Keeping Secrets

I have never  been particularly good at keeping secrets. Once, I accidentally told half of my class about Alice's depressions. The Latinamerican Literature teacher had caught me off guard asking me why had she been skipping school for a whole week now. I told him she wasn't skipping school, she just wasn't in the right mood. He frowned in surprise and enquired, almost mockingly, what did I meant exactly with not in the right mood. I snapped back.

-She's got some psychological issues, okay? She's not feeling well but she'll put up to date when she does. It's not like she enjoys missing classes. She actually likes this subject.-

I never realized in time but I had nearly spilled everything about her relapses to around twenty gossipy journalism students. It was almost a miracle that the word didn't spread out that much, partly because half of the group hadn't arrived yet to the 7 am class.

There was this other time when Sophie made me swear I wouldn't tell anyone about her not knowing how to ride a bicycle. To me it wasn't a big deal -I actually never learned to roller-skate- so I didn't took it too serious. But when I brought it up in a playful tone during a casual talk, she lost it completely. She was furious and later on she refused to share her personal information with me anymore.

It doesn't surprise me the fact that I was one of the very last ones to find out that David was really bisexual. Nevertheless, I've actually succeeded in guarding the intimacy of others. Sam is afraid of matches. Wooden matches. We found out one day when we were out of lighters and we wanted a smoke so bad. When we struck the match, he recoiled and asked us not to light any of them near him. It was actually pretty funny. I've never heard that type of phobia before. We kept the secret.

Of course there had been times when my own secrets have been poured out. When I was in High School, I remember Laura and I swore not to tell anyone about us losing our virginity. She insisted in keeping it strictly confidential. Of course, when I got home I phoned Dan and told him everything about me not being a virgin anymore and made him promise he wouldn't tell anyone. Same thing with Arthur. They kept their word but it was useless. Laura had told everyone about it. It was ridiculous. How far are we willing to betray ourselves for a little attention?

Yet, Anna's secrets are the ones I cherish the most. Basically because she never told them. I had to discover them, like the nasty habits we usually try to hide but not very often succeed in doing so. As if the real Anna were somehow hidden beneath thick layers of strength and confidence. And you would find her in all her fragility and her unavoidable past and all her complexity. All of the sadness that she kept hidden in her eyes. And you would hear her cry and it would be like hearing a violin string weeping slowly, piercing right through you.

She lit up candles every night before going to sleep. They came in all sizes, all colors, all scents. Apple, orange, cherry, cinnamon. She couldn't sleep without them. And she couldn't because she was afraid of the dark. And even when we would barricade the bed with our waxy talismans she would get nightmares from time to time, and I would hold her tight and caress her hair and whisper into her ear, gently, endlessly.

And I can't help but asking... what are we to do with all these unrevealed stories? With all these hurtful and beautiful stealths? And if what Anna learned is true, that there aren't enough guardian candles and wooden matches in the world to light away the pain embedded within our secrets, I am not overjoyed. I refuse to detach myself despite the farewells and the separations.

I'll keep these ones. I'll hold them close and never let them go, as if they were my own, my deepest. And even though we are now miles apart, I keep wondering... would these secrets keep me back? How many times will our candles fall asleep? And how many times must we light them back again, repelling the demons, distilling melancholy with every single spark?