A Small Safe for Secrets
Some secrets are not meant to be shared
Part 1
This feels like a vulnerable write, but my therapist said I have to do this, so here I am. I am going to share five of my secrets with you. But you have to promise, you won’t tell anybody.
When I was 8, I got my first puppy. I named him Ron after my name, Rhonda. He was my family. I was an orphan, still am, but back then I live in an orphanage with 60 other orphans. It was always lonely. Still, I had two places of retreat. One was God. I used to tell Him my secrets and trust that He will keep them hidden. The other was Ron. I found him in the park one day, and it took us time to bond after he bit me the day I found him. Of course, I don't blame him, we were strangers, and he and I were stranded from birth. We couldn't trust anyone.
I used to draw sketches of my secrets and each one of my sketches took me about five hours. I drew every little detail. After drawing them, I would give them to Ron and ask him to tear them up. No one could know them, and of course, they all would try to sneak up while I was drawing.
Ron died when I was 12. That time was difficult. Excuse me, for not conveying all my emotions in my writing, I still don’t trust you so much. I’m sorry. I buried him under my bed where I had tried to dig a hole to escape. That didn’t work, but that was the safest place to bury him as no one could dig him out of there.
After Ron’s death, I tried to draw my secrets and asked God to tear them up, but His voice would come to me in my head and say “I hear you, but I will not tear the only resources you have for learning more about yourself.”
Anyways, I was put in the orphanage school for the first time and I started learning how to write the alphabet. I also got a job at the orphanage then. I started making money from selling lunch at the cafeteria in the orphanage school. I planned to get out as soon as possible with just enough money for food and water for a week. I’d figure the rest out along the way.
Alas, that plan didn't work. Any time I tried to get out, I would be caught and put into detention. So, when I turned 18, on New Year’s Eve — I don’t know when my happy birthday is, but New Year’s Eve seems to be a pretty happy day, and December just pulls me, so yeah— I could no longer live in the orphanage anymore. I was an adult now. So, I got out and with the money, I made over the last six years, I tried to buy freedom, couldn’t find it at any shop. After five days and three meals, one shopkeeper though gave me something similar. He gave me a diary for free. It had a lock, and he said he couldn’t open it. No customer who tried to buy it could open it. He didn’t even know if it was used or not inside. So, he gave it to me for free.
I took it and found out it was a pin code lock. So I started trying all possible number combinations to fit that eight number space. Since I was living on the footpath near a Mr. Luke’s grand house, I had nothing better to do than to try to open the lock. After a good 2 days with 1 hour of sleep in total, I opened it. It was 12041995. On the first page, it said,
“Dear human who opened this diary,
This is a safe place for your secrets. No one else knows the code, and I think you know that. This is your freedom. And seeing you be so determined to open this, I think it’s safe to say you have no other place to vent out your feelings. I’m also assuming you need help. I’m a psychotherapist, a.k.a. a listener. Here’s my address: House number 23, 5th Street from The United Nations Museum in Washington D.C. It is a small house and I promise I won’t move out till you come and meet me. However, I placed this diary on a bridge on the 4th of December in 1995. If you are finding this about 50 or 60 years later, I’m not sure if I’m alive anymore. I’m already 51. If that's the case, use this diary as a safe for your secrets and keep believing. You found this for a reason,
Janard.”
I thought I could use a journey. So, I started moving. I went to the same shopkeeper and asked for a pencil which he sold to me. Now, here I was, with a pencil, a diary and an address, and a $100 from my 6-year work shift. I got to my nearest railway station to catch a ride to Washington from Chicago. It was a $69 ride. I was willing to pay. With a banana from a tree in Mr. Luke’s small garden outside his mansion, I hopped onto the train for an 18-hour-long ride. Over the train ride, I started writing down my secrets in the notebook. The old woman sitting next to me smiled at the crouched me, with both feet on the seat hiding the diary from the world.
After the 18-hour journey, my wrist was aching from all the writing and the diary was almost full. I got out and started walking. I did run into a few wild dogs on my way, so I had to run, which I was trying not to do so that I could stay full a little longer. It took me 1 day and 2 nights to find Janard’s house. It was a small house. Praying he’s still alive since it was only 10 years since 1995, I knocked on his door, and by mistake, with the wrist I hurt by writing.
It was an old man, 61 years old. He saw me, stared at the diary, and welcomed me in. His house was a small, wooden one with one room — a library. It did have stairs that lead to more bookshelves on the top floor, which ran across the sides of the library walls in thin lanes. There was only natural light.
“So, you are the human who needs to share their secrets.” He said sitting down at the long circular sofa in the middle. He gestured me to sit opposite to him and poured in a glass of water from a transparent jug and handed it over to me.
I said in a monotone and emotionless voice, “I don’t share secrets. I came here because it was one clear task I had after getting out of the orphanage.”
“Oh, you are an orphan?”
“Yes.”
“Did you use the diary yet?”
“Yes.”
“What’s your name?” He asked in a soft voice, like a father talking to his small daughter.
“Rhonda.”
“Nice to meet you. I am Janard.”
“I know.” I forced a smile to be polite.
“Ok, Rhonda, you have a lot of potential to lead a life you will be proud of. Do you want that?”
I took a long one minute to think. “Yes.”
“Okay then, let’s get to know you. If you are comfortable, can you tell me one secret?”
“Umm…”
There was a long silence.
End of part 1.
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