Five Secrets

[happy_never_after]

1
He bit his nails off one by one. Snapping, then with a jerk, ripping them bloody. A month to get them just so a person would know, hey, he doesn't bite his nails. A month, to a twelve year old an eternity. But his Dad had promised. He had promised, and he broke it… thirty-one days, each one Lija marked off on his calendar with his red felt pen. All because his father came home early one evening to find his son alone, crying and trying to hide from the world.

Boys don't cry.

It was the fighting and the arguing late at night. The name calling. The crash of glass breaking off the wall. When his father walked in his room he crawled into a ball and wished he could disappear. 

"What's wrong?" his father asked.

Lija became still. Very still. Maybe if he pretended to be asleep, his father would go away.

"I don't really know you, Dad," he replied. He pulled his son's hands that covered his tear-streaked face and saw his stubby, dirty fingernails. "Tell you what, if you stop biting your nails, I'll come home right after work every night. Deal?"

"Deal!" he replied. Then his dad self-consciously kissed his cheek.

And he kept track. Every night the first week Lija'd inspect his nails to see how much they'd grown. The next week he'd check himself every time his hand went up to his mouth. He'd inspect them again, noting that now he could just faintly see the white tips at the end of his nails. He'd proudly shown his Mom in the coming weeks the progress, but never say why. Then finally, when he was satisfied, he showed his father.

"See, Dad… I grew my nails."

"That's nice."

That was it. He turned and walked slowly down the hall. Opened the door and sat down on the bed. Maybe they aren't filed neatly enough. Maybe there was dirt under them.

When does a son realize his father is far from perfect? For him it was that moment. It wasn't that the fingernails were such a big deal. No, it was "the" deal. It was the kiss on the cheek-- something his father never did before or after that time. It was the weeks of hoping. It was living in a two-parent household, yet in reality having only a single parent.

After all, it could be worse. He saw it clearly in his best friends' home. A father who staggers home. Or doesn't come home at all. Or throws around the furniture or maybe a household member or two. But not at his house. Dad doesn't come right home; he was rarely later the 7:00 p.m. He wasn't falling down drunk. He ate dinner served to him in front of the TV. Fell asleep in his form-fitting chair. Woke up from his own snoring and goes to bed. Every weeknight. Weekends he came home at the same time; he just left in a more leisurely manner in the morning. 

This was the cost of alcohol. 

The next night Lija scrubbed his finger tips until they were raw. Clean. Very clean. He walked out to his father and looked him in the face. He looked up from the TV, and Lija saw nothing. No recognition. Nothing. It was like a slap in the face, this sudden realization that he didn't even remember their deal. That's when he went to his room, bit them off and spit them out one by one.

2
Hannah always loved exploring the woods. She usually did it alone, but a new girl had moved into the neighborhood and told her about a secret place with a pond. This girl held a special fascination because of the house that she lived in. They had it built especially for them. In the woods at the top of a hill, the type of a home that was at one with nature. The house fit the cliché: "if you didn't know it was there, you'd never would have noticed it." When Hannah grew older and traveled, she see Frank Lloyd Wright's homes and think of the house in the wood built around an ancient oak. 

The tree was enough of a fascination, but inside it was even more intriguing-- sunken bathtub, living room with huge sky lights spanning the width of the room where she and her friend would lay on the couch and watch the white oak limbs wave in the breeze and study the clouds as they lazily floated by. Nature put on a show just for them. They'd laugh and play the game most kids do with clouds: "That one looks like a turtle…that one a cat… that one a turtle..." 

But what was the most special of all was her friend's bedroom. It was huge, and her bed was actually in a loft! She'd never seen a loft before. It was like having your own personal fort in your bedroom. Private. No one could creep in when the ladder was pulled up it was so high. The bedroom had twelve-foot ceilings with windows circling  the room. From the loft they had a panoramic view. In January with naked trees, they could see for almost ever.

On that January day, they bundled up filled with the excitement of Lewis and Clark. She didn't tell Lija. It was her little secret. The quest-- to find the elusive pond in the woods. She had heard of the pond, but had never been able to locate it. Her friend had stumbled onto it just the day before and told her she thought she could find her way back to it. 

The snow was above their boots for the most part, but above their knees on embankments. Fortunately for them, the snow had tough ice skin. They could walk on top if they treaded lightly. They'd laugh when breaking through the hard shell-- taking turns pulling the other out by flattening out on their bellies and using the gravity and momentum of the incline to slide the other out.

They walked in circles it seemed for most of the morning. Their stomachs were growling "lunch" when her friend pointed and yelled, "there it is!" Ahead Hannah saw it-- the pond like a giant's mirror, polished and windswept, not a lick of snow on the ice. One area she could tell was barely frozen over. They knew that must be where the spring came up underneath, creating the pond. They doggedly zig-zagged down the hill over fallen branches and brush to the pond and tested the ice jumping up and down on the edges. A bit braver, they inched out-- then sprawled flat on the surface, pressing their faces on the ice and peering down underneath. 

"I think I see a fish," her friend said. Lily pads were suspended-- captured in the cold glass. Soon they were running and sliding on the ice being careful to stay on the side opposite the spring. After the novelty had worn off, they investigated the perimeter of the pond walking the ground making their way to the spring. They studied it awhile, watching water slowly bubble beneath the thin veil of ice. After some more inspections of the new find, they made out for home carefully observing the surroundings so they could make a return the next day with ice skates.

That evening she couldn't wait to tell about their adventure. She told her mom, then Lija. Mom was curious where this pond was. 

"Can you take me to see it?" was what she asked. Lija ran hot and cold. One moment he claimed he'd already seen it; the next, he was begging for her to tell him. Then Lija pretended he didn't care. That was fine with her-- she didn't want to take him there. She didn't want to share it. 

When her dad came home, she told him about her discovery as he sat eating dinner in front of the TV. He half listened and nodded until she reached the part about the pond being open at one end. 

"What the hell do you think you're doing on a pond like that?" he shouted, his fork clattering against his plate. "Don't you know how dangerous that is? You could have fallen through and drowned. Both of you. Last thing I need right now is to pay for another funeral. Do you know how much it costs to bury somebody? Dad's funeral cost a fortune. I don't need to be paying for another now. That sure was stupid. Don't go out there again. Do you hear me?" 

She whispered, "yes," then made the walk down the hall to her room, quietly shut the door and pressed her face into her pillow and pulled her pastel quilt mom made over her head. She couldn't cry. After a time she lifted her head, and looked through the rungs of her bed and pulled apart the curtains. She stared blankly out the window across the street. She could see the lights on the neighbor's porch still up from Christmas laughing at her. She strained her eyes to see between the houses that were side by side like soldiers. In that space beyond, she could see the lake frozen… lights reflecting off the ice. A cold January night.

Later that evening, her father came into her room.

3
Lija lied a lot. Not big ones, just little ones. The kind he figured never counted. He would lie to cover up other lies. A lie would come out of his mouth before he even realized it was a lie. He got so he told them so convincingly, he believed them himself. The day he graduated to big lie was the Monday at school after the Boy Scout awards banquet. Never mind Scouts are not supposed to lie. Never mind your grandpa was the leader.

The other boys asked, why weren't you there? The cake was chocolaty. The awards were really cool. All the guys were there. What happened? My dad is very sick, he said. He might be dying. Some disease... I can't remember the name. Tears sprang to his eyes. I can't talk about it. He shuffled away from his friends wondering why he said all that. Why-- he almost believed it himself. It scared Lija, how well he lied. It was like pretend. Make believe, but he believed. 

That evening at dinner his mom got a phone call. No, he's not ill. He did? Why would he say such a thing? I must have a talk with that boy. His mom hung up the phone and stepped out in the dining room where her son sat silently, eyes fixed on his roast chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy. He squished his peas one-by-one with his fork. What is all this about honey? She asked. 

They must have misunderstood what I told them, Lija replied. I just said he wasn't well. His mom studied her son's face. Hannah frowned at him from across the table, puzzled. 

Her mom reasoned, Lija is partly right-- he was disappointed when his father didn't want to go to the banquet and told his son it didn't matter. She never should have let it drop as always does-- this was so important to Lija. It was all he talked about for weeks.

The next day at school when Lija's friends confronted him with the truth, he answered, My mom is just saying he's not sick because my dad doesn't want anyone to know. But he is really.  

He ducked away into an empty classroom and sobbed, and his friends believed. 

He believed.

He knew then he had a gift.

4
Hannah wore her favorite dress-- the one with the tiny red dots and sash. She had mom arrange her hair like a big girl's-- she felt sophisticated like Audrey Hepburn in her mom's old movies with her hair pulled neatly up off the nape of her neck. She turned around and around in the full-length mirror, chin up, arms outstretched. Checking, checking, checking-- are my socks the right color? Should I wear tights? The red ones would look nice. Should I polish my shoes? </p>

She put on the tiny gold locket she got three years ago Christmas from her Grandma. She was ready. She sat on the couch looking at her hands-jumping up to look out the front picture window she heard every car turn the corner on their street. It was 5:32 now. He was just a couple of minutes late…

What time is it now? She asked her mom. 

Three minutes since the last time you asked, she laughed back. But there is something in her laugh Hannah noticed. Next time she thought the words, but did not ask. She stood and looked at the clock in the kitchen-- 6:55. She slowly walked to the living room, sitting down with a sigh, hands neatly placed in her lap. In the kitchen, she can hear her mom dialing the phone, and her hushed voice. Then the carefully quiet click of the receiver. Her mom waited in the kitchen, then Hannah heard her mother's faltering steps. She stood in the doorway, watching her daughter. Hannah cast her eyes into the palms of her hands. The living room was still. As her mom rests her head against the frame of the doorway, Hannah knew. Yet she still sat on the couch. 

Mom? she asked.  Her mother walked across the room and sat next to her, holding her hand. And they both wait and wait and wait. 

Then it is too late.

Hannah retreated to her room, stoically removing her favorite dress. She climbed into her long flannel pjs-- the ones with the sprinkle with little chicks and hens that button up the back. She noticed her mom, as she peeked in the door. Do you need help? she asked, and buttons her pajamas for her. Your Dad must be busy to have forgotten like that. There will be other father/daughter banquets. 

The daughter smiled and whispered, ok, even though it's not. She pulled her blanket up to her chin but does not sleep, staring at the ceiling and waiting until she heard him come through the door. How could you forget? her mother asked. She's so hurt, go in and talk to her, I'm sure she's not asleep.  

But he does not. Not this night.

5
The day his father came home early Lija knew right away. His father slammed the door and threw his boots across the breezeway, swearing. </p>

There was no running or hiding. His father grabbed Lija's shoulders and shook him. 

You said I was dying, his father yelled. I lost a job because of you-- one that would have paid plenty. A friend asked me … 'what do you have?' I asked him, 'what do you mean?'  He didn't want to take a chance on someone unreliable. Do you know what that word means? UNRELIABLE. That's you. 

He bit his own lip hard, but he couldn't stop them. The tears started. 

So, did you tell everyone at school? The whole town? I heard some of my employees talking behind my back, wondering if you were wishing me dead. Are you wishing me dead? Is that it? What kind of son wishes his father dead? 

He knew the answer-- his father told him the kind of son he was many, many times before... a bad son.

Get outta my face. I don't want to look at you.

Lija stumbled to his room, flopping down into his bed. He cried silently into mattress until anguish no longer leaked from his heart. When all was numb and still in his chest, he climbed under his covers. He made up a story in his head. One about a father who takes his son fishing; one who takes to ball games and plays catch. One who takes time to hear about his son's day.  In his story, no one is disappointed.

Later his mother came into to his room to check on him. He breathes softly, pretending to be asleep. She gently sat on the bed and rubbed his back. 

He doesn't mean those things, she whispered. He just had a bad day. He doesn't mean to take it out on you. 

He curled his knees up into his chest as she bends down to kiss his cheek.

Just don't tell those lies anymore, okay Lija? 

He didn't answer. 

She silently closed his door.

Just before he fell asleep he thinks maybe his father is right. Maybe he had wished his father dead.

He is a bad son.