Inner Secrets

by Suzie Carr

  I hated fighting even about something as trivial as dining with his mother. I bet Hope would stand an inch from his face and not back down from her wants.

  Whenever I’d tried to argue a point, my mouth just sort of clammed shut and my brain forgot how to reason and form solid irrefutable facts. And without a viable argument, I backed down. It was just easier for me to give in and move forward than get stuck fighting about something as stupid as lunch. There were worse things people had to deal with on this planet than eating crab cakes with their future mother-in-laws.

  I started to resent Adam because I couldn’t stand up for myself to him. I was jealous of Hope and her freedom. She could do whatever the heck she wanted and didn’t have to answer to a soul. She worried only about herself, and when she didn’t agree with something, she said so. I admired that. I admired everything about her. And, deep down, I feared someone would latch onto that really quickly and steal her away from me and this house and leave me alone with Adam and his balled up drafts of stories that no one read.

  ~

  Three hours into Hope’s blind date, with a boyfriend who was a floor above me, I paced the floor with no right to wear that carpet thin with my worry. But, I did anyway. Back and forth I walked wondering, was she having fun? Were they laughing? Was the girl flipping her hair around, making Hope dizzy with lust? Was Hope kissing her with the same intensity she did me? Would I ever get to kiss her again?

  When I saw her headlights four hours and seventeen minutes after she first left for the date, I wanted to run out the front door and end this stress. Instead, I chose to be cool, calm, and collected and retreated to my bathroom upstairs, so I wouldn’t appear as desperate as I felt. I passed Adam at his desk, pounding his fingers away as if the words would dismiss him if he didn’t. I closed myself in and sat still against the counter, waiting for the right moment to nonchalantly walk out, down the hall, and down the stairs as if I hadn’t noticed she arrived home.

  Not more than thirty seconds later, I did just that. I even stuck my ear buds in for effect. I bounced my way down the stairs to the Beastie Boys. I caught the edge of Hope’s silhouette in the kitchen. She was downing some water. Her black hair hung loose at her shoulders. I walked into the kitchen and acted surprised to see her home so soon. “Hey, so how did the mystery date go?”

  She downed more water, and eyed me as she swallowed her last gulp. Her eyes were still smoky, sultry. She smelled like vanilla musk. She wore a low cut sweater that showed off her cleavage and her toned waist. She sighed. “It was actually better than I thought.”

  “Oh, really?” I withered.

  She opened the dishwasher and placed her glass in it. “She was actually decent and witty.”

  I pictured a beautiful girl made up to perfection with a body that rivaled the models in Vogue. “Are you going to get to see her again?”

  “I don’t know.” Hope shook her head as she stretched her eyes the full length of my body. “Maybe, maybe not.”

  I hung onto maybe not like it was a rescue board and I was the drowning victim. “What was wrong with her?”

  “Not a damned thing.” She picked up her wallet from the counter and headed out of the kitchen. “Sweet dreams.”

  “You too,” I called out after her.

  “Oh, they always are.” Her voice bounced off the empty foyer and landed like a thud at my feet.

  ~

  So, I thought I had this whole sneaky business with reading Hope’s journal behind me. Well, surprise, surprise. I didn’t.

  I couldn’t sleep a wink. I tossed around beside Adam like a flea, pinging this way and that, unsettled in this new territory of kissing girls and wondering what this ‘said girl’ was thinking and doing every second of the day.

  This was so wrong, verging on the level of white collar crime wrong, but I just couldn’t help myself, again. Who was this decent and witty girl, and why was Hope being so aloof about her?

  I needed to know. So, what did I do once everyone left the house for the day? I entered her room, tiptoed to her undies drawer and pulled it out from under a pair of lacy blues. Then, like a sneaky coward, I ran to the hall bathroom and locked the door, just in case someone decided to spring home unannounced. I opened to her paperclip, and my heart tumbled like a loose coin in a dryer.

  November 7

  Dear Journal, I refuse to ever settle again.

  I hate dating. I hate everything about it. Contrary to what I thought, dating women isn’t any easier than dating men. At least blind dating, that is. It’s probably even more nerve-wracking because I really wanted her to like me. I wanted to connect with her. I really wanted the night to be about flirting, and kissing, and dancing with a gorgeous and witty girl so I could finally get some decent sleep and get my mind off of Lucy.

  I wish I was more like the chick tonight, the type of girl who seemed to go through this whole lesbian world like a cowgirl, saddled up tight, along for the thrill of the ride, and the thrill only. No regrets, no rules, no disrespect. Like Isabella. Like Nadeen. Like I was when I fucked them.

  I’m not that superfluous since meeting Lucy. I need to connect.

  I felt like I was on a television show tonight, and I was the subject being studied of how not to be a single lesbian looking for love. I pictured people behind the scenes commenting on my ill attempts at small talk, and on my inability to let loose and embrace the company of a beautiful woman. I asked her what she did for a living like I was conducting a damn job interview. WTF? The girl stopped all flirts, shifted in her chair, straightened her skirt, and sat up tall like she was being interrogated. I couldn’t get the wrinkles out of this night after that no matter how many times I smiled or arched my back, or lowered my voice to something I thought she might’ve found sexy.

  What a disaster.

  My God, this whole process just makes me nauseous.

  I am so pissed that I sucked. I needed it to be a good one. I needed to walk away from that date mushy and pathetic, wishing for roses the next day and a perfectly timed email follow-up. It was nice of her to treat to dinner, but leaving me before I got out of the bathroom with nothing more than a thank you note scribbled on the back of the paid receipt made me feel like a freaking escort, not a date.

  This is karma biting me in the ass.

  Karma is around every corner mocking me, taunting me, blocking me from all those things I deserved before I cheated and tore a hole in my future. Like love. Like Lucy. How else can I explain how she walked away from that kiss as a friend? When her lips brushed against mine, there was an intensity that extended far beyond just curious. She kissed me with a hunger just as deep as mine.

  Wouldn’t it be a grand life if we could all just let loose in this world and do whatever the hell we wanted? Karma would have no place. Screw relationships and deservedness. In this world a person could just claim what she wants, enjoy it in the moment, and release the experience back into the world.

  If Adam wasn’t in the picture, I wonder how karma would block us? She and Adam absolutely don’t belong together. I think she’s just with him because she’s afraid not to be. She caters to his rules, dreams, and ideals and ignores her own. Actually, sometimes I think she doesn’t know what her own rules, dreams, and ideals are because she would rather die than ask someone to forgo his dreams for hers.

  Who’s the one living under a rock now, though? Here I am balled up in my bed like a thirteen-year old writing feverishly to you, a piece of paper.

  Off to dream…

  Hope

  I sat on her vanity sink and battled both flattery and anger. It mixed into a gooey paste of sweet and sour. One moment I imagined my arms and legs tangled around her in a bed of satin and lace, the other I pictured whacking her comments about my being too afraid clear across town.

  I hated that she was absolutely spot on.

  And I hated even more that I couldn’t run to her later and defend myself, even if I was guilty as charged.

  Chapter Nine


  HOPE

  I sat at the piano one night after work with the Ravens game playing on the television behind me and tapped out “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.”

  I was supposed to be cooking that night’s dinner—chicken stir-fry with bean sprouts—but the shiny, black theatrical lure of its grand body called out to me instead.

  Lucy marched into the room with a sweet smile on her face. “Want me to show you how it’s really done?”

  “You play the piano?”

  A playful tease crept onto her face. She was the kitty and I was her ball of yarn. She stretched her eyes down to my lips, perched them there for a few seconds and unleashed her own twinkle before walking over, grabbing my shoulders and sliding me over. “There’s a lot about me that you don’t know.”

  She commanded the room, the bench, and my full attention, like she had something to prove. She morphed into a confident, sexy powerhouse. She sat tall, flung her hair backwards, releasing an intoxicating mist of herbal delicacies, and took over my clumsy debacle over the keys. She closed her eyes, cocked her head slightly, and released her spirit onto those keys like she had something to prove. She played “Für Elise” by Beethoven. My mouth hung open wide, mesmerized by her agility and raw emotion as her fingers knew exactly where to land and at what force. She completely put me to shame. Her concerto stretched the entire length of the piano and at times she reached in front of me and her arm brushed along my chest. I didn’t budge because I found this seemingly harmless move bold for her and I liked it. She took charge of that piano with an inner strength protruding from her calm spirit like the goddess on the helm of a ship; strong, courageous, and undeniably in control.

  I surmised I’d be spending the next several days trying to get over her again.

  Her fingers glided gracefully. The song rang out like a bell around us, chiming high and settling low, dancing right and then back to left, swinging and looping in graceful sweeps. The Ravens game blurred behind us.

  At one point, the song built up and goose bumps popped up on my arms. She poured energy into it as if she were a magician with a wand ordering it to grow larger and fill the room with its strength. A mysterious and invisible force swirled around like smoke, filling my lungs, my heart, my entire being, filling me with an energy, a life, a song I’d yet to experience right down to my toes.

  When she finished, she was panting. Her body trembled next to mine. Her skin glowed. Her eyes filled wide with wonder. Her chest rose up and down in rapid succession. She clung to the piano bench, tilted her head back so her hair flowed halfway down her arch and exhaled a long sigh. “Wow that felt incredible.”

  I felt like I needed a cigarette after that.

  She rose from the bench. Pointed her eyes down upon me in a lazy, aroused manner and said, “Did you enjoy that?”

  I reached out for her hand, cradled it in mine. “Why am I just now hearing you play?”

  She sighed. “I never play it because Adam…,” she eyed the ceiling which was also their floor, and giggled. “…well, let’s just say he absolutely despises loud sounds when he’s writing.”

  “I thought he was writing now?”

  She paused a moment, tilted her head up slightly and said, “He is.” She nodded to that point, turned, and pranced across that wooden floor like she was every bit the diva.

  ~

  Later that night, Ryan called me.

  When I first saw his number, my heart sped up. I imagined it engorged and pulsing on the brink of overload. I answered on an exhale. “Hey.”

  “Hey,” he said back in a pleasant, friendly tone like he’d just called to see how my day was going.

  “So,” my voice shook a bit. “It’s been a while. How have you been?”

  “Things have been good. How about with you?”

  “Great.” I said this with conviction, then came back with, “I guess.”

  “Listen, I was cleaning out the attic space and I found a box of your stuff. Looks like some wolf figurines, an old jewelry box, a diary, and what looks to be a picture of you as a baby. Do you want me to drop it off at your place?”

  “No,” I said, not wanting him to see the affluent façade I somehow managed to land in.

  “I don’t think you’d want to throw this stuff out.”

  “No, don’t throw it out. Do you want to just give it to Rachel and I can grab it from her?”

  His breath echoed louder. “I think I’d like to see you if that’s all right?”

  “Sure.” I lightened up. “I can come to your place on my way home from work one day.”

  “Uh, I don’t know if that…,” he paused. “Hey, I have a better idea. Let’s meet up at Java Hut for a cup of coffee and one of those cinnamon twists. What do you say? For old time’s sake?”

  “I’m free tomorrow after work.”

  “Five still?”

  “Yup.”

  “Hope?”

  “Yeah?”

  “It’s nice to hear your voice again.”

  I smiled the first genuine smile I had in months, feeling free and like I could sail off the edge of a cliff and glide down to green pastures. “Same here.”

  A few minutes later, I strolled into the kitchen feeling sunnier. Ralph and Reina were arguing about the long-term effects of wheat grass. Reina reminded him that anything messing with the natural system of digestion was a drug and, even though it had great benefits, could alter the body over time to where it was dependent and couldn’t function as nature intended until a withdrawal period was survived.

  “Bullshit. Look at me.” He pulled up his shirt, exposing his tight abs. “Do I look like I suffer for anything?”

  I had to step in. “You suffer from narcissism, Mr. Muscleman.”

  “If you worked as hard as I did, you’d deserve to be stuck on yourself, too. It’s just one of the many fringe benefits.”

  Reina circled her finger in front of her temple and walked away from him. “He’s nuts. His muscles are so big that they’re overtaking his brain now. He won’t listen until one day the world runs out of wheat grass and he isn’t able to poo on his own. Even under such dire circumstances, he’ll still deny he had it wrong and some pudgy Indian girl was right.”

  Ralph plucked an apple up out of the fruit bowl and chomped into it eating half of it on first bite. “You’re the one who’s nuts.”

  I floated past him to get a tea cup.

  “What’s got you all happy and smiley?” He eyed me.

  “Why does there have to be a reason?”

  “Well, when a barking dog stops barking at the mailman wouldn’t you wonder why?”

  I breathed in the scent of chamomile, then dunked the teabag into the empty cup. “You and your analogies.”

  “Am I wrong?”

  “I suppose I am feeling a little breezy. I have my ex to thank for that. He invited me for coffee tomorrow night.”

  “Hmmm,” he considered this with a stretched nod. “And so extends the olive branch.” He chomped the second half of his apple, then tossed the core in the trash. “Keep up your guard.”

  “Ryan isn’t like that.”

  “Sure he isn’t.”

  “Now, why do you have to do that? Huh? Put these bad thoughts in my head right before I head to bed? I need a good night’s sleep for once.”

  He patted my head. “Just trying to keep it real for you. I’ve been through the friendly coffees and fake banter, too. He’ll try to charm you and make you feel like you can be best friends after he wrecked your life. Just keep up the wall. It’s your only defense against recoiling back to that initial sock in the tummy you received.”

  “The wall is up. It ain’t coming down that easily. I’m no fool.” I acted as though Ryan belonged in prison.

  “I didn’t mean to ruin your relaxed vibe. Try to get a good night’s sleep.”

  And, I did. I slept through the entire night as if transported to a new place with fluffy clouds and fresh air. Amazing. When I woke, I did so with renewed energy, th
e kind that lifted me up high where the sky is a deeper blue and the air less dense. I felt free; the kind of free a woman felt when she took off her bra at the end of the day.

  Promptly at five o’clock the next day, I walked into the Java Hut and faced a happy Ryan. He hugged me, kissed my cheek, and so erased all the shame I’d been lugging around since the day he kicked me out.

  We sat, and he slid my box of childhood memories in front of me. I picked up the diary, a worn pink and gray hardcover with a broken lock. “You didn’t read it, did you?” I teased.

  He chuckled and a fresh shade of pink blanketed his innocent face. “I think I know all of your secrets now.” He arched his eyebrow and smiled. “Don’t I?”

  I sat back against the seat. “I’m afraid so. Unless you really wanted to hear about the first time I stole a lip gloss from the drugstore back when I was eleven. I think there’s a whole chapter entry on that one.”

  “I’m sure you’ve got lots of stuff in there about all those talent shows you organized. PJ still laughs about how you ordered everyone around like a madwoman.”

  I giggled at the memory. “PJ and I could never stop laughing long enough to deliver our talent effectively. We’d pretend someone died just to keep a straight face. Pretty lame, right?”

  “Yeah,” he laughed.

  We stopped talking on that one and just smiled at each other suddenly running out of memories and secrets. The waitress came over to break our run in with the silence.

  “What’ll it be?” Her wrinkles folded around years of misery.

  “I’ll take a black coffee,” Ryan said.

  “Black? Really?” I asked. “This coming from the man who used to pour a couple of drops of coffee into his milk?”

  He acknowledged his new self with a shrug.