I was on the phone with a friend of mine earlier this year, and I admitted to a fault.
A really bad fault.
And I laughed at it.
My friend caught her breath.
She said, “You can’t say that about yourself.”
“Oh, yes, I can, ” I said. “And what’s more— ”
I kept on going on about this fault of mine, and laughing, until my friend laughed, too.
At first, she was hesitant. Then, she roared.
You see, I’ve got some bad-awful faults.
Traits. Parts of my personality. You get the picture.
And, like everyone I know, I’m used to tucking these awful traits behind a cupboard in my heart where no one can see them.
They’re still there, just out of sight for the moment.
It’s like the quick clean up you do right before your friends stop by.
You stash away the normal debris of everyday life into an away space.
The newspapers. The handful of change. The laundry you didn’t get around to folding. You cram it into a cupboard, and hope it stays put.
That’s normal, right?
That quick spit-shine clean never works out for me.
Something happens. Always.
Right after you come inside and just before I offer you a glass of water, a door will creak.
And, like a joke in a slapstick movie, those parts of me that I don’t want you to see, are going to come tumbling off the shelves of my private self, out of the cupboard and onto the floor between us. The horror!
CLANG! My forgetfulness tips out of the cupboard and clatters on the wooden floors.
CLUNK! My fury towards reckless drivers lands at your feet.
ClACKETY-CLARP! My nonsensical crabbiness rolls off the shelves and bounces!
…. Read on, Reader!