Prose

I'm the keeper of secrets. I think even before I left the womb people were telling me their secrets. I can imagine my mom rubbing her belly lovingly and revealing to me her deepest and darkest. When I was born, I bet my aunts and uncles held me close and whispered into my ear words so deep within they didn't even realize they were still there. I knew all my family's secrets before I could even open my eyes.

When I was in elementary school, my grandma would fix me after-school snacks and tell me about how my mom only married my "dad" because she got knocked up with another guy's kid (me) and needed someone to support us. Mom was already three months pregnant on her wedding day. My dad never knew I wasn't his. Nanny would touch my long black hair and whisper "where did you think you got that thick Italian hair from?" I guess my real dad's name is Cristiano.

And then come the strangers. I remember sitting in a waiting room somewhere alone, and a serious-looking career woman clicked across shiny marble tile, knelt down beside me, and whispered that her favorite band was Guns and Roses, but she couldn't tell ANYONE, and the secret burned and yearned within her. She stood up quickly and clicked back from whence she came.

People never had to tell me not to repeat what they told me. I always knew better.

Sometimes I feel like I can't hold all these secrets. Like maybe if someone tells me one more thing I will explode and people's words will fly everywhere and the order of the universe will be completely ruined. My grandma's revelation of the secret motives of my parents' marriage will shoot out of my mind like a rocket and land at my mom's feet and she'll see the words and know that I've known since I was five that she is a big slut.

-- EL Parker