Sunday, May 10, 2009
Final Short Story: Can You Keep a Secret
The room is dark; the light bothers his eyes. The television is off; the racket gives him a headache. Tubes hang down beside the bed connected to the man I once knew as my father. He and I are the only ones who know his secret. None of my brothers or my sisters know, just me his youngest son Anthony. The last one to always find out some kind of news. For once I wish that were the case.
Honestly, I wish I didn’t know. Even more so I want it to not be true, but I know it is. I would have never believed it if I hadn't seen my old man’s tears when that priest came to see him. Now I’m left to carry the burden my father has carried his entire life.
For what? So my sisters and brothers can live their lives in peace instead of hate? I want to scream it out at the top of my lungs. Scream out what we really are. It’s like vomit creeping up my throat; every word is trying to make its way out. But I fight the urge with all my will. My father is dying and as angry as I am with him, that doesn’t mean I’ll stop loving him.
My father is leaving me alone with this plague upon my life. If only I would have never peeked through that door.
If only...
*****************************************
Death feels like waiting for a phone call. It never comes when you expect it. I thought my day to die was two weeks ago, but I guess I was wrong. Today…today could definitely be that day; the phone call I’ve been expecting.
I look skeleton like; I haven’t eaten. I’m tired. The only thing I’m going to miss are my kids and these joints. I never thought I’d see the day when pot was considered medical treatment. God bless America.
My kids are the best. They’re smart, good-looking, kind and healthy, thank goodness. What more can a man ask for? I loved the same woman for 46 years and still do, God rest her soul. I have a family, I’ve traveled around the world, and through it all truly have no regrets. But still, as I smoke this weed, my mind keeps wondering about things I haven't thought about in years. Like my parents and my brothers and sisters.
Actually… I do have one regret. Running away from home leaving my bothers and sisters behind in that hell whole I once knew of as home. But time has revealed that everything has a price and I learned all of it the hard way.
“Hey, dad, the priest is here. Can I let him in,” said Anthony, the youngest of my sons.
“Sure, son. I’m ready.”
I knew that I wanted to do this; finally make my peace with God and hope for His mercy and forgiveness. I’m ready to confess the secret that I've hidden for the last 46 years of my life. This is the only chance I have to get this off my chest. And of all people, to a man who’s vowed to never tell a soul, in the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.
He was tall and skinny with a crooked nose. But he wasn't bad looking. Actually, he looked a lot like Paul Newman; well an old Paul Newman that is. His voice was calm, even as he said, “Hello, my son.”
“Hello, Father.” He stood near the door and slowly walked toward me. He stopped at the foot of my bed and sat on the edge as if we were old pals getting ready for an afternoon chat.
You could tell he was kind as he went on talking about God’s path and how a man of God has no need to fear death. He finished by telling me my life will continue through hearts and souls of my children. Out of all the priest’s bullshit that was the one thing I agree with.
I wasn’t scared of dying. I was ready to be with the love of my life again. Without her, my life hasn’t been the same. My kids are the best accomplishment I could have ever wished for. But this man still has yet to hear what I’ve done all those years ago. Will he tell me I can still go to heaven or will he think I’m an abomination on the church? Or could he have enough love in his heart to understand the choices we make when we, as humans fall in love?
“Father… can I tell you something before I die?”
He looked at me surprised by my urgency, almost pleased to know that I wasn't squeaky clean. Oh those priests. You got to love them, besides God, of course. I’ve come to find they love two things: hearing sins and forgiving them.
“Of course, my son. Go on ahead and tell me. Clear you’re conscience of any wrong doing,” he said.
Damn... talk about words of encouragement to spill out my deepest, darkest secret from the depths of my soul. It felt so easy three minutes ago. I was so ready to let it all flow out of me. Now the only thing I feel are my guts twisting in knots.
Where is that joint I was smoking? I badly need another hit!
For the pain of course. I forgot the priest was still in the room, he was looking right at me and here I was high as a kite.
“Here I go,” I kept whispering to myself over and over softly.
How the hell do you start a conversation with someone, especially a priest, about incest?
In the midst of all this thinking, words finally spilled out of my mouth like marsh mellows in a game of chubby bunny.
“I married my sister.”
It was over; I finally said it and I felt relieved. But from what, I had no idea? Nothing had changed, but for the first time I was honest about everything. And I felt free from the chains of society and all the guilt that has trudged along with me. But it was the price I had to pay in order to build a family with my soul mate, who just so happened to be my little sister.
The priest didn’t see this one coming and I bet he was expecting the usual. Something along the line of I slept with a dirty whore named Candy. Nope. Instead he got me; the incest case. By the looks of him, I bet he wished he wasn’t here, wished he’d never heard those four words.
“I see,” said the priest.
No judgment, no hate or disgust came from his heart, just the understanding and pity in his eyes.
“How did this come about, my son?”
I began to remember my old home in Kansas with my three sisters, three brothers. My mom burning us kids with cigarettes when we disobeyed her orders. I still recall the smell of the gasoline outside my window from the time my father burned all our toys and books in the back yard for forgetting to clean the disks. No child was meant to live in constant fear and torment but our parents felt differently about the situation. Those sick bastards enjoyed watching us completely dominated begging for mercy.
But there were some good times like when Albert, Tom, Jim, and I use to go fishing while my sisters Maria, Beth, and Sarah would come along shrieking at the sight of the dead fish.
“It all changed when I was 17 years old,” I said to the priest. “Maria and I were inseparable as kids. We could talk for hours. We had everything in common; our taste in music, our taste in food. It was weird. Our parents use to hate our friendship. Years later when I was more of a man we grew into each other’s support system. Until one day, our fondness grew into something more. That even I was not prepared for. She would give me these long looks like she wanted more from me. I started to feel different too, as if I could not breathe if she wasn’t around. I would miss her so much even if it was just two hours.”
“Until one day, when I was 17 years old, I realized at the dinner table while eating spam again, I was in love with my sixteen year old sister. I puked spam all night. I felt so dirty and sick with myself. After all, the only person I wanted to love in this world was forbidden. I felt like a freak and a disgrace.”
“It all changed one night in December when Maria gave me her Christmas gift. She said, ‘Here is my heart. Promise you’ll never break it,’ as she handed me a tiny glass heart pin that looked almost like a snowflake.”
I just remember being confused until she kissed me and I pushed her off. She told me she knew she was in love with me. She knew it was wrong. But her heart told her it was right. I knew from that moment on my life was never going to be the same again. So after a year trying to forget our love for one another, it turned out that it was just too strong.
At 18 years old, we ran away together from home. We got married in Vegas. Maria and I knew it was wrong, according to society, for us to be together. We never saw our sisters and brothers again or even know what happened to them. Therefore, we left everything behind and came to California, lived our lives as normal people and had seven amazing kids.
Ever since her death, I can say I already know what it feels like to be dead already. My kids are the only thing I have lived for in the last few years.
I have kept this secret hidden from them so they don’t have to pay the price for my unconditional love that I had, and still have, for their mother.
*******************************************
In my father’s last breath of life he said, “ I love you kids with all my heart and soul. I have to go now your mother is waiting for me.” I knew in that moment that no matter what our parents did, they would always be our parents and that would never change. I loved them and continue too, even with this black “X” among my gene strand. This secret is not mine to keep. As my sisters and brothers sat, stood, cried among my father’s deathbed I said, “I have something to tell you all that can only be said, now that our beloved father has pasted.” As I looked into all their faces I thought of the results from my actions. Will we get in contact with our uncles and aunts? Will some of the family not be able to handle the shocking news? It didn’t matter this was not my secret to keep.
“Our parents were the happiest people I knew and they were also brother and sister,” I said.
Honestly, I wish I didn’t know. Even more so I want it to not be true, but I know it is. I would have never believed it if I hadn't seen my old man’s tears when that priest came to see him. Now I’m left to carry the burden my father has carried his entire life.
For what? So my sisters and brothers can live their lives in peace instead of hate? I want to scream it out at the top of my lungs. Scream out what we really are. It’s like vomit creeping up my throat; every word is trying to make its way out. But I fight the urge with all my will. My father is dying and as angry as I am with him, that doesn’t mean I’ll stop loving him.
My father is leaving me alone with this plague upon my life. If only I would have never peeked through that door.
If only...
*****************************************
Death feels like waiting for a phone call. It never comes when you expect it. I thought my day to die was two weeks ago, but I guess I was wrong. Today…today could definitely be that day; the phone call I’ve been expecting.
I look skeleton like; I haven’t eaten. I’m tired. The only thing I’m going to miss are my kids and these joints. I never thought I’d see the day when pot was considered medical treatment. God bless America.
My kids are the best. They’re smart, good-looking, kind and healthy, thank goodness. What more can a man ask for? I loved the same woman for 46 years and still do, God rest her soul. I have a family, I’ve traveled around the world, and through it all truly have no regrets. But still, as I smoke this weed, my mind keeps wondering about things I haven't thought about in years. Like my parents and my brothers and sisters.
Actually… I do have one regret. Running away from home leaving my bothers and sisters behind in that hell whole I once knew of as home. But time has revealed that everything has a price and I learned all of it the hard way.
“Hey, dad, the priest is here. Can I let him in,” said Anthony, the youngest of my sons.
“Sure, son. I’m ready.”
I knew that I wanted to do this; finally make my peace with God and hope for His mercy and forgiveness. I’m ready to confess the secret that I've hidden for the last 46 years of my life. This is the only chance I have to get this off my chest. And of all people, to a man who’s vowed to never tell a soul, in the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.
He was tall and skinny with a crooked nose. But he wasn't bad looking. Actually, he looked a lot like Paul Newman; well an old Paul Newman that is. His voice was calm, even as he said, “Hello, my son.”
“Hello, Father.” He stood near the door and slowly walked toward me. He stopped at the foot of my bed and sat on the edge as if we were old pals getting ready for an afternoon chat.
You could tell he was kind as he went on talking about God’s path and how a man of God has no need to fear death. He finished by telling me my life will continue through hearts and souls of my children. Out of all the priest’s bullshit that was the one thing I agree with.
I wasn’t scared of dying. I was ready to be with the love of my life again. Without her, my life hasn’t been the same. My kids are the best accomplishment I could have ever wished for. But this man still has yet to hear what I’ve done all those years ago. Will he tell me I can still go to heaven or will he think I’m an abomination on the church? Or could he have enough love in his heart to understand the choices we make when we, as humans fall in love?
“Father… can I tell you something before I die?”
He looked at me surprised by my urgency, almost pleased to know that I wasn't squeaky clean. Oh those priests. You got to love them, besides God, of course. I’ve come to find they love two things: hearing sins and forgiving them.
“Of course, my son. Go on ahead and tell me. Clear you’re conscience of any wrong doing,” he said.
Damn... talk about words of encouragement to spill out my deepest, darkest secret from the depths of my soul. It felt so easy three minutes ago. I was so ready to let it all flow out of me. Now the only thing I feel are my guts twisting in knots.
Where is that joint I was smoking? I badly need another hit!
For the pain of course. I forgot the priest was still in the room, he was looking right at me and here I was high as a kite.
“Here I go,” I kept whispering to myself over and over softly.
How the hell do you start a conversation with someone, especially a priest, about incest?
In the midst of all this thinking, words finally spilled out of my mouth like marsh mellows in a game of chubby bunny.
“I married my sister.”
It was over; I finally said it and I felt relieved. But from what, I had no idea? Nothing had changed, but for the first time I was honest about everything. And I felt free from the chains of society and all the guilt that has trudged along with me. But it was the price I had to pay in order to build a family with my soul mate, who just so happened to be my little sister.
The priest didn’t see this one coming and I bet he was expecting the usual. Something along the line of I slept with a dirty whore named Candy. Nope. Instead he got me; the incest case. By the looks of him, I bet he wished he wasn’t here, wished he’d never heard those four words.
“I see,” said the priest.
No judgment, no hate or disgust came from his heart, just the understanding and pity in his eyes.
“How did this come about, my son?”
I began to remember my old home in Kansas with my three sisters, three brothers. My mom burning us kids with cigarettes when we disobeyed her orders. I still recall the smell of the gasoline outside my window from the time my father burned all our toys and books in the back yard for forgetting to clean the disks. No child was meant to live in constant fear and torment but our parents felt differently about the situation. Those sick bastards enjoyed watching us completely dominated begging for mercy.
But there were some good times like when Albert, Tom, Jim, and I use to go fishing while my sisters Maria, Beth, and Sarah would come along shrieking at the sight of the dead fish.
“It all changed when I was 17 years old,” I said to the priest. “Maria and I were inseparable as kids. We could talk for hours. We had everything in common; our taste in music, our taste in food. It was weird. Our parents use to hate our friendship. Years later when I was more of a man we grew into each other’s support system. Until one day, our fondness grew into something more. That even I was not prepared for. She would give me these long looks like she wanted more from me. I started to feel different too, as if I could not breathe if she wasn’t around. I would miss her so much even if it was just two hours.”
“Until one day, when I was 17 years old, I realized at the dinner table while eating spam again, I was in love with my sixteen year old sister. I puked spam all night. I felt so dirty and sick with myself. After all, the only person I wanted to love in this world was forbidden. I felt like a freak and a disgrace.”
“It all changed one night in December when Maria gave me her Christmas gift. She said, ‘Here is my heart. Promise you’ll never break it,’ as she handed me a tiny glass heart pin that looked almost like a snowflake.”
I just remember being confused until she kissed me and I pushed her off. She told me she knew she was in love with me. She knew it was wrong. But her heart told her it was right. I knew from that moment on my life was never going to be the same again. So after a year trying to forget our love for one another, it turned out that it was just too strong.
At 18 years old, we ran away together from home. We got married in Vegas. Maria and I knew it was wrong, according to society, for us to be together. We never saw our sisters and brothers again or even know what happened to them. Therefore, we left everything behind and came to California, lived our lives as normal people and had seven amazing kids.
Ever since her death, I can say I already know what it feels like to be dead already. My kids are the only thing I have lived for in the last few years.
I have kept this secret hidden from them so they don’t have to pay the price for my unconditional love that I had, and still have, for their mother.
*******************************************
In my father’s last breath of life he said, “ I love you kids with all my heart and soul. I have to go now your mother is waiting for me.” I knew in that moment that no matter what our parents did, they would always be our parents and that would never change. I loved them and continue too, even with this black “X” among my gene strand. This secret is not mine to keep. As my sisters and brothers sat, stood, cried among my father’s deathbed I said, “I have something to tell you all that can only be said, now that our beloved father has pasted.” As I looked into all their faces I thought of the results from my actions. Will we get in contact with our uncles and aunts? Will some of the family not be able to handle the shocking news? It didn’t matter this was not my secret to keep.
“Our parents were the happiest people I knew and they were also brother and sister,” I said.
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