Goose Egg Blue Wallpaper - Hannah Gryszka
She motions to it. “I’ve always hated it. It has always been something I’ve been meaning to do; getting rid of it” she tells me as I sit at her solid wooden table, rolling my eyes.
I hate to admit it but she’s right. It clashes against her western artifacts. Something about little sombreros and cacti just shouldn’t be framed by a country blue. Memories that paint a desert feel so off against something so significant as a 50s housewife’s fantasy.
Everything in this house is so purposeful, despite her not thinking so. If you pointed out the reddish gold fur that just so happens to blend in with her wooden floors, she wouldn’t believe you.
The house holds as many memories as its residents, if not more; from Mother Marry looming over the staircase like a guard dog ready to pounce to the Christmas ornaments that tell stories of decades worth of adventures. There are even urban legends told of the exorcisms that have once been performed there; legends only suggested by the left over bottles of holy water in the master’s closet. She keeps them there for a rainy day.
Sometimes the house finds hidden treasures like the deck of tarot cards that her mother left, along with the memories of X-Files marathons or the confusing collection of Princess Diana memorabilia that tell a tale of loss and Prozac.
If you look closely, you might even find a small set of eggshell white teeth scattered somewhere in a corner; along with a small rodent skeleton, forever sleeping in a clear casket.
Even this house’s residents are perfectly crafted and molded to her wonky aesthetics. Her every move is observed and sometimes even absorbed by four sets of brown eyes; her little surveillance cameras. She’ll always let you know that these eyes get on her nerves, but she’ll never let you know just how much she loves, how much she cares for brown eyes.
Although, you can always tell. She hoards memories like she’s running out of time. Her childhood is a blur and therefore mine has always been in 4k. Her most prized collection of all will always be the perfectly, meticulously crafted shrine she built in memory of me. Albums full of days past and pizza boxes full of discarded art projects flood every storage space.
Even now, as I sit far away from this house and its pizza boxes, I can’t help but reminisce about that goose egg blue wallpaper.
-h.g