Silent Prejudice

3

And what does the affair say about sweet Elena? She had to have known my mother was pregnant with me when she was intimate with my father. Did that bother her? What did her infidelity say about her own marriage? I don’t know how to reconcile what I’ve learned with what I thought to be true. No matter how much we think we know people, the truth is, we see what they want us to see. There will always be parts of ourselves we keep hidden from everyone. The darkest parts that we hope will never see the light of day. But all it takes is the smallest deviation from routine to pull open the curtains and shine a glaring spotlight on our transgressions. That’s what happened the day Zeno went to look for his old Game Boy after I’d whined about the game he and his brother were playing. He discovered our parents’ secret affair but chose to keep it in the dark until today. Until he offered me a look behind the curtain at a sight I cannot ever unsee. The knowledge is hard enough for me to process as an adult. I knew my parents were no longer in love, but an affair? That’s so much harder to comprehend. I can’t imagine how hard it must have been on Zeno to carry that burden as a child. In a way, I understand why he hated my family. My heart aches for him, but at the same time, his justification doesn’t erase the hurt he caused for so many years with each slighted insult and cold shoulder. My emotions have split into two opposing camps. Empathy and remorse war with anger and blame, and I can’t tell which is the dominant force. Do I want to scream at Zeno for hurting me or beg his forgiveness for assuming the worst of him? He’d so consistently dismissed me in all our exchanges that I’d given in and labeled him arrogant and heartless. I’d written off my suspicions that something major had happened to change him, even though I’d been there the day the change came about. I knew something was wrong that had nothing to do with me, but he’d worn me down with his arctic confrontations, and I eventually abandoned my faith in him. You’re not loyal; you’re arrogant and pathetic. My own hate-filled words come back to haunt me. I had a valid reason for my venomous attack, not unlike his own reasons for his treatment of me, but that doesn’t make me feel any better about what I said. We’ve both been wrong. Both said awful, spiteful things to one another over the years. So where does that leave us? And what about Nevio? As far as I can tell, he’s been the greatest victim of the whole charade. Mom and Silvano were cheated on, but if the De Rossi marriage was anything like my parents’, Silvano had to have known his marriage was less than perfect. It’s not an excuse for cheating, but they were adults willingly staying in compromised relationships. Nevio had been an innocent child. He’d had no control over his parentage, nor was he given the decency of an explanation to help him understand the situation. To know why he was sent away and why his brother grew so distant. Instead, Nevio was made to feel like an outsider in his own home. I can’t imagine how painful that was. No secret is worth that kind of damage. I slip my hand into the back pocket of my jeans and pull out Zeno’s folded letter. The previously crisp pages are now supple with a hint of moisture from my run. My eyes trace over his flowing script. I can envision him at his father’s desk, bent with intensity as he pours out his deepest, darkest secrets for me. It pained me to even put the words on paper, but you needed to hear the truth. I needed you to know the truth. I have spent a lifetime keeping secrets and covering for people, but I’m glad to share this with you, even if only for your own protection. As I read over the last paragraphs for a second time, I get a sense of finality as realization dawns. The primary reason his letter broke me into pieces wasn’t the secret he conveyed. The greatest source of my turmoil is in the underlying message. It is the same reason he wrote instead of telling me in person and the reason he left Hardwick for the city. Zeno De Rossi’s letter is his way of saying goodbye. I told him that he was the last man I’d ever want to be with, and he respected my wishes by walking away. It’s an honorable response to my anger, yet my heart feels like it’s been wrapped in barbed wire, tangled and bleeding with no way to break free. After so many years of hurt, I should be glad that he’s told me the truth, but somehow, I only feel worse. For the suffering all around me. For the lost years and needless tears. For the man who has always been just out of my reach. They say the truth sets you free, but it can’t undo the past. So, I ask again, where does that leave us? I spend hours staring out my bedroom window without arriving at an answer. Sounds filter upstairs as my family returns home. Gia checks on me briefly, disposing of the soggy bag of broccoli. She doesn’t push me to talk, though she can tell something has happened. The smell of garlic and pasta wafts upstairs, but not even the tempting aromas can lure me from my solitude. Eventually, golden streaks of sunset cast the trees in stark relief. The light shifts and fades as the sun descends, immersing me in a darkness I welcome with open arms.