Bingo A Boston Bulldog pulls right, then left against a taught leash in lower Manhattan. He searches for non-existent grass or bare earth on which to find relief. Soon, he drops his excrement on the sidewalk. A man at the other end of the leash bends to clean the walk while the dog scratches unyielding concrete in a futile attempt to cover his spoil. The man yanks the leash. “That’s enough of that, Bingo. We have to move on.” Partial Full Disclosure
“Dan, do you keep secrets from your wife or do you believe in full disclosure?” “I believe in partial full disclosure with Gina,” I reply. Barry leans in. “Say more.” “About five years ago, I booked a business flight to Germany. Icelandic Air offered a weekend layover in Reykjavik. At a welcome reception at the Kvosin Hotel on Saturday morning, I met Helga. A woman my age, and a resident of Iceland, she spoke fluent English. Helga described her ranch in the country, near Vatnajokull National Park that overflowed with sheep, spectacular sunsets over ebony lava fields, glaciers, and a half-day’s drive northwest of city center. She invited me to accompany her and promised to have us back at Keflavík International Airport by eight o’clock Monday morning to catch my flight to Frankfort and her connection to London.” I turn away from Barry and rub my chin. “At first I made excuses for why I couldn’t go. Ultimately I accepted.” Barry leans back in his chair. “Oh, my god.” “Yeah, no shit. The weekend was a one shot deal. Helga and I agreed to never see each other again. And we haven’t. That’s not the problem. I grappled with what to tell Gina. I cheated on her. I felt guilty. I also thought that my confession could kill our marriage. I soon realized that my affair had nothing do with my feelings toward Gina. I was still in love with my wife.” Barry sighs. “Aren’t secrets like acid? They’ll corrode your insides.” The air feels warm for a January afternoon. I loosen my collar. “There’s no right answer, Barry. Who does our confession serve? In my case, would full disclosure benefit Gina, or our relationship? If I share my secret I relieve my guilt, but we would all suffer the consequences.” Secret Me Oh, secret me, You’ll never see. Oh, secret me, We can’t agree. Oh, secret me, Less favorably, Oh, secret me, . Conveniently. Why can’t you see, What bothers me? Why can’t you see, What means to me? Why can’t you see, I’ll never be? Why can’t you be? Come home with me. Loving, spooning, country mooning, Riskco, disco, San Francisco, Flying, dying, always trying, Movers, shakers, distant acres, I am falling. Hear me calling. Kick the doggie. Kiss the froggie. In the morning, I am mourning. Time for turning, I am churning. Waiting, stating, congregating, Take off, shake off, no more flake off. Time for going, constant flowing, No more back up, or your shack up. Stop my whining. Quit the crying. See me rising, energizing. Should I spill those crazy beans? Oh, Why must I become so clean? If this essay is meaningful, please like or tweet below or leave a comment. Thank you for your interest and possible action you may take. Richard Wilberg, MS, PLCC, ACC Creativity Coach for Personal Fulfillment and Career Success
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About the AuthorI write personal essays, creative non-fiction, flash fiction, and self-development articles from my home in Madison, Wisconsin.
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