A space between the walls.
It was there when we moved in. Me and my dog. Just us
Right at the end of the hallway. You could barely see it. Just where the house turned, where the light barely reached. Barely casted a shadow.
I didn’t think nothing of it.
All I wanted was to retrieve the dog toy.
It had just happened to roll down the hall. It didn’t mean to.
It was his favorite ball. He just flung it, it couldn’t be helped.
I went down the hall. It had to have bounced somewhere. It was bright yellow - the obnoxious kind of ball that squeaked broken when it was chewed.
The kind that lit up fluorescent when light shone on it.
I used my phone flashlight, assuming it had rolled under a cabinet or the vase by the bathroom.
Well, until I caught the bit of yellow in the corner.
I crouched, directing my phone light.
On the ground, at the end. In the space in the wall.
I reached for it with my arm. I got to shoulder length, collarbone smushed against the wall.
My phone goes between my teeth, flashlight shining partially in the flesh of my cheek and in the expanse of nothingness. But there was the ball.
It looked like an easy fit.
I slotted my arm through. Easy shuffle, and next dips my chest. I had to suck in, but I fit. Phone still in my mouth, flash still on the ball.
I can get in, I can get out.
Nudging the toy with the sole of my foot.
My fingers grip the wood in front of me, pressing into it and shimmying. Got to get out.
It rolls to the very end, where I came out of.
Not all the way, but there.
It was suffocating feeling. Being between the two walls was becoming panicking.
Like sand being stuffed into your lungs. Filling your throat and weighing you down.
Then the fear. Frantic movements when I realized no, I cannot get out the way I came in.
Heavy breathing. Saliva coating the back of my phone, still in my mouth.
I don’t remember when I dropped it, I just remember that it fell.
I remember being stupid enough to crawl into a space that wasn’t meant for people.
I remember staring at something other than the bit of light that shines from the entry way. Head stuck tilted to the left, check pressed against the splintered wood paneling.
In the direction of that damned dog-toy, the bright yellow faded into a dust-covered grey.
The dog just comes and stares. Waiting.
Waiting for the ball that neither of us couldn’t quite reach.
He doesn’t come by anymore.
I don’t see my dog anymore.
I don’t hear my dog anymore.
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