Do You Want to Know A Secret?

in his first meeting with Cynthia Miller, Daniel Webster Grant learns more about himself than he actually knows

 

Do You Want To Know A Secret?

Littleton New Hampshire, 1967

 

          I knocked on the door. Twice. With my schoolbooks clutched tight to my pulsating heart, I reached out a third time for the door.

          “Cynthia, you in there?” I called.

          “Come in,” was the airy reply. The doorknob bid for me to creak the century old door open, and I slowly pushed on the bedroom door. Almost immediately, I was assaulted by the same smoky stench that soaked through the walls of the rest of Cynthia Miller’s home. Upon first walking in, I could not see anyone in the room. For it being daylight, her bedroom was as dark as nightfall. Everything was draped with colorful, shadowy blankets and throws. Mist curled around in clouds coming from an incense burner; there were a lot of lit candles and burners scattered throughout her room. The last thing I noticed was Cynthia, practically hidden from the world behind a long table adorned with one of her many blankets. I could barely make out the top of her head, but what attracted my attention was the soft scratching of a needle upon a record. The record ended, the vinyl flipped around, and the sweet sound of John Lennon’s voice played over the turntable interference.

          “Do you mind the Beatles, Daniel?” Cynthia asked in her typical, serene voice. I clutched my books tighter to my chest; Lennon’s voice made my heart skip a beat, and I thought maybe the books would stifle the sound of feminine glee coming from inside of me.

          “Uh, no. No. They are an amazing band,” I replied. As I walked farther into Cynthia’s “pad”, I made sure to breathe in as little smoke as I possibly could. She emerged and drifted over to me. She surveyed me top to bottom with her glossy eyes, which then rested upon my face. Something betrayed itself to her gaze that caused her entire figure to light up, and she took me by the hand.

          “Come sit. On the floor! We’ll sit on the floor,” she said, dragging me to the floor with her. My textbook fell from my grip and smacked onto the hardwood underneath a blanket.

          “What are you having problems with Sin? We can start on these word problems if you- ” I started shuffling through the pages of the textbook, but Cynthia snapped the book shut. She shook her head and stared deep into my eyes.

          “I have something to tell you,” she ignored my previous question and instead repeated what she had said at lunch. I could feel the words stinging my heart at the lunch table, and now it was all the stronger. My heart started pumping faster.

          “Well, let’s hear it,” I responded. I had no other choice.

          “I saw you staring at him. You know, at Gray. I can tell that you like him,” Cynthia whispered, letting the delicate hum of A Taste of Honey penetrate my veins.

          “I was speaking with him, if that’s what you mean. I wasn’t staring by any means! He’s a great football captain and a good friend, though. I guess you can say I like him,” I built a barricade behind my eyes. I again stifled my heart by clinging the book to my chest; however, Cynthia’s gaze bore hard down on my barricade and it was a fight to block her out.

          “That’s not how I meant it. You like him more than that. I can tell. Don’t be afraid to want him,” Cynthia pulled the book down from my chest. My telltale heart revealed guilt. With the final guitar chord of the song, my heard rebounded the message of love, not to Cynthia, but to Lennon, and to Gray. The barricade behind my eyes fell. I closed them and bowed my head.

          “There’s a certain… no. It’s not that. I don’t want him. He and I are one in the same! It’s more likely that you want him than- ”

          Cynthia put her finger against my lips; with the other hand, she took my own and rubbed my palm. “Relax. Feel yourself. Being ‘one in the same’ means nothing. Man to man, woman to woman, desire comes from within you. To whom it’s directed that your heart decides, not your sex.”

          The way Cynthia spoke, I was not sure if the marijuana was speaking or her. I can say, though, that the touch of her hand on mine did bring a sort of comfort to me. “Feel myself? Sin, should I come back another day?”

          “Please try to understand! I understand you!” a wild look passed through her sea blue eyes and flashed them bright as magnesium. The look vanished. “But you don’t understand yourself.”

          “Really, Sin. There’s nothing there to get! Gray is my friend and it means nothing. I don’t know what you’ve found that you ‘understand’, but quite frankly, I’d rather get to the point of teaching you mathematics!”

          It has been said that the worst kind of lie is lying for its own sake. Vague hints of that principle traced each word of my self-denial. Cynthia already knew what was happening. The white flag had gone up long before. It was as I was contemplating my next plan of attack that I recognized George Harrison’s voice on Do You Want To Know A Secret? Cynthia smiled.

          “The mathematics can wait,” Cynthia said. “I feel sorry for you, Daniel. You do not realize it, but there are others like you. It is normal, you know.”

          “What’s that? That there’s other men in this neighborhood that would come here and let you reveal to them their secrets? How do you know these things? Aren’t you afraid that I’m going to ostracize you?” I asked. Her fingers lingered on my palm and I drew away. Her fingers were spies; like a gypsy’s special friend that can get inside one’s head simply by interpreting its lines.

          “No sort of knowledge can tell me what’s in your head, just a manifested understanding of the world, enlightenment. There are no other men in this neighborhood- I don’t think at least- in the same situation as you. However… ” She drew out the ‘however’ as she snatched back my retreated hand, “there is one girl who knows how it feels.”

          At that, she drew me close and hugged me tightly. Her body was warm and forgiving. My eyes swelled up and my cheeks felt damp. My throat constricted as I hugged her tightly back. “It isn’t normal, Sin. It isn’t. I’m the only one around here. The only man wanting to be with Lennon instead of wanting to be him! The only player on the team wanting to make a pass at Gray, not just one to him!”

          “And how are you certain? People have secrets they keep. They wish to uphold standards that really aren’t standard,” Cynthia replied, hugging me tighter. Loving tears penetrated her kaleidoscope eyes and dabbed the back of my white collared shirt.

          “Why do you speak in oxymorons?” I wanted to clutch her arms in a tight lock and shake her until sense penetrated her ‘enlightened’ mind. Instead, my arms wrapped around her in a grand embrace, and she shook her wet face into my shoulder. “This… attraction is neither natural nor human. I should be glad to be rid of it!”

          Cynthia groaned so the shirt collar vibrated sickeningly. Her head picked up, “Did you ever stop to think that you’re speaking about yourself? It’s not something you can be rid of, Daniel. You were born with it, and it won’t- ”

          “Even so, there are some diseases children have at birth that are cured. I’m sure something can eradicate this mental perversion, whatever may be causing it,” I interrupted her before she could finish her refute. She wiped her face and detached herself from me; her hand still clung firmly to mine.

          “When will you realize it’s not a disease? There are other men like you. They seek to be as near their attractions as you are to Gray; yet, they find no outlet. My father has worked with a few of those men; some have dwelt over the same thoughts you are sharing with me now. But they have been enlightened. They know its okay to love each other,” Cynthia looked into my eyes; her crystalline spheres of influence tugged at my heart and wrenched it through the bars of its cage. 

          “Sin, this isn’t me! I was normal, then all of a sudden… I don’t know what happened! This metamorphosis of personality has my emotions under siege!” I attempted to bring at least some sort of sense into Cynthia’s mind. She did not give a reply right away. Instead, she focused on her own musings; her eyes still studied my figure, although I doubt she could see well past her tears. Her lips quavered, then shut again.

          “Have you ever given thought to your emotions before? Are you sure you’ve ever had emotion for a girl. You know, like me. A full-bodied woman,” Cynthia asked at last. It was my turn to pause. The sudden question had me puzzled; I searched for an example; it was impossible. During the span of my two years in high school, there had been no time for relationships. Education was first; physical pleasure remained trashed in the backseat of my Ivy League vehicle. Girls smiled in my direction constantly; had I ever paid them a flash back?

          “Is it damnable to prefer being alone? My studies fill my attention, Sin. If I am to be a successful lawyer in this state, I must face the sacrifices demanded along the path,” I compiled whatever I could from my empty bank of excuses. I swallowed hard; I could feel my naturally deep voice gradually becoming higher. My throat knotted in resistance as Cynthia placed her soft hand against my damp face.

          “What will you do with that money? If you are successful, you will have enough to spend, won’t you?” she asked.

          I lingered on this thought and said, “I suppose I’d have money enough to buy myself a large house for entertaining my friends from the legal firm. It would be possible to buy two televisions; one for the living room or salon, and the other one would be reserved for my room, in order to watch the news. Then a nice car to represent myself, possibly a Rolls Royce… ”

          “And there must be a wife in this large house?” Cynthia supposed.

          I frowned deeper, “If I can be cured of this uncouth defect.”

          “Suppose you can’t?”

          “Then… no,” I replied. My eyes dropped to the patterned blanket on the floor beneath us; my sorrow dripped into the rich greens and deep blues.

          “What would your father say?” Cynthia pressed on.

          “He… doesn’t know. I don’t wish to tell him, and I won’t until I’m fixed,” I confirmed the belief to myself, although the statement was meant to reach Cynthia’s ears.

          “Why won’t you tell him? What if he found out before you could ‘cure’ yourself?” Cynthia continued the interrogation with an innate prerogative. Again, I was forced to think heavily upon the subject before scrupulously responding. My brain pulsed; the smoke entered my mind and a swirl of purple and green mist clouded over my closed eyes. Still I cried; no reason presented itself to me. Behind the haze was a picture of my father; he, a hard browed man with a stone personality, had zero tolerance for anything against the social norm. Cynthia had voided her contract with society long ago; if my father became familiar with her ways, he would surely have an entire branch of Littleton ostracizing her more than she has done to herself.

          “My father is one of the wisest men I know,” I replied, eyeing her from top to bottom. Her head sunk; her chin nearly touched her chest. From the wet spots on her trousers, it was obvious she was still crying.

          “Not if he is not enlightened,” she turned her stormy eyes to mine. “Daniel, I had a girlfriend in Maine and three boyfriends since I left. Only two had been fully enlightened. Please trust me when I tell you that you’re normal. Trust me.”

          My face was so wet I took a quick swipe at my cheeks; it was a lousy attempt, as was my resistance to Cynthia. She had me. I was normal. I was normal. I am normal. But not pedestrian.

          “How do you live, Sin? How is it possible to be? The secret is so great!” I asked. She patted her face with a blanket and smiled faintly.

          “I am a secret. My father chooses either not to know or not to care; but nobody really knows my heart. You know my heart. I can share my secret with you now, can’t I?” she beamed warmly. The record stopped.

          “Sure,” I reached out and touched her hand. It was wet and sticky. She leaned in so close to me, my stomach felt sick with the vision of a female kiss. However, she merely wrapped her arms around me with a friendly hug.

          “We’ll be great friends,” she said. Her voice was distant.

          “Sure we will,” I hugged her back and we released. Her fingers tapped the long forgotten math book.

          “Maybe next time I’ll actually learn some arithmetic,” she giggled; her laugh choked up from crying.

          “Tomorrow?”

          “See you then,” she agreed. I stood and took my math book with me. Before I left, I stole a look at my face in the hall mirror. It was so red, that convincing my mother we had been laughing over mathematics became the greatest case I ever fought. 

Reviews

[Sara Henry Heistand]

Edits and commentary, I mean! I didn't mean to sound like I ruined your story!!

Yikes! Sorry about making a mess of your reviews, as well. v.v

[Sara Henry Heistand]

Yikes! Sorry about making a mess like that! I didn't intend on the "bold" not looking like "bold" at all... All of my edits are within parentheses. :(

Sorry again, m'luv!

[Sara Henry Heistand]

Littleton, New Hampshire. October 1964. (I like this way of setting, Colleen. Sets you in the mood for golden crisps of leaves and apples and woolen vests...)

I knocked on the door. Twice. With my schoolbooks clutched tight to my pulsating heart, I reached out a third time for the door.
�Cynthia, you in there?� I called.
�Come in,� was the airy reply. The doorknob bid for me to creak the century old door open, and I slowly pushed on the bedroom door. Almost immediately, I was assaulted by the same smoky stench that soaked through the walls of the rest of Cynthia Miller�s home. (Who let him in? Was mommy home or did he let himself in? Are they pretty trusting in New Hampshire?) Upon first walking in, I could not see anyone in the room. ("I could see no one in the room" might sound better? It seems a little awkward...) For it being daylight, her bedroom was as dark as nightfall. Everything was draped with colorful, shadowy blankets and throws. Mist curled around in clouds coming from an incense burner; there were a lot of lit candles and burners scattered throughout her room. The last thing I noticed was Cynthia, practically hidden from the world behind a long table adorned with one of her many blankets. Maybe "Then I noticed Cynthia..." I could barely make out the top of her head, but what attracted my attention was the soft scratching of a needle upon a record. The record ended, the vinyl flipped around, and the sweet sound of John Lennon�s voice played over the turntable interference.
�Do you mind the Beatles, Daniel?� Cynthia asked in her typical, serene voice. I clutched my books tighter to my chest; Lennon�s voice made my heart skip a beat, and I thought maybe the books would stifle the sound of feminine glee coming from inside of me. (xD)
�Uh, no. No. They are an amazing band,� I replied. As I walked farther into Cynthia�s �pad�, (Put the comma within the quotations! ;D) I made sure to breathe in as little smoke as I possibly could. She emerged and drifted over to me. She surveyed me top to bottom with her glossy eyes, which then rested upon my face. Something betrayed itself to her gaze that caused her entire figure to light up, and she took me by the hand. (Beautiful sentence there!!)
�Come sit. On the floor! We�ll sit on the floor,� she said, dragging me to the floor with her. (I really like how you describer her--very head-in-the-clouds meets sage) My textbook fell from my grip and smacked onto the hardwood underneath a blanket. (I could hear it; you're very descriptive...)
�What are you having problems with Sin? We can start on these word problems if you- � I started shuffling through the pages of the textbook, but Cynthia snapped the book shut. She shook her head and stared deep into my eyes. (I still think that it should be "Cyn" instead of "Sin." It makes it too obvious to the reader. Puns aren't always bad! ;})
�I have something to tell you,� she (said, as she) ignored my previous question and instead repeated what she had said at lunch. I could feel the words stinging my heart at the lunch table, and now it was all the stronger. My heart started pumping faster.
�Well, let�s hear it,� I responded. I had no other choice.
�I saw you staring at him. You know, at Gray. I can tell that you like him,� Cynthia whispered, letting the delicate hum of A Taste of Honey (quotation marks for songs...very good songs...) penetrate my veins.
�I was speaking with him, if that�s what you mean. I wasn�t staring by any means! He�s a great football captain and a good friend, though. I guess you can say I like him,� I (said and) built a barricade behind my eyes. I again stifled my heart by clinging the book to my chest; however, Cynthia�s gaze bore hard down on my barricade and it was a fight to block her out. (Great imagery...)
�That�s not how I meant it. You like him more than that. I can tell. Don�t be afraid to want him,� Cynthia (said and) pulled the book down from my chest. My telltale heart revealed guilt. With the final guitar chord of the song, my heard rebounded the message of love, not to Cynthia, but to Lennon, (maybe a semicolon could work there? It would give a sense of hesitation.) and to Gray. The barricade behind my eyes fell. I closed them and bowed my head.
�There�s a certain� no. It�s not that. I don�t want him. He and I are one in the same! It�s more likely that you want him than- � (The dialogue seem a little off in the second half, but everything else is the epitome of the era, if you catch my drift. ;})
Cynthia put her finger against my lips; with the other hand, she took my own and rubbed my palm. �Relax. Feel yourself. Being �one in the same� means nothing. Man to man, woman to woman, desire comes from within you. To whom it�s directed that your heart decides, not your sex.� (WISE WORDS!!! :D)
The way Cynthia spoke, I was not sure if the marijuana was speaking or her. (Hee!) I can say, though, that the touch of her hand on mine did bring a sort of comfort to me. �Feel myself? Sin, should I come back another day?� (Hesitation; noice, noice!)
�Please try to understand! I understand you!� a (Capitalization?) wild look passed through her sea blue eyes and flashed them bright as magnesium. (That was a beautiful simile!!!!) The look vanished. �But you don�t understand yourself.�
�Really, Sin. There�s nothing there to get! Gray is my friend and it means nothing. I don�t know what you�ve found that you �understand�, (Comma within the quotation! AHHH! Grammer Nazism has be my the threshold... v.v) but quite frankly, I�d rather get to the point of teaching you mathematics!� (Maybe italicize 'mathematics.' It seems awkward in speech.)
It has been said that the worst kind of lie is lying for its own sake. (Wise again!) Vague hints of that principle traced each word of my self-denial. Cynthia already knew what was happening. The white flag had gone up long before. It was as I was contemplating my next plan of attack that I recognized George Harrison�s voice on Do You Want To Know A Secret? (Quotations on really good songs, you!) Cynthia smiled. (:D)
�The mathematics can wait,� Cynthia said. �I feel sorry for you, Daniel. You do not realize it, but there are others like you. It is normal, you know.�
�What�s that? That there�s other men in this neighborhood that would come here and let you reveal to them their secrets? How do you know these things? Aren�t you afraid of me?� I asked. Her fingers lingered on my palm and I drew away. Her fingers were spies; like a gypsy�s special friend that can get inside one�s head simply by interpreting its lines. (Humina, humina. Your similes and metaphors are IN-CRED-I-BLEEE!)
�No sort of knowledge can tell me what�s in your head, just a manifested understanding of the world, enlightenment. There are no other men in this neighborhood- I don�t think at least- in the same situation as you. However� � She drew out the �however� as she snatched back my retreated hand, �there is one girl who knows how it feels.� (That is very sweet and comforting. :})
At that, she drew me close and hugged me tightly. Her body was warm and forgiving. My eyes swelled up and my cheeks felt damp. My throat constricted as I hugged her tightly back. �It isn�t normal, Sin. It isn�t. I�m the only one around here. The only man wanting to be with Lennon instead of wanting to be him! The only player on the team wanting to make a pass at Gray, not just one to him!� (:})
�And how are you certain? People have secrets they keep. They wish to uphold standards that really aren�t standard,� Cynthia replied, hugging me tighter. Loving tears penetrated her kaleidoscope eyes (gooooood description) and dabbed the back of my white collared shirt.
�Why do you speak in oxymorons?� I wanted to clutch her arms in a tight lock and shake her until sense penetrated her �enlightened� mind. Instead, my arms wrapped around her in a grand embrace, and she shook her wet face into my shoulder. (Maybe add some here so we know that Daniel says this and not Cynthia:) �This� attraction is neither natural nor human. I should be glad to be rid of it!�
Cynthia groaned so the shirt collar vibrated sickeningly. Her head picked up, �Did you ever stop to think that you�re speaking about yourself? It�s not something you can be rid of, Daniel. You were born with it, and it won�t- �
�Even so, there are some diseases children have at birth that are cured. I�m sure something can eradicate this mental perversion, whatever may be causing it,� I (said,) interrupted('ing,' not 'ed') her before she could finish her refute. She wiped her face and detached herself from me; her hand still clung firmly to mine.
�When will you realize it�s not a disease? There are other men like you. They seek to be as near their attractions as you are to Gray; yet, they find no outlet. My father has worked with a few of those men; some have dwelt over the same thoughts you are sharing with me now. But they have been enlightened. They know its okay to love each other,� Cynthia looked into my eyes; her crystalline spheres of influence tugged at my heart and wrenched it through the bars of its cage. (THAT WAS GREAT! Caged, indeed! :D)
�Sin, this isn�t me! I was normal, then all of a sudden� I don�t know what happened! This metamorphosis of personality has my emotions under siege!� I attempted to bring at least some sort of sense into Cynthia�s mind. She did not give a reply right away. Instead, she focused on her own musings; her eyes still studied my figure, although I doubt she could see well past her tears. Her lips quavered, then shut again.
�Have you ever given thought to your emotions before? Are you sure you�ve ever had emotion for a girl. You know, like me. A full-bodied woman,� Cynthia asked at last. It was my turn to pause. The sudden question had me puzzled; I searched for an example; it was impossible. During the span of my two years in high school, there had been no time for relationships. Education was first; physical pleasure remained trashed in the backseat of my Ivy League vehicle. (That sounds like he turns tricks or wacks off or impregnates teenage girls in the back of his car... Maybe reword that "physical pleasure remained trashed.") Girls smiled in my direction constantly; had I ever paid them a flash back? (Nice play on words there, especially if it was intentional!)
�Is it damnable to prefer being alone? My studies fill my attention, Sin. If I am to be a successful lawyer in this state, I must face the sacrifices demanded along the path,� I compiled whatever I could from my empty bank of excuses. I swallowed hard; I could feel my naturally deep voice gradually becoming higher. (Nice way of showing an ingrown fear of being "feminized.") My throat knotted in resistance as Cynthia placed her soft hand against my damp face.
�What will you do with that money? If you are successful, you will have enough to spend, won�t you?� she asked. (Capitalize "she" since "you" ends with a question mark.)
I lingered on this thought and said, �I suppose I�d have money enough to buy myself a large house for entertaining my friends from the legal firm. It would be possible to buy two televisions; one for the living room or salon, and the other one would be reserved for my room, in order to watch the news. Then a nice car to represent myself, possibly a Rolls Royce� �
�And there must be a wife in this large house?� Cynthia supposed.
I frowned deeper, �If I can be cured of this uncouth defect.� (Hee! Good, quick response.)
�Suppose you can�t?�
�Then� no,� I replied. My eyes dropped to the patterned blanket on the floor beneath us; my sorrow dripped into the rich greens and deep blues. (Pretty... :})
�What would your father say?� Cynthia pressed on.
�He� doesn�t know. I don�t wish to tell him, and I won�t until I�m fixed,� I confirmed the belief to myself; I didn�t really believe it; yet, there was some hope that a cure existed for homosexuality.
�Why won�t you tell him? What if he found out before you could �cure� yourself?� Cynthia continued the interrogation with an innate prerogative. Again, I was forced to think heavily upon the subject before scrupulously responding. My brain pulsed; the smoke entered my mind and a swirl of purple and green mist clouded over my closed eyes. Still I cried; no reason presented itself to me. Behind the haze was a picture of my father; he, a hard browed man with a stone personality, had zero tolerance for anything against the social norm. (Good description of an a*****e. :}) Cynthia had voided her contract with society long ago; if my father became familiar with her ways, he would surely have an entire branch of Littleton ostracizing her more than she has done to herself. (Ooh! How I do love Cynthia! A well mapped out character!)
�My father is one of the wisest men I know,� I replied, eyeing her from top to bottom. Her head sunk; her chin nearly touched her chest. From the wet spots on her shirt, it was obvious she was still crying.
�Not if he is not enlightened,� she turned her stormy eyes to mine. �Daniel, I had a girlfriend in Maine and three boyfriends since I left. Only two had been fully enlightened. Please trust me when I tell you that you�re normal. Trust me.� (I really like your emphasis on "enlightened.")
My face was so wet I took a quick swipe at my cheeks; it was a lousy attempt, as was my resistance to Cynthia. She had me. I was normal. I was normal. I am normal. But not pedestrian. (Nice word flow; very rhymic.)
�How do you live, Sin? How is it possible to be? The secret is so great!� I asked. She patted her face with a blanket and smiled faintly.
�I am a secret. My father chooses either not to know or not to care; but nobody really knows my heart. You know my heart. I can share my secret with you now, can�t I?� she beamed warmly. The record stopped. (Capitalize "she" after her piece of dialogue. I like how it climaxes and "the record stopped.")
�Sure,� I reached out and touched her hand. It was wet and sticky. She leaned in so close to me, my stomach felt sick with the vision of a female kiss. (Good view into his mind!) However, she merely wrapped her arms around me with a friendly hug.
�We�ll be great friends,� she said. Her voice was distant.
�Sure we will,� I hugged her back and we released. Her fingers tapped the long forgotten math book. (Heh heh... That old thing?)
�Maybe next time I�ll actually learn some arithmetic,� she giggled (she said and giggled); her laugh choked up from crying.
�Tomorrow?�
�See you then,� she agreed. I stood and took my math book with me. Before I left, I stole a look at my face in the hall mirror. It was so red, that convincing my mother we had been laughing over mathematics became the greatest case I ever fought. (:})

(You, ma'am, have a beautiful choice of words here. This rhythm you have--amazing and intellectual. Daniel's dialogue seemed a little like he had a stick up his a*s at some points, but that could be intended and I'm just ignorant... Like, we're taking a view into his own fear of being laid back and everything his father probably does detest. This piece flows beautifully and has every potential of being published. Your sense of setting is marvelous!! I love you.