Shhh…It’s a Secret Blogfest

(If you came looking for Back to School Daze Blogfest, it is here.)

Secrets are always fun, and Summer Ross at My Inner Fairy is hosting a Shh It’s a Secret Blogfest.She says: “In 700 words or less give us at least one secret in a story: murder, mystery, funny, romantic, poetry, or story snippet…doesn’t matter but the word “Secret” must be included in the story or poem to count.”I live on the other side of the world from her, so the joy of participating would be my prize, and addicted as I am to blogfests, that is a big prize indeed!Links to the other entries here,please go check them out!—————————————————————My Entry: I’ll tell you a secretFifty years old is too late in life to be discovering new things about yourself. Or discovering stuff you knew all along but did not want to acknowledge. But I’m that sort of a girl. I’m still a girl at fifty, which explains a lot. I have never tried to dye my crinkly hair, and now they are white-streaked. No one has asked me the question, ‘Do you have the same kind down there?’ in years. Decades, really. I think I passed my use-by date at thirty, basically through not being arsed enough to do anything about myself. Or, so I thought.Fact is, all throughout, it has been about you. Yes, you.For example, the very first day I met you in school.You the new girl? I asked.Yes, why?Your stick-thin body angled in that mysterious way starved models have. You hit me in the face with your eyes, just as they do. You were fourteen then, possibly pubescent. You looked right off a glossy page.Nothing, I thought you’d like a friend, I said, nervous now, quailing before your eyes.What makes you think I have none? You smiled with your eyes crinkled, disappearing under full cheek, such a plump contrast to the rest of you.And I was hooked.Through years in college, after wards (I followed you to your college, I wondered why then, though I know the answer now) I roomed with you and we shared details of our escapades with boys, men. We exchanged notes on positions, kisses, gifts exchanged, heartbreaks, absolute brutes, narrow escapes. I admired your bony hips, how each dress fell over them as if they were tailored specially to your measurements, your angles and planes. You had very few curves. I studied your pert breasts and gave advice on massages and creams to give them size.You don’t want them to grow pendulous like mine, I cautioned you. You’ll look old before your time.I was your lone bridesmaid, I became your daughter’s Godmother.There she stands, now, Alicia, trying on her first bra. You’re travelling for your show, so the job of choosing has fallen to me. Alicia is thirteen. She steps out, all self-conscious. She is your antithesis in all ways but one; her body, which is yours.Is this ok? Her bony arms try in vain to cover her long torso.She stands in her jeans and a white bra, shivering in the air-conditioning, and I shiver too.I know now why no man’s body could ever satisfy me. Not even my husband who gave me three children. There, in front of me you stand, surrounded by pink curtains and leftovers of old expensive perfumes on countless bodies that have tried on bras behind those same garish pink drapes. Your reflections stare at me from endless mirrors. I want to reach out and touch those ribs showing through pale skin, rub my lips against a winged clavicle, run them against your throat and reach your lips.But this is not you, this is Alicia, my God-daughter. My daughter. I feel faint with revulsion at myself.Are you alright, auntie?Yes, dear, and I think this one is good. We’ll get them in black and white for now, and wait and see what mum thinks, ok?Alicia nods and disappears behind the curtains, and I step towards the counter. I open my wallet, fish out my credit card. For the tiniest moment I picture your snapshot inside it, instead of my husband’s. You, still gorgeous at forty-eight, smiling against your high cheekbones and your straight, mahogany hair.For the last thirty-four years, I haven’t kept a secret from you. I wonder how I’ll do with this one.——————————I’ve cheated a bit, Summer, cos this snippet was put up for another blogfest, but it was so apt for yours I simply could not resist…

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  1. Damyanti

    Thanks, everyone, especially Summer!

    I'm not quite sure I visited everyone on this fest, cos life was full of crazy things this past week, but I'll try and make up for it now.

    Dawn, nice of you to take the time to comment and I understand what you're trying to say…I usually treat these blogfests as a way to experiment, try out different styles of writing…The "you" is the character, and not the reader, but that may not have been clear from my writing.

    I have been reading a lot of Cormac Mccarthy lately and was trying on his style of no inverted commas…it was all an experiment and I had fun doing it 🙂

  2. Dawn Embers

    I like the idea of the story and the first couple of paragraphs. Those were good and I'm always for anything that might imply f/f.

    But the minute it throws in "you" (which is the other character but implies the reader) I'm not as interested. My other pet peeve is not using quotation marks for dialogue. I know it's in the past but if someone says something I want those little marks there. There are published books I don't like because they don't use those.

    Still a good entry for the blogfest.

  3. Damyanti

    Thanks, Elena, yeah…a little sad.

    Thanks for letting it pass, Summer! I hope others don't get creeped out by the god-daughter, but it is not meant in a the horrific negative sense.

  4. Summer Ross

    I read it then too…lol But thats okay. I do enjoy the idea of the MC in love with her best friend. Kinda creepie part with the God daughter…but you leveled it out. Thanks for posting!