We were somewhere else. The walls. We were living, in the walls.
If I moved, my mother’s voice, her whisper, grew serious. The instant I was still, she resumed her listening.
I was uncertain why she listened. For fear of what, she would even quit breathing.
I too began to listen.
The door. It opened. We both heard it. Then the tread, the cautious tread of someone. She was stiller, my mother, and more silent, than when she slept.
Her heartbeat. I could feel my mother’s heart, in her harm. It beat faster, as the footsteps moved closer. They were soon so close…
It quivered. My mother’s heart quivered.
Someone touched the wall. I felt her hand, my mother’s hand, slide over my mouth, and hold it. Her forehead touch my own.
Her tears filled my ear. They ran, at last, down my back.
And the wall cracked open.
Rolli’s latest book is The Sea-Wave.
Buy him a coffee.