The first crack appeared in the kitchen, after I went veggie and you gorged meat feasts. Unable to abide imperfections, I smoothed wallpaper over the offending gap, then turned my back.
The second fissure sprung in the dining room. I wanted pink walls. You wanted grey. It took a lot of paper and paste, but I was proud of my handiwork.
The third split crept up as we fucked, after I said I wanted a baby after all. You spat stories of sleepless nights and pound signs racing like rapids from our lives. You wore a condom to protect your seed from my warm, welcoming womb. I stayed up, fault lines looming in load-bearing walls faster than I could paper. Sleep came fitfully as dawn broke. When I rose, cavities were linking arms. Soon there were no walls, just holes.
As you fell into the void, I saw our wedding, your warm body pressed into mine, our hearts rhythmically entrained. I could smell the powerful scent that is you. Warm tears sat gently on my cheeks.
You were now a dot on my horizon. I hurled paper and paste into space, as a tortured howl climbed from occult depths. I knew what I must do.
I called the us from the past, beckoning them into our hollow house. They followed, smiling, still joined.
The dot grew bigger, nearer, more you.
As we merged with wedding-day-us my body punctured, re-membered resentments inking my skin.
Then warmth flowed through me, melting pain. I examined my newly-lined hands, the price of wisdom.
We walked round the house holding hands, feeling and tapping each wall to know its solidity. Though the surfaces were rough and mottled, there were no cracks. And the walls were pink, with grey paintwork.
Bonnie Meekums published her first novel, A Kind of Family, with Between the Lines Publishing in January 2020. Bonnie lives in Greater Manchester with her husband, various offspring she’s never entirely confident have finally left, and from time to time grandchildren, whose size is inconsistent with their conviction that they rule the roost. To relax, she grows vegetables that misbehave even more than the grandchildren, walks in the hills, reads and dances. Find Bonnie at @bonniemeekums and mamabonnie.wordpress.com
