Behind the Wall

It was as all things are, imperfect. His love was part of the failings of an antiquated system long overgrown with the vines of corruption. There was only misery within the proverbial institution and damnation outside of it. Life was a trap built by his own hands, structured by the ill-fated decisions of his younger self. He was condemned to this until death, and even then it was rumored that it might continue. People looked up to him, how could he share his discontent with them if they looked to him for guidance? He was seen as successful, happy, the guy who had it all figured out, a pillar of the community. He cared for this community; it was one of the last few things he genuinely cared about.

Many nights he worried what people would think if he should show his weakness, the cracks in the pillar ran deep. He worried that the whole building might topple in on itself; all those that depended on him would be lost. His fears and insecurities built a wall, so high and so vast that none could go past, but only look at the outside. To others this wall had a wonderful façade to look upon, but behind the wall he festered in his contempt for himself. He longed to speak the truth, but he knew the truth was not freedom; the truth would lead him to lose everything.

He was not always like this and he is not a bad man, he simply is not happy. He tried, at first, to make things work; to do things to bring back his joy, but as every attempt failed one after another it became easier to simply carry the weight behind his wall. There was a time when he was so strong in his love that he would do amazing, ridiculous, wonderful, foolish things for that love. Now he endured with no end in sight, he longed to put away the world.

The world cannot be simply put away, at least not forever. He had to deal with it in suffering, silence so strong it was deafening in the dark of the night. Every day he sat and stared trying to focus on simple things, matters that had nothing to do with his current state. He thought of baseball, a local business, a new billboard, and the menial tasks of his work. Despite his efforts to keep his mind empty of any thought of true consequence he was always drawn back to his darkest burden that he kept behind the wall. He wondered, if there were a God would he be proud of him? Or would God want him to speak the truth, even if it meant damnation by the rules of the common faith? He did not want to be condemned, but he had to be true to himself sometimes.

To accomplish this he took trips out of town, these he labeled as vacations, but they were not relaxing. He always had an agenda, something he had to do, something he looked forward to and kept him going. When he was most buried behind his wall, to the point of breaking, he would go far from his home to seek an embrace. This embrace was the pinnacle of self-indulgence, worship of one’s own spirit above all else. He put away his normal subdued clothing and donned his new persona, a glimpse beyond the wall.

He would feel such a rush of exhilarating, mind altering, and welcome freedom on these trips. Every time he loosed himself the embrace was so overwhelming that his mundane life seemed bearable. He shed all concern for himself, for his obligations, but he could not shed the responsibility he felt to his community. This trip, like a rendezvous with a strange lover, was only temporary and he would have to return to the home he came from, even though he wished he could stay. The trip was always brief but in its brevity it was special, almost infinite in its meaning to him. After he had taken as much as he dared from the forbidden fruit he would prepare to return to his community.

Another morning brought the light shining in the windows of his all too familiar room. He glanced about waking from his first night back almost hoping his real life was just a dream, but reality set in as he began his morning rituals. He stepped up to the sink to wash his face and for a moment as his finger touched his lips he felt a shiver run down his spine, a memory of his trip returned to him and he stood frozen in that moment until he heard a knock.

“We are going to start in five minutes,” a familiar voice called through the door. “We wanted to let you sleep in but we are getting worried you are not up yet.”

“I am fine,” he said still with his two fingers touched to his lower lip. “I will be there in a moment,” he assured the voice on the other side of the door.

“Great I will let them know,” the voice responded.

He pulled his fingers away from his lips in a rush as if to hide it from himself. His clothes were hanging by the bathroom and he was quick to dress as he tucked away the memories of the trip he had been on so that no one could glean them from surface of his mind. He exited his chamber and proceeded down a small hallway dimly lit towards another set of doors. He could hear chatter on the other side of the door and took a deep breath. He hated what came next, but he had to do it for the community. He adjusted his collar and opened the door. The pews of his congregation were full and he was ready to deliver the sermon he had written before he left for his trip. The community needed him and they could never know the truth.