I Have a Secret

I HAVE A SECRET
This exercise is ideal for writing groups, but can be done with as few as two people. By exchanging secrets, fiction writers are prompted to explore a topic they may not have considered otherwise.

Here's How: Each writer should take out a piece of paper.Write down one secret and fold the paper up.Put all of the secrets in a hat, box, or other container.Each person draws a secret. Use the secret you receive as a jumping-off point for your short story.

by Fordy, Doghouse, and Marie

***
I was riding the subway, minding my own business. I hate rush hour! Damn train is always over-full. We're packed like sardines in a tin can. Damn city! I stood up to offer my seat to a young pregnant woman, when some punk sits right down.
"Buddy! have some class," I retort. "What happened to manners?"
The punk looks at me with a steely gaze. "Fuck You!" he sneers, as he turns away. Punks! This whole misbegotten generation, it's the downfall of all society. The train continues to roll-along.
At each stop people get off, and more people get in. One classless slob after another. When did I become such a pillar of society? I may have sometimes been an asshat to get to my position, but I at least maintained the illusion of manners and class. As I continue to muse on the sins of this latest generation, I start to feel an itch in my nose. A maddening itch. That appears to grow worse as it continues.
Damn Allergies! I knew I should've taken a claritan this morning. Ever so subtle I rub my hand along the outside of my nose to try to relieve the itch. ACK! It's just gotten worse. What to do? How can I relieve it, without picking my nose on this crowded train? A tic-tac! I can take a tic-tac, and while I'm shaking the tic-tac into my mouth, I can get a 'scratch' in. I fumble in my pockets, for my tic-tacs. Quickly! Before the itch gets any worse.
At last, relief is a mere moment away. As I bring the tic-tac container up to my face, I feel a sneeze start working it's way through my nasal cavaity. NO! Not when relief is only a moment away. Please, not know. I muffle the sneeze as best I can; but a little booger flew out of the itching nostril ... right into the tic-tac tumbling into my mouth. Gack! I almost choked. Oh God! Did anyone see? Does anyone know? My face is flush with embarrasment. I can't let anyone know that I ate a booger.

***

Ghosts don't frighten me. It's not like I walk around chanting the Cowardly Lion's mantra of believing in ghosts all day, but I don't buy into that whole ghost thing.
My grandfather died on my 37th birthday. I had gone out after work that day and I got home a little later than usual and I was a little worried because my grandfather would always call me on my birthday and I didn't want to miss the call. It wasn't a big deal really because I could always call him back, but there was a certain thrill to picking up the phone and hearing his voice on the other end saying, "Hello, son. Happy birthday.", and after all these years it was almost a ritual and I didn't want to break it. I tossed down my jacket and checked the answering machine. No blinking light there so that was good news. I relaxed a little bit and started to make some dinner.
My grandfather and I were always very close. He was a wholesale floor covering salesman and he spent most of his days out on the road traveling a region selling linoleum. About a week and a half a month he'd spend in town on paperwork. The story is that he was out of town the week I was born and the night before my mother went into labor he came home because he had the feeling he was needed.
The expected phone call didn't come during dinner and I shrugged it off with the thought that he'd probably fallen asleep and grandma didn't want to wake him up right away. He'd just gotten out of the hospital two weeks prior to my birthday after hurting his knee in a fall and they kept him for a few extra days to monitor his irregular heartbeat so I could understand why he might be napping. Still it was strange. It was a break in the ritual and it made me uncomfortable.
At 6:40 the phone rang. I had dozed off myself and I jumped awake and grabbed it on the first ring, a little muddy-headed, but happy that he was calling. The call was from my mother. Her voice was strange and I couldn't make out what she was saying. I asked her what she said and I could feel her breath on the other end of the phone. "My father's dead", she said.
I could say that I knew exactly when he died but that would make a short story that's gone on too long even longer. Yes, my grandfather and I were always very close. Despite the fact that he's been gone now for all these long years, we're still close. Birthdays are a little different now, but he still wishes me a happy birthday every year. Sometimes I even talk to him about things that are on my mind and I ask for his advice and once in awhile, not always, I get it. My grandfather and I are still close because I've been seeing the ghost of a 70 year old man for over ten years.

***

When I was young I never thought my father would get old. What did I know? People get old and they die. I should know. My beloved grandfather died at the age of 70. I miss him daily even though it has been many, many years.
I have been caring for my ill father for 10 years now. I love my father and would do anything for him. We have spent countless hours reminiscing about old times. I loved the days we could just sit with each other and be together. I could listen to the stories about my fathers childhood forever if given the chance.
My father is not doing well. I am losing part of him everyday. I have started to organize the house to occupy my time lately. I find that my father can no longer sit and talk with me about the past like he once did. This makes me sad but I have found going through my father things is almost like taking a walk through the past.
I sat down next to my fathers bed with all the old photographs of people long gone, of myself as a baby, of people I will never know and of those who I knew well but have gone. I took my time with each picture, remembering how things use to be. This makes me happy and sad all at the same time. I picked up a particular picture of my grandfather taken at the end of his life. The picture was taken on his 70th birthday just a month before his death. Such a handsome face at one time but in the picture, the signs of age and illness are very easily seen. As I sat and looked at this picture I realized I have seen that face recently. I looked at my father and realized that I have been seeing the ghost of a 70 year old man for over ten years.

***