THE SECRETS WE BURY

“Jon, what is this again?” I asked my brother, who was carrying a big metal and leather trunk with our great-great-grandparents’ initials carved into them. “Some trunk that you inherited from Granddad,” he said, his knuckles white against the hard edge. I directed him up the stairs, wondering what could possibly be in the trunk. You never really knew with our grandfather. He was just like that.

We arrived in my bedroom and Jon placed the trunk down with a big thud. There was a big, brass lock on the trunk, and Jon handed me a key that fit perfectly into the lock. “It was attached to the letter and trunk and hunk of cash that you got from Granddad.” He said, dusting off his hands on his bleached jeans.

“What did you get from Granddad, if you don’t mind me asking?” I asked, feeling the cool metal sensation pulsing through my veins as I held the key to whatever was inside the chest. It felt too big, too bold to be placed in my little home, the key to something that felt far too important and valuable than what I was worth.

“Oh, uh, well, I got his working tools, you know I always liked to help him in his shop, and I got a few bucks, and a hunting rifle, but not nearly as much as you did. You got, like, three times the amount of cash I did, but I honestly love the tools. They remind me of him, ya know?” Jon said, pulling me back into reality. “Huh,” I said, “that’s cool. I thought we all got some pretty cool stuff. I mean, Benny and Amie were definitely flaunting what they got, which was less than me and you combined, which is saying a lot, so yeah!”

Jon half-grinned and bent down next to the trunk. “Do you want me to stay to open it?” He asked, glancing from the trunk to me to the key in my hand. “Sure,” I answered, “what could go wrong?”

I twisted the key into the keyhole and let go when I felt the lock unclasp. Jon and I carefully opened the trunk, revealing what looked like hundreds of letters, photos, and catalogs from 1882 to 1943. That’s when I saw a letter that caught my eye:

To: Susan Marty; From: Barry Nickles… They’ll never believe you when you say that you’re a part of America’s biggest conspiracy. So, I’ll be there to back you up, Susan. Write to me when you need it. I’m always here, whether you like it or not.

"Jon... do you know what this means?" I whispered to him, despite us being alone.

"No..." He whispered back. Suddenly, I became hyper aware of our surroundings. My chest tightened, and I had to gasp to catch my breath.

"Jon, remember in school, we learned about America's past, right? Remember learning about the biggest conspiracy: the Marty & Nickles Conspiracy? Those are the last names of the people written in the letter." I whispered, and Jon looked at me, his deep walnut eyes glistening. We were still whispering. It was the only way we could feel safe.

"Oh my God," he murmured, "that's our family. We started it, Stacy."

Realization dawned on both of us, and I don't know why- I never cry- but I felt my eyes getting hot and my throat tightening, mimicking my chest. My breath became hitched, and it felt like someone was pulling apart all of the lies our family had told us over the years.

We're the Watson family- we stick together. Lie.

Despite how rough we look, we'd never hurt a flea! Lie.

No secrets between this family. Lie.

Jon and I looked at each other and slowly picked apart the trunk, containing all the secrets that our family covered up with a changed last name; a good rep. "All of our life- it's been told to us with lies," Jon said, as if he was reading my mind. I nodded quickly and kept combing through history.

After about five minutes of intensely looking through all the letters, some to Susan, some to Barry, and some to random people who Jon and I assumed were other members of the conspiracy, I found a letter that told us what we had yearned to know.

My dearest Barry;

Today was the final pull. The home stretch, as some call it. Jacob said that we just needed one more thing to really sell all those idiots working for the government, and he said that we needed just one thing: lies. I couldn't help but laugh, because all of the lies we've told can wrap around the world two times. Jacob looked at me and called me a word that I can't bear to write on paper, and walked off with his pipe in hand. I always told him that that gosh darned thing was bad for him. But men don't listen to women, no matter if they were the co-creators in America's- officially- biggest conspiracy. (Congratulations to us, Barry!)

So, in knowledge that Jacob had a grudge against me, for a reason that was solely because I could not withhold a laugh, God forbid, I had no choice but to flee. Jacob, despite his rather warm and welcoming appearance, he would've come and shot me if I dared to say anything else that contradicted his statement. Sadly, this means that I have to pay more for sending letters to you, dear. But that doesn't matter, for we might be rich with stolen money, but we're still rich.

Anyway, I write this letter to advise you to watch your back, for Jacob is out, and he knows that we're technically together. They say it's the biggest conspiracy, but you and I know that it's much more than that, if you know what I mean. But, the final pull was one last steal, if that's what you want to call it. The idiots warned us that if we stole one more time, there'd be big trouble. Well, we stole, and trouble hasn't come knocking on our door yet. So the idiots, being the idiots they always are, tried to intimidate us and it just didn't work. But now, we can rest temporarily. For now, my focus is on surviving, with Jacob on the loose and all.

Despite all of our circumstances, I still find time to write to you. So, the next time we cross paths- which I hope will be rather soon- you can kiss my face and pat my back for surviving with or without you, dear.

Until next time.

Love, Susan.

I looked at Jon, who looked at me. This was just the perfect, wax-melted seal on our dreading thoughts- our family was the reason for America's biggest conspiracy. And they still haven't been found to this day. And Granddad didn't know- none of us knew.

I folded up the yellowing piece of paper and placed it carefully into the trunk, laced with decades of lies. Decades of broken trust, of brokenness, of not knowing who or what would come up to your door at midnight- decades of sleeping with a knife beside their beds.

I looked at Jon's sparkling wedding band, a gorgeous gold one with the date of Vera and his' wedding carved into the inside. 7-17-22.

I looked at him as he fidgeted with how the ring looked at every different angle.

"How's Vera doing, Jon?" I asked, closing the trunk halfway.

"She's fine."

"Are you sure? You suck at being convincing, Jon."

"God, you're right. Fine. Look- it's been almost four years since we were married. I... I thought she was the one. But now, I'm worried that I'm unlovable for the feelings that I feel around the topic of 'oh, how is your wife' or something like 'you and Vera are perfect for each other; I wish I had waited to find my soulmate'."

"Damn, Jon. Sorry, that sounded bad. What exactly do you like, feel around her? Do you love her?"

"Of course I do. I don't know why I feel what I feel. Something in me just feels like maybe we were better off best friends and not partners. Also..."

"What? I swear, if you're gay, I'm gonna cry. Not really, though. I'll accept you, no matter what, bro."

"No, I'm not gay. I thought I was when I first felt these things, but I dunno."

"Ah, okay."

"Yeah. Okay, can we, like, not talk about this anymore? Sorry, I just don't want to."

"Of course. Back to uncovering our family's deep dark secret."

"Ha, yeah,"

Jon awkwardly cleared his throat and then we got back to combing carefully through the letter and letters, of- you guessed it- lies and lies and lies and lies. Susan was obviously head over heels for Barry, but Barry wasn't having it. I got to the bottom of the trunk and then found a marriage certificate for Mrs. & Mr. Barry Nickles. So, I guess, those are our great-great-grandparents. Such a classic American love story, am I right?

I showed Jon the marriage certificate and he smiled, not meeting his eyes, which had now noticeable wrinkles and bags under them. I'd been so stuck up on myself and my situation that I didn't even think of him. He feels like he's failing in his marriage. I'm not even capable of getting a real relationship, much less a romantic one that'll last forever. I suck, man.

Our family is probably the most wanted one in America. And we're falling apart, bit by bit... piece by piece.

And we're all witnessing it.

We're witnessing our own falling apart.

All because of decades of lies and secrets.