Never Truth

6

A cop just tried to question me about you. Are you in trouble? The conversation dots immediately jumped to life. Michael was excellent about responding to my messages, unlike some guys. No, I’m sure it was nothing. You ok? Yeah, just shaken. No idea what he wanted, and I didn’t give him time to tell me. I’ll bet that pissed him off. I’d be surprised if he didn’t c***k a tooth. The thought made me chuckle. Serves him right for upsetting you. Try not to worry. I’m sure it’s fine. K You get your boxes? Yeah. Good. Have fun back home. Don’t remind me. His reassuring words had eased some of my tension, but I couldn’t entirely shake the bad feeling that sat heavy in my gut. Then again, maybe it was just a byproduct of his reminder about my upcoming stay with my parents. Either way, my sunshiny day now felt threatened with ominous clouds on the horizon. After texting Michael, I made my way to my childhood home on Staten Island. The apartment I had leased in the city wouldn’t be ready for three more weeks, which left me in need of a place to stay. I had money and could have rented something short-term, but my dad had insisted I come home. He wasn’t the type of man you argued with. It was simply easier to stay with my parents than to fight him on it. Plus, I wouldn’t have to unpack and repack in a short amount of time. They had kept my bedroom just as it was the day I left for school, which was a little odd but handy in a pinch. Assuming I could put up with my family for three weeks, it was a nobrainer. The problem was, my family made me crazy. I’d intentionally stayed away as much as possible over the past four years, using school as an excuse to bow out of dinners and family gatherings. It wasn’t so much the people themselves that bothered me, it was the secrets. They were insidious, poisoning every aspects of our lives until even the most fundamental parts of ourselves were blurred and fuzzy, impossible to define. Was I innately secretive? Who knew? But I’d definitely become secretive. That was the worst part of it all—I was no better than any of them. I had secrets of my own that would rock their carefully constructed world. Hello, hypocrisy, my old friend. I’d known my family’s darkest secrets since I was a child and kept that knowledge hidden most of my life. I never gave the smallest clue that I’d known my father was a mafia boss or how I’d discovered his involvement. As far as they were concerned, I was angelic Sofia—a sweet, artistic soul who needed to be shielded and protected from life’s darker side. Every one of us wore masks in my family. We acted a part, keeping strictly to the script and guarding our secrets ruthlessly, and it was exhausting. I didn’t see any reason, if we’d all fallen from the same rotten tree, why we couldn’t be true to one another. If it had been us against the world, then at least we would have had each other. But that wasn’t the case. We were outsiders even amongst ourselves, which made for an extremely lonely existence. When I was around them, my skin itched with the need to shed itself and show them who I truly was, and my throat burned to scream, demanding we leave the secrets behind. But I kept it all bottled up, tightly sealed in a glass jar in the depths of my being. Why didn’t I just let it all out? Be the change you want to see, and all that jazz. I’d only been five when I first started harboring secrets and hadn’t known any better at the time. As I got older and recognized the plethora of the lies around me, it was too late. Telling my truths at that point was no longer a simple unburdening—there would be consequences I wasn’t willing to face. Instead of spewing my anger and frustration, I painted. It was my only outlet and had saved me on many occasions. Because of the secrets and isolation, my parents’ house never really felt like home. It was a stage where we performed, not a sanctuary where we could be ourselves. Just looking at the outer façade as I pulled into the driveway had me gnawing anxiously at my fingernails. It was three weeks. I could survive three weeks. I unloaded the two boxes into the garage with all my other things and locked the door. My father had begrudgingly agreed to let me store my things where Mom parked her car so I didn’t have to deal with the hassle of a storage unit. I knew the minute I’d locked my things away in some rundown metal building, I’d think of something I needed to retrieve. This way, I had everything nearby, and Mom’s car could surely survive the elements for three weeks. I used the key to let myself in the side door of the house closest to the detached garage. “Hey Mom, it’s me,” I called out, dropping my keys on the hall tree bench. “Oh, Sofia!” Mom said as she hurried over from the other room. “I’m so glad you’re home.”