When Skeletons Barrel Out of Closets Pt. II

They Sometimes Knock on Your Door to Say Hello

“Just wait till you hear this,” Barb said.

“This is one of those family secrets I never in a million years expected.”

Liz sipped her iced tea to sort of brace herself. She could tell this would be a big one. And She had a secret of her own feeling about the size of a watermelon in the pit of her belly at this point.

Those experiments you might have seen online played in her mind—you know, where people put rubber band after rubber band around the melon waiting for the pressure to finally make it explode. This story might just be the last band.

“So,” Barb began. “This man, about sixty years old, knocked on my brother’s door and said he’s our brother. Well, half anyway. My brother was sort of curious and decided to let him tell his story. He believed him right away. Apparently, my father got a young girl pregnant back in the 60s when he was still married to my mom. Sounds like something he would do,” she says, rolling her eyes.

 “I guess that’s why the guy is believable. This girl was forced to give the baby boy up for adoption, and he grew up with his adoptive parents in a good home. Now his parents are both passed, and he did his 🔗 DNA testing on one of those sites and somehow found my brother. I guess my brother must have done a test too sometime. Not sure how all that works.”

This all spills out rather rapidly with Barb’s hand gestures revealing a little case of the nerves.

“Did you know anything about this story before? Do you think your mom knew?” Elizabeth’s tone seems a little controlled instead of reactive, and that surprises Barb a bit.

“Well,” she says, reaching through the old files in her head. “I remember something from when I was very young. . . the police came to our house one time to pick up my dad, maybe for questioning. All these years, I just thought it had something to do with him being drunk and doing something stupid, like hitting a car or something. 

But now that I think of it, I recall them talking about an ‘underage’ girl. But he never went to jail or anything, so I don’t know. Definitely could have been this incident.

Anyway, this guy wants to meet all of the siblings now. He never had any brothers or sisters, or any blood relatives at all, so he really wants to connect with us. My sister already agreed. She wants me to go with her.”

“I don’t want to,” she emphatically declares. 

“What if it’s not even true? What if he’s a weirdo? Do I want to force some sort of relationship with him?” Barb’s voice gets a little louder.

“Can you ever imagine something like this happening? What would you do?”

---

Elizabeth is calmer than Barb expects her to be at this news. She’s had a few years to process this surprise DNA phenomenon happening all too often these days. She just never mentioned the topic to Barb before, even though they had been close friends for thirty-five years.

These kinds of secrets tend to stay wrapped up tight, hidden in the back of closets under old blankets nobody ever uses. 

“Well, what is the harm in meeting him?” Liz lays that question on the table to mull over.

“It just opens up all these doors to memories I can do without,” Barb explains. “I go through my life not really thinking much about my past or my dad. Those are not happy memories obviously, so do I really need to face a person now who can light it all up again?”

“Let me take a minute to think,” Liz says as she excuses herself for a break in the restroom.

Should she let her secret out, she wonders?

How very strange that she has been able to keep her story hidden for so long while something similar is happening to her friend. How many others, she wonders. She certainly can’t tell her now no matter what because that seems insensitive to the story Barb just shared so freely and vulnerably. Liz is not a “me monster” trying to top Barb’s story with a better one of her own.

She just needs to be a friend at this point.

Liz sits back down in front of Barb. “Okay, so I think you should do it. I think you meet this guy. On your own terms, though. Don’t go with your sister. Drive your own car so if you are uncomfortable in any way, you can just leave. He does not have to know your address or anything, and you are not ‘forced’ into a relationship. You are just meeting him. That’s all. See what happens from there.”

“I guess you’re right,” Barb says as she prepares to switch topics. “Maybe I will. I’ll keep ya posted.”

---

She readjusts herself. “So, let’s talk about you. What’s new in your life? Any secrets to share,” she laughs, trying to lift the cloud that has descended onto Liz.

Loaded questions. Liz feels that last rubber band stretched around her secret.

“Well, I happened to have just shared my story with a writer friend I know. How about I have her pass the notes off to you for review?”

Barb has always been an avid reader, so Elizabeth would trust her guidance in being a so-called beta reader.

“I’m happy to be a ‘beta reader,’ or whatever you call it. I can’t wait.”

In the days that follow, Liz expects her text messages to blow up. She expects quite a reaction from Barb once she begins reading from her writer friend’s notes. A story that will definitely resonate.

Here is the first text: “Elizabeth! No way. I can’t stop reading. WHAT? How have I known you this long and have never known this?”

[This is one of many stories people have shared with me since I started writing on Substack. I think it’s important to flesh out family stories through writing. We gain a firmer grasp on who we are. If you agree, consider Subscribing and, perhaps, find yourself in some of my narratives.]