Skeleton’s in the Closet

Quote: "When a secret is revealed, it is the fault of the man who confided it." – Frech Proverb

Does any secret really stay hidden?

I pondered this often over winter break and now on a snowy weekend in which I’ve returned home these thoughts are finding their way back into my head. It’s so easy to forget, to focus on my new life away at school. It’s only certain nights, when we get deep and talk about being messed up that I am reminded of the events that took place between the fall of 2005 and spring of 2006. It’s so far away now, I can almost pretend it was a dream.

It was real. It happened. It hurt. It comes and goes in waves.

I was sure I would tell my sister the reason’s we only see my father’s side of the family at funerals some day. I’d give her my own story, all of it true, I’d just leave out the more painful parts. When she reached the right age I’d explain why I no longer speak to our cousin Kristen. 14 year old Sam knew enough to ask questions but I quieted her. Swearing one day I’d tell her, just not yet. She knew certain things, like that Kristen vowed to never speak to me again via email.

It’s why my sister rightfully guessed the password to my account and found the email from Kristen. Kristen had told me that my father cheated on my mother with his sister in law, had an affair with the same woman her own father did. Two brothers had slept with another’s wife. It was a lie, I was sure of it. We cut ties during an ugly argument. 

Only 2 months later my father left his own email account open and there they were. Emails addressed at my aunt that began with terms like "hey hon" and signed "Your ‘horned’ buddy". To this day I cringe whenever someone calls me "hon".

I showed my mother. There were fights, screaming matches that occurred when my sister wasn’t home. It had all come out just before her birthday. Divorce seemed to be on the horizon. A heart attack and my mother’s trust in my father hindered that plan. She told me she trusted him and didn’t have to explain why. That I needed to trust her. We hardly ever talked about it and it killed me.

It’s why I sent this woman an email of my own. I promised to hand a copy of the messages I’d found to her husband, daughter and even mother if I ever saw her face again. Told her I knew she was a drug dealer and if she showed up to a family function I’d make a phone call to one of her own family members, exposing her. My parents didn’t take to my blackmail lightly. I was punished and it was over. We were done talking about it. We were moving on. 4 years later, it still hurts.

Its why I saved every email whether it be from Kristen, the messages between my father and this woman and even the blackmail and put them in a folder called "Family". The same folder my sister found.

I’d promised my mother I’d deleted everything after it happened, it’s what she’d asked me to do. I was supposed to move on, go back to being a normal 16 year old kid. I felt stifled, like I wanted to explode. I hated them for treating me like a child, for shutting me out.

I was sitting on my bed when my sister Sam told me what she had done. I don’t know if she noticed my face go pale. I looked into her eyes as she sat on the window seat. Her hair was pulled back tightly as she pulled her glasses off. She said she didn’t really understand what she had read. I saw the fear in her eyes, she was asking questions and terrified of the answers. I’d have been angry about her hacking my account if I wasn’t so impressed. She was so much like me and I’d never noticed it before.

It’s why I chose to lie. God, I hardly remember what I said. I said that she’d read things out of context. That my father had never been unfaithful. Kristen told me lies and I’d believed them. I sent out an email to this woman we’d once thought of as an aunt because I’d been confused. It wasn’t true. Our father loved our mother and he would never hurt her or us. 

I waited with baited breath in hopes she would believe me. I’m fairly certain she did. It hasn’t come up since and I hope it never does. For all I know, what I told her was true. The affair was never confirmed. I did lie, saying the emails were misinterperted. Not real, doctored maybe. I’m not even sure it made sense. Sam believed me for two reasons, the first being that I am her brother. I’d promised to always be upfront with her. The second, in this case the lie is easier than the truth.

I get it now. My mother’s need to push this aside. I’d been so sure that I needed the truth, as painful as it may be. I was wrong. Truth be told, I wish I’d never learned about any of this. My mother and father had wanted to protect me. I don’t know if their methods were the best ones but four years later I’m in their shoes and reacting the same way. Lying to protect the innocence of a child while sweeping everything else under the rug.

"I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to ever feel confused the way I did. Not having that stability, that trust, it hurt me Sam. Dad loves you, me and mom more than anything in the world. He wouldn’t hurt us that way. I know that now."

I’ve prayed many nights since. Prayed that she believes me. That she won’t hold on to the things that she read. I just want her to move on, to stay young for as long as she can.

I hate myself for not doing like I was told, not letting go. It was my inability to let go of this painful time in my life that led to Sam finding out in the first place. Those emails were supposed to be gone. I was supposed to be going back to being 16 and normal. Couldn’t do that, could I? I tucked it away in a folder, much the way I had every emotion I’d felt. It’s not like I’ve gone through it everyday, but it’s always there, always taking up space, affecting me in one way or another. Even now, I’ve only changed my password. I can still do a read through of those messages should I choose to. It’s all there, in the back of mind, clouding my outlook. Those words, the moments that took place the months after I read them, like it or not they have shapin me into the man I am becoming.

Still, it’s a strange thing, being on the other side of this. I’m suddenly understanding the actions of my parents and they have no idea. It’s strange and heavy and I wasn’t ready. I wish I’d had time to plan what to say. Much like I wish this entry wasn’t such a jumble of thoughts and ideas. 

We can’t have it all.