"The Secret"©

A short story by Dane Cramer

The old railroad track had been removed years ago, but the scar it left across Hickory Street could still be seen and always felt each time the school bus drove over it. Crossing the old track, the yellow-wheeled ship lunged forward and as high as her groaning springs could reach. A few children always hollered in excited tones as they flew from their seats. Their imaginations placed them in the top car of the Ferris Wheel at the county fair. But the bump always caused ten-year-old Alfred to cringe and lower his head. Crossing the track was like shooting the pistol to signal the start of a race. For some it meant that their long day at school was finally over and that they could shake the day away with lighthearted conversation. But to the older boys sitting in the back seats, it meant that the god of birth-order was giving them the nod to begin their reign of terror. Organized chaos always seemed to break out in one form or another as they crossed the train tracks, and the Witherton City Line. Bucky Weldon, the captain of this yellow vessel, didn't trouble himself much with the increased noise and activity. The railroad bump was a cue for him to double clutch the straining transmission and raise her up one gear. The mirror above his head was only used to determine if all his passengers were off the bus as he raced to pull it alongside his barn each night. He hated a cold supper. 

Alfred always tried to remain inconspicuous. But it would only be a matter of time until his sunken profile would catch the attention of the tormentors. There just wasn't anywhere to hide on a school bus that was slowly draining its occupants like water from a tub, leaving Alfred like a rubber duck resting alone on the bottom. So he sat staring out the open window watching Witherton fade from rural town to quiet, fenceless countryside while waiting for his turn at the guillotine. He almost felt relief as a balled up paper wad struck him on the back of the neck. At least he wouldn't have to sit there wondering when it would begin. Moreover, he was beginning to recognize a strange connection between the abuse freely offered by the back-seat bullies and the secret he struggled to keep. The remembrance of the secret caused all noise in the bus to be drowned out and for a thin smile to creep across his Kool-Aid stained lips. Alfred was convinced he would never know all the magic behind the secret but he no longer cared about that. All that concerned him was to perpetuate the magic and guard the secret. Above all, it must remain a secret. He feared that if he even so much as breathed a word of it to anyone, even to his mother, the magic would dry up and he would be left without it forever. Though he longed to share it, he lived in quiet fear of doing so. The secret needed secrecy to exist. And Alfred wasn't about to betray it. 

"Al-FRED," bellowed Billy in a slow, teasing tone. "ALLLL-Fred", echoed Skip, Billy's understudy. Skip added emphasis to the first syllable hoping that the change in sound would inflict greater casualty on his hapless victim. Their sing-song callings caused an eruption of laughter from around the rear of the school bus. Most of the laughter, however, was forced and was sounded only as a way to camouflage other would-be targets. Alfred didn't mind the canned laughter. He knew that everyone was doing what they could to avoid the two antagonists and in a way, he felt he was helping them by absorbing the notorious attention. In particular, he hoped Billy and Skip would steer clear of Mary who sat across the aisle and one seat forward from where he was sitting. Mary was one year older than Alfred but three times smaller. One could hardly look at her frail body without wondering what kept it sitting erect. Her large, heavy glasses with the thick lenses made her face seem out of proportion to the rest of her body. She wore her black hair long, and perpetually twined into pigtails. Skip took great delight in pulling on these tails whenever he passed by her seat. Alfred always felt the pain in his stomach sharpen whenever he saw this happen. He knew if Mary's older brother, Mark, were still on the bus, no one would come near her. But Mark no longer rode the bus. Last summer he was returning home from a date when he lost control of his car and flipped over the bank along Boar Back Road. His death was a shock to everyone, especially Mary. Alfred didn't feel responsible for Mary, but Mark's death seemed to have left her without defenses. Since they got off at the same stop, Alfred had the peculiar honor of walking in silence with her. Her quietude spoke volumes and betrayed the confusion that she thought was being guarded. 

"AL-Feredd. AL-Freedd. AL -Frredd" sang Billy and Skip in a reckless harmony that putrefied the air. Soon they began to sway back and forth with the rhythm of the bus while chanting Alfred's mutilated name. Some of the bus passengers joined in. Bullies always felt a surge of strength whenever a weaker person was being afflicted. Like sharks they gathered for the feed as long as it was someone else's blood being spilled. But if they believed elevation would come with the anguished demise of this victim, then their faith was in vain. For their fiendish carols fell on deaf ears. Alfred had a secret and the secret had him. 

Occasionally, he heard his name and would break for a moment from his thoughts. Alfred Wayne Greendale hated his name. His could live with Wayne, but he despised Alfred. Even his nickname, Al, was a small reminder of the ugliness hat he carried everyday. He had been told that his mother's father's name was Alfred. He knew his grandfather only through the stories his mother used to tell. These stories introduced him as a tall, rugged man who loved to hunt the hills around Witherton. He had a large gun collection that was the envy of all the old-timers. Alfred often wished he had inherited a gun instead of a name. But it was more than just his name that drew the abuse. It was also more than just his slightly overweight build, more than his freckles and more than his large ears. No, it was something that mattered much more than those things to the riders of this bus. Alfred knew it was the fact that he moved from shaded McHenry Drive in Witherton to the outskirts of town behind the old Adams Farm which could always be smelled before seen. He knew it was the fact that he wore one pair of coveralls all week. But especially, he knew it was because he had no Pa. Or at least he had no Pa who came around anymore. Everyone in Witherton knew why they moved out of town. Everyone saw them go. Everyone also knew that Alfred's Pa was living in Flat Rock with a woman and her two boys whom he coached on their Little League team. The older boy was a fine pitcher and the papers talked about how hopeful a future he had in the game. Alfred didn't make the team this spring. Billy and Skip did. 

Alfred gazed at his feet on the bus floor. Three paper wads marked the small, one-sided skirmish that gripped the bus for all of two minutes. He barely noticed that their taunting had stopped. The boys were now yelling at a flock of sheep in a nearby pasture hoping to start a stampede. Two or three sheep lazily raised their heads. But if forced to decide between Billy and Skip and their cud, they would chose the latter. 

"We must be near the Adams Farm!" called Skip as the smell of freshly spread manure blasted in through the open windows. Mr. Adams, Mary's father, had been out early this morning working the fields and could still be seen on the old McCormick H Series tractor as he was coaxing it back to the barn. Alfred didn't mind the smell and always enjoyed watching Mr. Adams drive the old tractor. Mr. Adams was very kind to Alfred and promised he would soon let him drive the Old H. Alfred saw Mary glance out the window at her father but there was no recognition in her expressionless face. The fragile body could not hide the emaciated soul that was collapsing. 

Bucky Weldon dropped a gear as he lowered the bus down steep Adams Hill. During the winter, when it was icy out he had to curse a little to get the bus stopped at the bottom near the bus shanty. But he apparently knew all the right cuss words because the bus settled each day at the very same spot. There was a stain on the narrow road where he would spit mouthful of tobacco juice while swinging open the bus door. He hit the stain like a skilled archer would find a bull's eye, and marveled at his own ability. He thought about making a mental note to ask for a raise the next time he took the bus into the shop for repairs, but he knew he'd forget until then. 

Alfred waited for Mary to stand first. He then got in line behind her and they moved slowly down the aisle. There were a few sarcastic good-byes sounded from somewhere in the back but neither Mary nor Alfred returned the calls. They walked down the isle and slipped off the steps onto the partially paved road. As they crossed the road in front of the bus, Mr. Adams smiled and waved from the tractor. He didn't expect a response from the two children, nor did he get one. Bucky popped the clutch and the bus jerked forward leaving behind a cloud of dust that made Alfred and Mary close their eyes and mouths while they held their breath. As the dust settled, they paused to watch the bus drive up and over the hill. Neither said a word, but it reminded Alfred of the day he watched Mark's funeral procession go past the farm. He looked down at Mary and saw she was looking at him. He felt the blood rush from his face as if she had heard his thinking. But he felt at ease as she gave him a rare smile. 

"Sometimes I don't think you even notice when them boys start to pickin'on you," Mary said as she and Alfred turned to walk back down the lane. "They hit ya' with a couple of paper wads and were singin' all kind o' songs about you today. But you just kept starin' out the window. And I coulda' sworn ya' had a smile on your face." 

"Smilin'? The way them two boys sing, I nearly got to laughin'!" Alfred replied with more honesty than the joke implied.

"Yeah, they were pretty bad, weren't they?" Mary said as the smile began to fade from her lips. 

Alfred saw the smile leave and wished he could do something to return it to her small face. Should he tell her? Should he share the secret that he had never shared with anyone before? He knew that if she could know it, if she could have it for her own, she would never again drop her head. She would know why he could smile when the boys sang and poked fun. She would know then what it means to be above all the wrong and bad in this sad town. She would finally have some answers to all the questions she never voiced but asked out loud with her hollow eyes. Alfred's mouth went dry. He wanted to say it. But how could he convince her of something that he scarcely believed to be true himself? 

"They were bad alright, but I reckon I just have stuff that needs smiled over," Alfred said as he felt his palms go cold and wet. He shoved them in the pockets of his overalls so Mary wouldn't see them shake. She didn't notice his hands, but intercepted the quaver in his voice. 

"What stuff you got that needs smiled over?" she asked with a spark of interest that Alfred had never heard before. While waiting for his answer, she took her shoes and socks off and moved over to the grassy strip beside the road. Rain or shine, she liked to walk barefoot from the bus shanty to her house. Alfred once had to pull a stinger from her toe and remembered how the calluses on her feet were like a second pair of shoes. 

"Oh, just stuff," Alfred was losing his nerve. 

"Yeah, must be." Mary knew he had something to say but she was simply too weary to pursue it. 

They walked in silence. The knot in Alfred's stomach was tighter than it had been in some time. He wanted to help her. He wanted to tell her that he understood something of what she felt. He wanted to show her that he had found a way out of the hole she was digging for herself. A hole that was beginning to resemble a grave. 

Mary didn't lift her eyes as they came to the old gate in front of her house. She told Alfred she'd see him in the morning as she lifted the gate latch, being careful not to knock it off its last hinge. Alfred responded with something that sounded to him like a goodbye, and then turned up the road toward his own home. His mother was renting an old bunkhouse off of Mr. Adams. The house was small but well suited for a boy and his Ma. The rent was reasonable and Alfred's mother could work some of it off by cleaning houses in Witherton with Mrs. Adams. But Alfred's mother wasn't able to work more than one or two days each week. She told Alfred that she had a bad case of "the nerves" and just couldn't get out much. Alfred didn't understand the malady but knew she was quite different than when she used to work as a secretary for Doc Patterson. 

Stepping up the creaking stairs of the bunkhouse, Alfred ran his hand across the banister. Dried paint fell off like a snowstorm into a spider's web below. The ghost that inhabits empty swings was now relaxing on the front porch glider, moving it back and forth in the late afternoon breeze. The bunkhouse couldn't even compare to his old home on McHenry Drive but Alfred was learning to be less discontent with his surroundings. 

"I'm home, Ma!" Alfred called as he threw open the flimsy screen door. With the blinds drawn shut, he couldn't see very well into the kitchen. But as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Alfred could see his mama sitting in her chair at the table. She was wearing her housecoat and slippers. Her red hair that once shimmered in the sunlight now hung flaccid on her shoulders. Lying back in sunken cavities her green eyes hid from the day. In a glance, Alfred knew she did not go to work. Last nights dinner dishes waited unwashed in the sink. Today's dishes still congregated on the table. Alfred's knot tightened. 

"How was your day, Alfred?" Mrs. Greendale asked as she squeezed a cigarette butt into the overflowing ash tray. Alfred didn't much like the cigarette smoke that filled their house but he knew how calm the tiny tobacco furnaces made his Ma. 

"Just fine, Ma," Alfred replied. 

"Those boys on the bus didn't cause you any worry, did they?" 

"No, Ma" Alfred said without lying. 

"That's good. Did you talk to any of 'em today?" 

"No, Ma, they were too busy singin'. What's for dinner?" Alfred changed the subject. 

"Mr. Adams gave us some sausage. So maybe we could have that and some macaroni tonight. Sound okay to you?" Mrs. Greendale asked with a hint of a smile. She loved her boy dearly and his presence always cheered her. 

"Sounds real good!" Alfred returned. He saw the glimmer of the smile and it warmed his heart. "Would you mind if I went out to Caleb's Quarry after dinner tonight, Ma?" 

"I don't know what you see in that empty place, Alfred. I'm always so worried you might fall off the edge or get hurt climbing up the hill. You know if you hurt yourself out there, no one would ever know how to find you?" Mrs. Greendale wasn't feigning her concern. 

"Don't worry, Ma, I'll be real careful." 

"Well, if you get your homework and chores done first, then I reckon it'll be okay for you to walk up there for a bit." 

Alfred already had his school books on the table. He pushed aside the dirty dishes and made room for his paperwork. Soon he was engulfed in the world of addition and subtraction. His book told the story of Jim who went to the store with ten dollars to spend. His teacher wanted him to help Jim decide which items could be bought and which had to be left behind. He worked hard for Jim. He knew it wasn't every day that a boy had a sawbuck to spend. Alfred carefully counted his apples, oranges and pears. He made sure Jim could take home some bread, milk and eggs. Then finally, he was asked to buy Jim some candy. Alfred felt bad about that. It was one thing to buy food for Jim and his family, but to use the leftover money for candy seemed to Alfred like stealing. But, since it was something he had to do, Alfred counted out some gumdrops and suckers for Jim to take home. He hoped that at least Jim had some brothers and sisters to share with. When he finished, Alfred sat back and looked over his grocery list. He wondered if Jim would appreciate what he had done for him. He also wondered what life would be like to have Jim's problems. 

Alfred sat across the small, round kitchen table as he and his mother ate their supper. She reminded Alfred of Mary who picked at her lunch at school. They both treated eating as an intrusion to their bodies. Something that had to be endured not enjoyed. Alfred hated to see his mother like this. It didn't seem so long ago that she smiled so brilliantly. He remembered her songs and how life seemed to bubble out of her voice. She was once so vibrant, so happy and so beautiful. He wondered if those things were dead or if they were just somehow trapped inside of a dying body. Neither thought appealed to him. He wanted those things to be alive again. He wished he could help find them and bring them out. As they ate he wondered silently if he should share his secret with her. Would she believe him? Would she join him in it? He knew that if she could own his secret she would never again sit silently in the dark. He knew she would no longer crave the inferno of a cigarette. But Alfred was afraid. Afraid that if he shared his secret it would cease to be his. And if it ceased to be his, Alfred knew he would cease to be. Just thinking of the crazy circles that ran around in his brain caused the pain in his stomach to shake its giant frame. Suddenly Alfred wasn't hungry anymore. 

He helped Mrs. Greendale clean up the dishes and then got from her a list of chores. These jobs consisted mostly of the things Mrs. Greendale didn't get done during the day. But finally, with the dishes put away, chores finished and homework done, his Mama gave him a reluctant frown that sent him scurrying out of the house. Alfred raced across the yard and up over the bank on the other side of the lane. He climbed over the three-tiered, barbed wife fence that kept Mr. Adams cows in and then started across the empty pasture. Mr. Adams was already finished milking but Alfred could still see the lights on inside the barn. As he ran across the pasture he could hear the quiet sounds of content cows lowing in their stalls. Down across the cornfield the bullfrogs were already gathering around Sawmill Pond and were tuning up or their evening's festivities. The crickets at his feet cheered his progress. It was still light out but the countryside was preparing for the darkness that would seep across the landscape and usher in a restoring peace. These sights, sounds and smells did not fall wasted on Alfred. He took them in with each breath. He tasted them in his mouth and rolled them over with his tongue. They fueled his legs into a gallop that would have astonished a horse. Alfred's heart pumped its own rhythm that was heard and echoed by the world which he had come to own. 

He crossed the pasture, climbed the fence and followed the old logging road into the woods. Where the road turned sharp to the right, Alfred moved left and followed a footpath that only he knew. It climbed steeply up the wooded hillside. The path led to the very top of Caleb's Quarry. He paused at the top to catch his breath and then walked over to the peak. It was nearly ninety feet from the soles of his feet to the rock-strewn floor. This was the top of the world as far as Alfred was concerned. This was where he could pull his secret out of its hiding place and look at it, not as a memory but as something living and breathing. Here there was no worry or care. Here is where every stomachache was cured. 

Turning from the peak Alfred wandered back to the path that led out of the woods. His heart was skipping beneath his shirt in a wild but passionate dance. His mouth went dry. Tears welled up in his eyes and, with a dirty sleeve, he wiped them away. Every sense the boy knew of was alive with an ungovernable desire. 

Alfred bent over and undid his laces. Slipping out of his shoes he took off his well-worn socks and gently pushed each into their companion boot. Alfred then turned toward the peak. He breathed in three times. Each exhaling breath blew ut so much of what he had carried with him to the top. He then closed his eyes. He stood motionless. Hands at his sides. He listened to the quiet. He became the quiet. Then with movement that was nearly indiscernible at first, Alfred began to step forward. With each step he gained both speed and confidence. He charged the peak with both hands swinging to the music of his feet. Then in a crescendo of sound, sight and spirit, Alfred placed his right foot on the edge of the precipice and leaped into nothingness. His legs continued to run but no longer were supported by the sod. As his forward momentum ended and he began to plunge, Alfred held out his arms and like an experienced diver turned himself headfirst. Down he plummeted with eyes now closed and a knowing smile spread across his lips. Then, as the rocks below began to reach out to catch him, he gave his back an arch and twisted his arms. His movement no longer resembled a fall as he suddenly leveled off and then swept slightly upward. Twisting from side to side Alfred soared across the tree tops and over the barren quarry floor. He crossed open fields and quiet ponds. He flew over mountain cabins and nests of great birds tucked into the cliffs. From here the world was good. From here all things remained in their proper perspective. From here, Alfred became who he really was. 

Alfred flew knowing that tonight would be his last solo flight. He had kept the secret a secret too long. Though he feared the secret would no longer be his if shared, it was far too precious to keep to himself. Tomorrow he would bring Mary. Tomorrow he would invite his mother. Tomorrow he would share the magic of his secret with the two people who needed it most.