"No more secrets." She falls back into the plush sofa
and touches a hand to her forehead.
"Secrets?" Both her words and their tone confuse me.
"You know what I mean. This family, this household is full of secrets." She stabs at the air with her hands for dramatic effect.
"You're mistaken, we don't have any secrets, we have lies. It’s the one thing we do well. When we're not lying to each other, we are lying to ourselves." I slowly lower myself into the wingback chair to my right - her left. I marvel at the chair's lack of comfort all the while wondering why we ever bought it.
"You were always so proud of your ability to lie. I just didn't think it would come back to haunt me." A blank expression washes over her face. She stares straight at me, through me. She seems to be waiting for an explanation, maybe even a defense.
"Well, it is a way of life. It's kind of like a Pringle's chip, you can't stop at one." I smile while admiring the comparison, but her expression doesn't change. "What do you want from me?"
"I want the truth."
"We've been down this road and you know everything. Believe me, there was no embellishment." A smirk appears and vanishes just as quickly as I await questions or more details of what she wants.
"Why did you tell me?"
"What do you mean?" There is no stalling in my voice; I am honestly at a loss for the meaning of her question.
"Exactly what I said. After so long and so much, why did you tell me?" She folds her hands across her lap, patiently waiting.
"Oh, I got it, well, I felt guilty and I was tired." I lean forward with elbows resting on my knees watching her process the words.
"Yes, but the guilt - or I suppose - was there for quite a long time. Guilt is rampant in your family. Seriously, why did you reveal the latest? Were you scared?"
"Yes, I wanted you to hear it from me." The swiftness of the reply surprises me as I realize the true nature of the questioning. She is no longer concerned with the event, rather why I confessed. I know it will be my true undoing.
"Ah yes, trying to maintain some level of control." She smiles while slowly nodding her head, but it is not a happy smile.
"I guess."
"No guessing needed. No, it was calculated like everything else. I wonder about your next move." She sits with arms folded while her mind seemed to be elsewhere.
"Not really, but you won't believe me." I feel the moisture in my armpits. I wonder what she knows.
"That's the problem."
"What is?"
"I've always believed you; that's how we got here."
"Really?" I smile while thinking of what good have been.
"Something funny?"
"Not really, just a bit of irony. I always assumed you didn't believe me. Actually, I rarely believe myself." The words and their ramifications startle me.
"I am not sure that fits the definition of irony and it doesn't make sense. Why would you continue to tell me things when you thought I didn't believe you?"
"I just assumed you didn't care."
"On the contrary. I cared more than you could ever know, but those days are long gone." She makes a long sweeping arc with your arm to signal what is in the past.
I slowly shake my head as various thoughts arrive and disappear. I suddenly realize my confession - not the actual deeds - were my ultimate undoing. I chide myself for ever telling the truth. Our eyes meet as I stand and turn toward the door. I squeeze her hand before leaving. The wind is gusty as storm clouds swirl overhead as I stroll to my car.
"Secrets?" Both her words and their tone confuse me.
"You know what I mean. This family, this household is full of secrets." She stabs at the air with her hands for dramatic effect.
"You're mistaken, we don't have any secrets, we have lies. It’s the one thing we do well. When we're not lying to each other, we are lying to ourselves." I slowly lower myself into the wingback chair to my right - her left. I marvel at the chair's lack of comfort all the while wondering why we ever bought it.
"You were always so proud of your ability to lie. I just didn't think it would come back to haunt me." A blank expression washes over her face. She stares straight at me, through me. She seems to be waiting for an explanation, maybe even a defense.
"Well, it is a way of life. It's kind of like a Pringle's chip, you can't stop at one." I smile while admiring the comparison, but her expression doesn't change. "What do you want from me?"
"I want the truth."
"We've been down this road and you know everything. Believe me, there was no embellishment." A smirk appears and vanishes just as quickly as I await questions or more details of what she wants.
"Why did you tell me?"
"What do you mean?" There is no stalling in my voice; I am honestly at a loss for the meaning of her question.
"Exactly what I said. After so long and so much, why did you tell me?" She folds her hands across her lap, patiently waiting.
"Oh, I got it, well, I felt guilty and I was tired." I lean forward with elbows resting on my knees watching her process the words.
"Yes, but the guilt - or I suppose - was there for quite a long time. Guilt is rampant in your family. Seriously, why did you reveal the latest? Were you scared?"
"Yes, I wanted you to hear it from me." The swiftness of the reply surprises me as I realize the true nature of the questioning. She is no longer concerned with the event, rather why I confessed. I know it will be my true undoing.
"Ah yes, trying to maintain some level of control." She smiles while slowly nodding her head, but it is not a happy smile.
"I guess."
"No guessing needed. No, it was calculated like everything else. I wonder about your next move." She sits with arms folded while her mind seemed to be elsewhere.
"Not really, but you won't believe me." I feel the moisture in my armpits. I wonder what she knows.
"That's the problem."
"What is?"
"I've always believed you; that's how we got here."
"Really?" I smile while thinking of what good have been.
"Something funny?"
"Not really, just a bit of irony. I always assumed you didn't believe me. Actually, I rarely believe myself." The words and their ramifications startle me.
"I am not sure that fits the definition of irony and it doesn't make sense. Why would you continue to tell me things when you thought I didn't believe you?"
"I just assumed you didn't care."
"On the contrary. I cared more than you could ever know, but those days are long gone." She makes a long sweeping arc with your arm to signal what is in the past.
I slowly shake my head as various thoughts arrive and disappear. I suddenly realize my confession - not the actual deeds - were my ultimate undoing. I chide myself for ever telling the truth. Our eyes meet as I stand and turn toward the door. I squeeze her hand before leaving. The wind is gusty as storm clouds swirl overhead as I stroll to my car.
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