“Okay, so now it’s your turn.” I say before taking a swig from the pop bottle. “What’s your deepest darkest secret?” He smirks, his face still fixed toward the ground. His dark hair is covering his eyes and he’s leaning against the trunk of the tree with one leg crossed over the other, clenching the bottle close to his chest. “
“Well,” he lightly laughs, “I often have… dark thoughts.” He finally lifts his head to catch my reaction.
“Oh. That’s a big surprise.” I roll my eyes.
“No I mean really dark thoughts.” He’s smiling broadly, his eyes reflecting the light of the quarter moon as he meets my own gaze. I look away then up at the sky. It’s partly cloudy but I see more stars than I ever got to back at home.
“That’s stupid.” I say. “I told you a real secret.” He groans and shakes his head.
“I would like to explain this to you, but now I’m not so sure if you’d really understand. I don’t want to share the real me with you, I mean the me that no one else gets to see, if you’re going to call him stupid.” He stands up straight and pours the remaining soda from his bottle onto the ground then tosses the empty glass into the field. “I don’t know why I even bother. The moment I think I’m ready to expose myself to someone. They always prove me wrong.” He pulls his keys out of his pocket and jingles them in the air. “You ready to head back?” I nod then chug the last bit of my own soda and toss the bottle. After climbing into his truck we start back down the dirt road and drive in silence until he reaches to turn on the stereo but I stop his hand.
“I didn’t mean to offend you. I just didn’t think you were serious. Will you explain to me what you meant? Please?” again he smirks and after a few more minutes of silence he starts,
”You know how when you’re little and you’re going through the carwash and you’re tempted to roll down the window, just to see what happens?” I nod and gesture for him to continue. “It’s almost like that.”
“Okay well that dosn’t seem so unusual.” He shakes his head and presses back in his seat and resituates.
“Except, it’s violent.”
“So more like when you’re holding a baby over a bridge, and you’re tempted to drop it to see what would happen? Do you mean, like, more on that level?”
“Yes and no.” I sit still and wait for him to clarify. “Similar to that except not only am I tempted, but I have visions of it happening.”
“Oh.” That is weird. I think to myself. But then again he’s obviously a morbid kind of guy. So it really isn’t THAT shocking. I start to laugh.
“You’re laughing, but you don’t completely understand.” His voice is so low and serious, almost angry, that I stop. “It’s not just an occasional thought and then a ‘oh that would be sad’ type of thing.” He starts to enthusiastically raise his voice. “It’s a good feeling, an incredibly satisfying thought! I almost always wish that it would happen! And it’s not just about babies and carwashes! It’s all the time! I imagine myself pulling out a knife on the slow grocery store cashier that can’t count, or strangling the old woman on the street that gives me that dirty look. I know that it’s in my head, but it feels so real! I can see the blood gush from his neck and feel it splatter my arm-even my face! I can feel the old lady’s cold and shriveled hands claw at mine! I can feel her struggle and her legs jerk, then I can feel her go limp. I can feel her die.” I am all of a sudden aware of a queasy, churning sensation in the pit of my stomach. “Sometimes I crave it. Sometimes I can just…” He starts to laugh and looks over at me. “You look pale. Am I scaring you?”
“No.” I lie.
“I think I am.” He reaches over and pats my thigh. It takes all of my effort to remain still.
“Well,” I clear my throat. “To be honest the fact that you aren’t watching the road is making me a tad nervous.” I fake a slight chuckle then he apologizes and directs his attention back to the road. The dirt turns into gravel and I know that we have about a thirty minute drive before we get back into town. Stay cool. I tell myself. He could just be messing with me. I don’t want to look like a scared little kid. Start some conversation. My mind scrambles for a witty remark but keeps going back to the images that he planted. What scares me the most are the rumors of his violent past. Could they be true? Surely not. Yes, he’s incredibly sarcastic. And yes, he may possibly muse on the darker things in life. But he’s just intellectual and misunderstood. No, wait, not misunderstood. That’s a horrible word. He’s just intellectual… a free thinker. Yeah… that’s right. He just offends people. He’s not tolerant of the excuses of the ignorant. He is definitely not a murderer. He is definitely not a rapist. He is definitely not everything else those stupid small-minded people call him. He’s just a center of some small town rumors. That’s all. Finally I manage to verbalize,
“So, yeah when I said ‘deep-dark secret’ I didn’t necessarily mean that dark.” He laughs, and I relax in my seat, satisfied.