Keeper of Secrets

I grew up in the city. Life was past paced and hectic, so full of noise and people. Everything I needed was close at hand. Just a short walk to pick up a few groceries or even eat out, and getting things delivered was just a phone call away. Every day was filled with, bright billboards and honking horns, even at night, everything was lit up, so it seemed like day.

When I was eight, my mother decided it was time to go back to work. We lived in a small one-bedroom apartment; my room was a small curtained off area of the living room. Mom said it was time I had my own room, hence the return to work.

I was still young, to them at least and they did not want to leave me alone in the apartment during summer. I argued that I could play my video games and would not be any trouble. But it did not do any good. My father called his father, and I was shipped off to the country, as my mother called it.

My grandparents had a farm in Kentucky, in the middle of nowhere and I was about to experience a whole new life, or so my father said. It is where he grew up and he lived there until he met my mother. My mother told me I might even loose a little of the weight I had put on, playing video games all day does not seem to be too healthy for me. I was not fat, but I was starting to get a little chubby, and at eight, even I had noticed it.

Once my mother told me that, I was terrified to go to the country. What could my grandparents do to me to make me loose weight? I imagined ongoing diets, like my mother was always doing, and treadmills and exercise equipment that my father was always using, and I dreaded the trip.

It was an awfully long drive, but I spent most of the time on my tablet, playing games and watching videos. I took naps and ate a lot of snacks my mother had packed. They took turns driving and we finally arrived.

It was dark and I was tired by then. I remember my father carrying me inside and laying me down on a bed, and when I woke the next day it was to a whole new world.

When I left the room, I found that my parents had left early, around dawn and that I had slept in until noon. It had taken me some time to find anyone, the house was a large rambling farmhouse, with big rooms and doors that all seemed to connect to another rooms. But I finally found my grandmother in the kitchen.

I only knew it was her because she caught me peeking around the door and introduced herself as Grams and told me Gramps was out and about and I would seem him at dinner. When she said that my stomach rumbled something awful and she pulled a covered plate out of the oven and handed it to me.

I was afraid to uncover it, imagining brussels sprouts or other unappetizing vegetables. When I finally looked, I was surprised. I had a whole plate of gravy and biscuits, eggs, sausage and bacon and hash browns. It was the best breakfast I had ever eaten, and I smiled after I finished. At least I knew they would not starve me. And they never did.

Grams was right and I met Gramps at dinner. I had spent all day with Grams, I helped her in the kitchen, and we tidied the house. I did not spend any time outside; I looked a couple of times but there was so much to see, and I was a little overwhelmed. She told me Gramps would show me around tomorrow and that the days started bright and early; she would be sure to wake me up.

Gramps was a man of few words. He seemed so stern and he was noticeably quiet. Grams told me it was because he was always thinking. That he thought so much inside his own head, that the words did not all come out. I did not mind him being quiet. I talked enough for both of us. I asked so many questions as I followed him around, we would wake in the mornings, have breakfast, then get to work. Or that is what Grams would call it. To me it was play and fun and everything in between.

I followed Gramps around as we fed and watered all the farm animals, I helped clean the barn out, I walked behind him in the garden and he even taught me to drive the tractor. All summer long I noticed him stop every now and then and write in this little black book. I never asked him about that book, so I never knew what he would have said about it. I did not find out till later.

Summers with my grandparents became a normal thing. When I turned fourteen my parents told me I could stay in our apartment since they considered me old enough now, we had moved into a two-bedroom apartment and I had my own space, now that we could afford it, but I did not want to give up my summers.

I loved everything about the country. The slow pace, the quiet, the sunrises and sunsets, the sound of the birds and the bees and all the other bugs, a different kind of hum than the city, a different kind of noise. I loved being able to see the stars, of going to bed early and waking before the sun rose. I loved the big breakfasts and eating with the grandparents around the table.

My parents were right about my summer. It was a different world, I lost weight by running through fields and carry hay bales and it seemed so easy. I met new wildlife, I was introduced to snakes and kept my distance, id hear the woodpeckers in the trees and watch squirrels jump from branch to branch. My summers seemed slow and lazy, but time flew by and they never seemed to last.

On my sixteenth birthday, Grams gave me a little black book. I remembered the one Gramps carried around and she told me about it.

“I gave that book to him when he was right around your age. He was headed off to war and we had just been married. I told him he could write in it while he was gone and show it to me when he got back and that way, I would always know his thoughts. It is a very sturdy book, waterproof and the pages hold up well to wear, the cover is thick but pliable and it has that little slot on the side for a pencil. I think it has been his favorite companion.” I thought it was a wonderful idea, but I shelved my little black book when I got back to the city and did not think of it again.

When I was eighteen, my grandparents died. They left me an inheritance of $20,000 and I imagined all the things I could buy. I considered a new car buy my dad told me to bank it and think on it, so I did.

We drove to the country to the funeral and to go through everything and get ready to sell the house. My parents would never be country people, the city seemed to be in their blood. I helped them sort through things. We boxed things they wanted to keep, and my father told me to look around for anything I wanted.

I wandered the house until I found Gramps office. It was a small room with a desk piled with papers and bookshelves on the walls. In the small closet I found boxes and inside those boxes I found stacks of little black books.

I opened one of the books and written inside the cover in Gramps hand was the words. Keeper of Secrets, Stories Untold. I opened a couple, and those words were written in all of them along with dates.

I ended up spending all my time reading those little black books. They were filled with my grandfather’s life. Little diaries, with notes jotted here and there of everyday things. I took those boxes home with me and I read every one of those little black books. The Keeper of Secrets and Untold Stories were not secret anymore and the stories were not untold.

Looking back, I realize that those summers were the best of my life. So quiet and peaceful, I learned a lot from my grandparents, and they showered me with love. It was less hectic then, there was no rush and it seemed that life slowed down at my grandparents’ house.

After reading of Gramps life, I ended up following in his footsteps. I joined the military, used my inheritance, and bought a farm in the country, and raised a family. Every morning after dressing in either uniform, coveralls, or my church best I would pick up a little black book, say a prayer for Gramps and his inspiration and place the book in my pocket.

I hoped to pass along the idea of The Keeper of Secrets and Untold Stories to my children and grandchildren, to keep our history alive.