Greatest Secrets

Those of you who belong to Associated Content know that there is contest for short stories or anecdotes every month. Each month has an imposed theme. When first seeing this month's topic, My Biggest Secret, I had a rather obvious reaction. What Big Secret was worth disclosing for the mere possibility of a $125.00 prize? I then dismissed the issue as probably deriving from a mildly sadistic imagination and adopted at a meeting at which the participants, pleased with their cleverness, chuckled and congratulated eadh other. In the moments that I considered the topic, I examined my lengthy life for secrets. Did I have any? Well, it depended on how strict the criterion for 'secret' was. I actually could not think of any that no other person knew. So, lowering the threshold, I looked for anything that I would not wish that 'everyone' would know. By "everyone," of course, I refer to that portion of the mass of humanity that cares at all about my life. Now, several events came to mind, along with the certainty that it would require a great deal more than $125.00, not to mention the low probability prospect of $125.00 for me to disclose these items in this forum. At that point, the epiphany struck. Where did it say, in the contest rules, that this had to be true? Armed with that insight, I decided to enter the contest.

Further insights followed. I could raise the issue that the event might not be true, and actually provide autobiographical data, implying that it was fictional. However, further consideration of what I believe to be an interesting life led me to the realization that I wasn't hiding anything of the least interest to anybody apart from the participants. So there I was, back to the original dilemma. But I had overlooked the obvious because it had become so commonplace a part of our lives, that it simply had not occurred to me that it could be construed by others as a Big Secret. There was one hitch, however. As far as I was concerned, and as far as I imagined my wife was concerned, it would be OK to disclose this, but someone else was involved.

Moreover, the person who would be the most affected by this disclosure would certainly not understand a venal motivation, particularly for the stakes involved. I could imagine his hurt expression and his words to me. "Hey man, if you need money, why didn't you just ask me?" He would quietly disappear and then come back, a few minutes later with some amount of cash. I would believe anything between $12, 500.00 and $125, 000.00, most likely one or the other of those two amounts. In truth, his supply of ready cash has been dwindling some over the last thirty years; otherwise, he would have thought it a big joke to reach seven figures as a multiple of the prize. He could no longer afford that, and knowing that I knew his condition would embarrass him. Therefore, I had to find some way to circumvent the possible problem that would arise by my merely asking him for permission. I didn't think I could even mention the contest.

I hate dishonesty. I really do. I had to think this through, carefully. The truth was that the prize was not really a significant consideration, anyway. Realizing that, I was forced to 'soul search' to figure out why I was even considering this action. And then, it hit me. My old friend had been morose lately. In fact, he was pretty much 'lower than a snake's belly' and I rather suspected why. He was terminally bored. For many years, he had reveled in his anonymity. It was quite a contrast to his previous existence. He enjoyed a quiet life as my guest, rarely leaving his suite, and even then, only in effective disguise. After the first decade of his voluntary withdrawal, though, he began to play games. When he did leave the house, he would do so in only flimsy disguise. Several times, he would borrow a car (at his request, I owned a Cadillac convertible for years) and drive out of town, wearing no disguise at all. On these occasions, of course, he had been recognized and it had been reported to all of the newspapers, but only the tabloids would carry the stories. These forays always cheered him up.

For the last decade, though, he had withdrawn more and more, and was growing visibly depressed. Besides, he was not keeping himself in shape and had regained much of the weight that we had, together, buddy style, each lost. (I wasn't doing too well with respect to that variable, either.) He was looking old, older than his 72 years and I suspect that this was one consideration that had influenced the once very handsome man to withdraw, again. It became clear to me, only yesterday, that what was needed was some excitement in his life, possibly mine, too, if only vicariously. It was time.

So last night, I made us each two sandwiches, peanut butter, banana, and bacon. I had grown quite fond of that combination, too, and he had never lost his taste for it. I took them down to his suite, and knocked on the door. "King," I said, "I have an idea."