Secret

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4 responses to “Secret

  1. Allison

    There are few things more exquisite,
    Than a secret between friends,
    In your bosom burns delicious,
    As you hold it deep within.

    Sometimes you want to share it,
    As you would a stolen glance,
    But the more you keep its whisper,
    The more your hearts will chance.

    And if you keep its silence,
    Then your friendship from before,
    Will grow deeper, for your secret,
    Leaves you friends, but makes you more.

  2. Surly Temple

    “What is that?” I demanded.
    “It’s a butterfly knife,” Andrew said, shiny new toy whirling and flashing between his fingers. “Watch this!”
    “Where did you get it?”
    He paused, and gave me a wide-eyed innocent look. “Um, I got it from this guy.”
    “This guy.”
    “Uh-huh.”
    “A random guy.”
    “Yes.”
    “You were just walking down the street, and you saw a guy, and thought to yourself ‘I’ll bet he has a knife he’d be willing to give me’ and he did?”
    “That’s right.”
    I sighed deeply. “Let me suggest another scenario. Perhaps, say, at about one thirty in the morning you and Josh decide to drive to Vegas to buy Clove cigarettes. While there you find a guy to buy you a bottle of Wild Turkey because neither of you remembered to bring your fake IDs, and the guy also happens to have knives for sale. You and Josh each purchase one, and spend the rest of the trip home pretending to be the Sharks and the Jets from ‘West Side Story’ while filling your lungs with clove-scented fiberglass and old man whisky.”
    He eyed me nervously. “Um…there may also be a possibility that something like that happened.”
    “Just a possibility?”
    “Well, can we ever know anything for certain? Nietzsche said—“
    “Nietzsche,” I interrupted, “did not show up two hours late to pick up his girlfriend unshaven, unshowered, reeking of booze and cigarette smoke. Nietzsche also probably would have had friends that didn’t squeal on him.”
    “He told you!” Andrew whined, momentarily forgetting the flashing blade.
    “Of course he did,” I said. “You know Josh can’t keep a secret.”
    It was nothing but the simple truth. Josh and I had a history, and the sort of relationship where I was not fooled by his Eddie Haskell charms…and if he persisted in trying to deny something I could always pinch him. So when Andrew had failed to materialize at the appointed hour I’d called Josh’s cell phone and didn’t even have to ask. He gleefully volunteered the entire evening’s escapades, adding that his knife was way cooler, and way bigger, than Andrew’s. “Give it up, Freudboy!” was my parting shot as we hung up.
    “Want to see a neat trick?” Andrew now asked, now opening and closing the blade with an adroit wrist flick.
    “Not particularly.”
    “C’mon, it’s really cool.”
    “You’re going to cut yourself,” I predicted. “And I’m going to let you bleed like a stuck pig. You just better not do it on my carpet.”
    “You have no faith.”
    “I have experience. You and Josh with knives is like giving a three year old a cattle prod.”
    “So a guy comes up behind me and attacks me,” he demonstrated, “and I go gah! And get him under the ribs.”
    “Look, Bernardo, Riff goes down from a three-inch Swiss Army knife in his pancreas. After DANCING through a fight. Real life isn’t like the movies.”
    “I’m going to hone this to a razor sharp point,” he said. “I’ll carve my name into my kills.”
    “This is Cedar City, Utah! There are no gangs! Who is going to attack you? The bag boy at Albertson’s?”
    “When he does, I’ll be ready for him!”
    “I’m serious, Andrew, somebody’s gonna get hurt,” I insisted. “Give me the knife.”
    “Hah! You’re just jealous!” he said, increasing the tempo of his maneuvers. “Look at this!”
    “I don’t want to look,” I protested. “I just want to sleep at night knowing that you aren’t wandering around with seven inches of dubious steel in your pocket waiting for Chino to show up with a gun.”
    “Watch this!”
    “No!”
    If I had been watching, perhaps I would have seen one of the handles part with the other handle-and-blade combo and head directly for my face at a speed exceeded only by raptors dropping on their prey. But then again, maybe not. I’m not exactly strong on the reflexes department and I don’t know that witnessing its flight would have helped me suddenly develop an ability to catch, or duck.
    The handle struck the center of my forehead with a coconut-cracking thump. I windmilled backward and sat, hard, on the asphalt and two inches of tarry gravel that passed for road repair. Andrew, to his credit, rushed over to me to administer aid and assistance—which primarily consisted of crouching down next to me and going “Uh…are you okay?”
    “Fine,” I said through gritted teeth. “But give me the knife!” He stretched out his hand and I snatched it away, which is when I cut my hand on a knife that bends if you even think about cutting paper with it.
    I still have it, too, as a reminder for when the goose egg had finally gone.

  3. Norway

    I remember reading “The Secret Garden” as a child. It made so much sense. Of course there were magical, secret places that no one else knew about. Of course children should be left alone with no company but their own imaginations. Anything is possible when you are that age, at that time. Life was so much simpler then. Sometimes I miss that naive, hopeful, idealistic little guy. And part of me always will.

  4. stewartparker

    Recently, I have been contemplating my secret self. The me no one sees. No one sees or even knows exists. Or do they?

    Is there a fundamental self? If so, who is this mystery person? Are we not all just endless permutations of ourselves? A collection of others’ impressions? If no one were to see us, as friends, lovers, children, spouses, co-workers, flirtations, ex-s, then what would be left?

    These are the questions I ask myself, in the solitary darkness that comes before sleep. Only then can we abandon all pretext, and context, and expectation. No more need to be self-conscious, whatever that means.

    Just let go, and figure out who is asking the questions.

    And perhaps that is the secret. The truth is found only in succumbing. In giving in. As with all fundamental truths. We have to believe to ask the question, and by then we already know.

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