Her Secret

We are sitting in a dark car in a waterfront parking lot. The windows are fogging as we make up for lost time, this friend of mine. The donuts are delicious and the area is vacant except for a solitary figure passing by in the distance every once in awhile. We are sealed off in this little bubble of intimacy when suddenly the conversation takes a dark turn. Suddenly, she is re-writing history. The girl I thought I knew so well is carefully and delicately peeling off her mask and what she reveals underneath it breaks my heart. 

Gazing off into the distance she is lost in the past, buried beneath secrets that she has held on to for so long. The story had been, “he was not a very nice guy,” and I had left it at that, then. Years ago. I was blind to the way that relationship coloured the rest of her life. I was blind. I knew she had commitment issues but I never knew… I never fully understood why. 

Now, sitting in this darkened car I draw pictures in the window’s fog. I want to take this ugliness and replace it with my pretty doodles. Rewind the tape and start from the beginning, and see this time, really see. But, I can’t move backwards I can only hug her and embrace the rage that fills every pore and every cell of my body. This hatred for the man that damaged her and that caused her, for so long, to think she had to keep it a secret. That we… that I, would never believe her. 

I want to hold that girl from the past in my arms. I want her to know she didn’t deserve what she got. That what she experienced, all that pain, wasn’t love. It was a sick deformed monster parading itself as love. But, most of all, more than anything, I want to find the monster and tear it limb from limb. I want to belittle it and berate it and make it hurt. I want to take from it all it’s innocence. I want to stomp on its heart and tinker with its psyche and make it unrecognizable to itself. I want to damage it irreversibly and then make it live with that damage every day for years to come… and then, I want to make it believe that all those things I did to it were for love. For love. Love. 

We can’t go back. We can’t be there for people who never let us try. We can’t carry out justice on an ancient crime when the criminal is anonymous now and roaming free. But, we can hold her. We can hold her. 

She is the bud appearing between the cracks in the sidewalk. She is the strength and beauty in nature that can endure despite man’s attempt to claim, control, and destroy it. And she is blooming now. But, she could have just as easily been life’s collateral damage; pulled out at the root. While guiltless, unpunished, and unassuming he runs free. I hate that he runs free.

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14 thoughts on “Her Secret”

  1. It may seem like a shame that all you can do is comfort and reward the courage of a girl in that position– but it’s truly the best thing. Confronting this world with bravery and openness is the only way to see it all. It’s a stance that’s guaranteed to hurt you, but otherwise you might never experience the beauty.

    Bravo for being there.

    1. I know that, I do. But, at the same time I am so enraged towards people who think they have the power in this world to treat people however they wish. I like that I can be there for her, however long after the fact, but I also suffer through bouts of all consuming anger at a world where this happens ALL THE TIME and at not being able to make him understand how much of a horrible person he is. Ugh.

  2. Ah, but were you the ‘friend’, and the story was actually told from the perspective of someone consoling you?

    There are lots of people that should be neutered and removed from the gene pool, both male and female, those that feast upon the souls of others.

    Empaths that DEVOUR!

    1. Not this time, but I will tuck that suggestion away for future posts…

      Feasting on the souls of others is exactly the right image. It is just so alien to try and understand what some people are thinking when they abuse others.

  3. This is another beautiful piece. I experienced a conversation with a friend a few years ago that left me feeling exactly like this, but I’ve never been able to articulate it as delicately as you have right here. It seems like you wrote exactly my past, and now I wonder if what happened to your friend is the same as what happened to mine. Either way, it left me feeling the same way you felt sitting inside that car.

    1. I guess it doesn’t matter if the story is the same as long as it resonates. Thanks for your comment, it made me feel better. I hate feeling helpless.

    1. I know the statistics… but it is so hard to take that into consideration when you are dealing with the aftermath of their destruction.

  4. you write really well.. considering the no. of blogs out there, one would think there are many who do..

    but considering the no. of blogs i visit everyday (many), ihave to say, there are very very few that read as effortlessly as this..

    glad i came here, and already look forward to visiting again! 🙂

    **

    about the post.. Here’s hoping you chance upon the said idiot soon enough, and belittle and torture him to your heart’s content!!!

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