when I was able to witness an extraordinary transformation.

For five years I had been watching him. He was so excited when he entered the one bedroom apartment, mentioning the convenience of the building’s location and the time saving ease of commuting. He unpacked with zest, creating a comfortable environment. I waited for usually comes next: the social gathering, but was disappointed to see no signs of a celebration. Instead, aside from the rhythmic sounds of music playing from the speakers, loneliness had become his roommate. Silence was the daily conversation. Words were used only when he spoke to his mother over a rectangular device with a heart-shaped sticker on the back.

“Hey mom. Yeah, I’m fine. Nothing exciting to report.”

He wanted to say more. To bear his heart out to her about what he was really struggling with, but always hesitated.

“I know. I’ll talk to you soon…Love you.”

The conversation ended. The forlorn atmosphere wrapped around him, constricting him away from feeling happiness.

I watched as a thicket of depression gradually formed in the room around him. His days became a monotonous routine of waking up, leaving for work, returning late, eating silently in the dark while watching a lit up screen before falling back to sleep.

One hot and dark evening when there were booming noises of the annual explosions in the sky, the sounds of sobbing piqued my skin. I tuned into the sound, waiting for verbal evidence to support the reason.

“Why,” he mumbled. “Why can’t I find love?” He had curled himself in a ball and was shaking vigorously with melancholy. “I just want to be in love.”

Of course, a broken heart. Or, in his case, perhaps lack of love? Humans have an obsession with this emotion considered love. Some couples embrace it, others fight over it. The results usually end with one pour tears for it. His case matched the absence of romance.

Desolation’s heaviness increased the days following the disheartening cry for love. Several times he would perform a mysterious acts to himself, then rushing to the bathroom. His arms were wrapped in white bandages after each run. I wanted to reach out and console him. If I had a heart, perhaps I would have deeper sorrow knowing the pain he must be suffering internally.

Fortunately, he recovered and returned to his mundane routine of work, eat, and sleep. His return He continued to drown in the air of sadness, but his work life kept him from pursuing more harm to himself. During the humid nights of the seventh moon, he became excited over the screen he was glaring at. A smile crack over his face and he jumped several times for joy. What could possibly be the reason for his change in mood? I wanted to know. Time would have to be my tour guide to finding out.

When the outside temperature began to drop and the leaves had begun changing, he entered the room carrying a cardboard box. For the first time, I could see his face beaming with excitement. He quickly opened the box and stared at the contents inside. Pride pouring from his face.

“Oh my god, it’s beautiful,” he stated, digging his hands inside the rectangular cube. When his hands emerged, he was holding an article of clothing.

Compared to other male humans I have seen in the past, his choice of wardrobe was average: T-shirts and jeans. He would don the same outfit two or three days in a row. Rarely, had he returned home with new exciting shirts or pants. He also never wore any formal outfits, making me question if he even owned any suits or ties. This garment, which he held delicately in the air in front of him, had accomplished what jeans had failed to do. It erased the depression that anchored him daily. He unfolded the piece, displaying a purple and black plaid skirt.

In all my years of silently observing humans, I never witnessed a male human with a skirt before. He whipped on the skirt and beamed with excitement, twirling around in it for a few short minutes. He observed the hypnotic movement of the skirt flowing back and forth around his legs. He removed the skirt and placed it carefully back in the box. The grin on his face continued to shine until he went to sleep.

The weeks following the arrival of the skirt, brought more clothes to the apartment. There were shorts, skirts, and even dresses. With the sunlight ending earlier, he was able to maintain radiance in the room with the joy each cotton apparel’s arrival.

Snow had fallen and covered the streets and trees. The male human had begun another unusual discovery. He still had not mustered the courage to walk beyond the apartment door in his newly found clothing, but began returning home with black and white striped bags. During the dark cold days of the year, his face had become more colorful. What had begun as a sloppy mess of color, gradually became more refined and vibrant. His skills matched many female humans I have seen in the past.

These small changes to his life had begun to reconstruct confidence within him. He eventually walked beyond the threshold of the door and out into the vast world. The male I had been with was dissipating with each rise of the warming sun, being replaced with the exultation of a new life.

Who is the person in the room now? Curiosity on the transformation of the human, weighed on my mind. Was this human always a male, or were they female pretending to be male?

The winter snow began to melt, along with the manliness of the human I had been protecting for five years. The apartment no longer had human life warming it, but occasionally a different human entered the area. They walked around, inspecting the belongings, which hungered for human attention, before departing for several more days. Time crawled closer to warmer and longer days. Three moons had become full and passed, but the lonely human remained absent from the room.

On the longest day of the year, I was beginning to feel my demotion to storage unit arriving, when the door finally swung open and a new person entered. The high heels of the female walked around, rummaging through the abandoned belongings. Familiarity to this human sang within the bosoms of my concrete. Where do I know her from?

She pulled out the small black rectangular device. On the back was a heart-shaped sticker I had easily recognized. Why does she have that sticker?

“Hey! Everything went smoothly. The doctor even stated I was healing perfectly and to be patient for at least six months to allow everything to settle into place. Truthfully, I am feeling so much more like myself. My true self. The person I have always been.”

Her voice ran through my memory. Why did she sound so familiar?

“It took about three months,” she continued into the device. “No, I had someone watching my place.”

Why do I feel like I know this mysterious woman?

“Well, I can tell you that I feel so much happier now. I wish I had started earlier because I am definitely much more focused on living.”

It finally occurred to me who she was. She was the male human I had kept safe for so many years. The same human who had been suffering from depression and loneliness.

“I am hoping to go out tonight. I have a couple of girlfriends who want to have a girl’s night. I need to catch them up on the recent events of my life.”

Joy cascaded from her mouth with every syllable she spoke. She was beautiful, both outside and in.

“Well, I know I should try to find someone, but to be honest, I have found someone I love more now than ever.”

She finally found love? Ecstasy tickled my beams. It was the human moment I long for the most. When a seemingly hopeless human makes a connection with another. Witnessing the expressive feeling of love creates warmth on my surface paint. If anyone deserved it, it was this human.

“Who is she? Mom, seriously? Me, of course! I never thought I could love myself as I do right now. Regardless of any future adversity, I finally found the love for me.”

She found enough strength to embark on a transformative journey to eventually uncover self love. The most powerful of all human love.

Shortly after her return, she packed up and moved out of the apartment. I am currently waiting for the next resident to enter. It is the circle of stationary life. Like I said, I observe many humans and witness different forms of interaction. Through the years, I have a gained a sense of what love is, though I have never experienced it myself. No matter who the next tenant is, witnessing the beautiful transformation of that one particular human will always be a glorious moment for me to share…That is, if walls could talk.