Deep, Dark Secret

Tray sighed as he wrote the closing stanza of his poem and closed the book he was writing in. Alone in his room, he put the pen on his desk and pushed away his book. With another sigh, he rested his head on the desk, sadly thinking about what he wrote.

Marisol. It had been four years since he’d first met her. They were thirteen and he’d just moved to the state. He was shy, even more so in his new environment. She sat right beside him in English class and was the first person in the entire school to talk to him. Even back then, he thought she was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen.

Marisol had perfectly smooth tan skin. She had dark brown hair that she put in a ponytail more often than not and hazel-brown eyes. Tray’s favourite aspect of her was her dimples; not too deep and not too shallow, just perfect. They accentuated her frequent smiles, making them even more beautiful.

Over the years, Marisol’s beauty only increased. Her body developed the figure of an hourglass and she developed a wondrous chest size. Her face changed, too, morphing from that of an exceedingly pretty girl to an amazingly beautiful young woman.

She’d always been nice to him and, eventually, they became the best of friends and could tell each other everything, and he did tell her everything… That is, everything except the crush he’d had on her since he’d first met her… The crush that, by the time he’d turned seventeen, had become much more…

With yet another sigh of exasperation, he stood up and looked in the mirror of his dresser. The image of a boy with fudge-brown skin and recently-cut black hair with faded sides looked back at him, his dark-brown eyes revealing the sorrow in his heart.

All his life, Tray had been short. He did not have abs or bulging biceps and he’d never considered himself to be handsome. Why would majestically beauteous Marisol want him? She had turned away lots of other guys who were many times better-looking than he was.

Having not told anyone about his growing feelings for Marisol, Tray was tired of keeping it bottled up inside him. Marisol had always told him that he was a great writer, so he’d decided to write it all down. He found that it helped, but not as much as he’d hoped.

Maybe it was time to tell her…

But he was scared. How would she react to the self-conscious guy if he did summon the courage to tell her? To be perfectly honest, he didn’t even know how to tell her.

He turned away from his reflection and plopped down on his soft bed. He was tired of keeping it from her. He sat up on his bed. He looked towards his desk at the book he’d written the poem in. That one poem encompassed everything he felt about her.

Suddenly, he knew what to do. He’d give her the poem. He was too shy, too nervous to tell her using spoken words, so he’d have to tell her through written ones.

He hopped off the bed and took out a clean sheet of paper. He looked out the window at the clear, starry sky and the circular white moon, having second thoughts. But, as the thought of Marisol’s kind and gentle smile flashed across his mind, he picked up a pen and began to transfer the poem from his book to the paper.

“What part of no don’t you understand?!” Marisol shouted. She turned away and started walking to her next class. Her hair, which stopped half-way down her back, was held in a pink ‘schroonchie’ and bounced as she walked.

“Come on, don’t play games, María,” said Josh Nelson as he ran a hand through his blond hair, his blue eyes showing the confidence that had reached the vanity stage long ago. “You know you want to go to the dance with me!”

“The name’s Marisol!” the Latin-American said, her voice full of annoyance. “And what I want is you to get away from me!” But, regardless of her words and her tone, he chased behind her.

Tray walked down from the hall, looking for Marisol. They did not have a class together that day and he wanted to get the poem, which he carried in his hand, sandwiched between his biology and chemistry books, to her as soon as possible.

He turned the corner, moving briskly. But what he saw stopped him in his tracks. Marisol was kissing Josh Nelson! He turned back immediately. Why wouldn’t Marisol want Josh? He was confident, good-looking, tall and on the football team, no less. There was no chance for him…

None.

Marisol pushed Josh away and, with a powerful punch in the face, exclaimed, “How dare you!”

Josh fell to the floor, gingerly placing a hand to his aching cheek, glad no one was there to witness his rejection. He quickly got to his feet and rushed out of sight.

Marisol turned as the school bell sounded, announcing the start of the next class. She started walking quickly again. How she hated when guys didn’t know when to quit. No means and always has meant no!

Suddenly, a crushed up paper caught her eye. Apparently, whoever was trying to dispose of it missed the trash can and the paper landed right beside it. That’s not what kept her attention focused on the paper, however. What did was the fact that she saw what looked like her name on it.

She bent down and picked it up, then opened it. It was a poem entitled, “Deep, Dark Secret”. What surprised her most was what was at the top of the paper: “To Marisol Herrera; from Tracy Tomlinson.”

But she had no time to read it right then. She quickly pocketed it and rushed to class.

It was late and the sun was setting. The sky was a beautiful blend of warm colours. Even the clouds joined in colourful celebration of the sun’s dying moments, their white hue a wonderful contrast to the fiery sky.

Tray sat on the small steps that led to the back door of his house. He had been feeling down ever since he saw Marisol in that lip-lock with Josh. He didn’t pay much attention in class and had not eaten a thing or even said anything to his family members when he got home. He had no idea he’d feel like this.

“Tracy?” his mother called, walking up behind him. “Marisol’s on the phone.”

With a groan, he answered, “Tell her I’m busy.”

Mrs. Tomlinson stepped down and sat beside him. “Tray,” she said, “you know if anything’s wrong, you can always tell me.” The concern she harboured was evident in her tone.

“I’m fine, Mom. Really,” he lied.

After looking at him intensely for a moment, she stood up. “Alright,” she said. “Dinner’ll be ready soon, okay?”

Tray nodded and his mother stepped back inside, knowing that at that moment, Tray needed time for himself.

He stayed there even until the stars started to appear and the sky’s colour became lost in the darkness. The moon, however, remained hidden in the clouds.

“Mind if I join you?” a voice called from behind him.

Surprised, he turned around. Marisol!

“No,” he answered sadly. “Go ahead.”

Marisol sat down beside him, her skin glowing in the porch light.

“What’s the matter?” she asked, noting his dispiritedness.

“Nothing. I’m fine,” he said. But he could never lie to her. His expression attested to his true feelings.

Marisol turned away, wondering what she could say next. “You know, we could always tell each other anything…” she finally managed to say. “I… I hope that hasn’t changed…”

With a sorrowful, guilty sigh, Tray said, “Alright, I’ll tell you…” Marisol turned to him, interested in what could get her best friend do downhearted. “I… I saw you kissing Josh Nelson.”

Marisol sighed in relief, glad it was not something far worse. “Oh, is that all?!” she blurted out. Tray’s eyes widened at her response. “First of all,” she continued, “he kissed me and, let me tell you, he got paid in full for it!”

Tray’s sadness seemed to melt away. “So, you two aren’t…” he tried to find a way to say it.

“Together?” Marisol finished. “Nope!” She saw a smile develop on Tray’s face. She loved his smile. It was so… pleasant.

Her beautiful dimpled appeared as she smiled mischievously at him. “Why does it matter?”

Tray realized what he’d done and blushed. “I… I…” he started, trying to find an explanation.

Marisol’s smile widened. “I read a poem today.”

Tray’s gaze returned to her instantly. Could it be? “Really?” he asked.

“Yeah. I poem by my favourite writer, Tracy Tomlinson, called “Deep, Dark Secret.” She reached for Tray’s hand. “I loved it. Thank you.”

Tray could only return Marisol’s gentle squeeze. He was speechless.

Marisol smiled slightly, amused by Tray’s shyness, showing her dimples once again. Reverting to hre first language, she said, “Creo que he me enamorado de tú.” I think I’ve fallen in love with you.

Tray, an A Spanish student because of Marisol’s gracious assistance, replied, “Y creo que estoy enamorado de ti también.” And I think I’m in love with you, too.

The two kissed each other in the light of the moon, which finally came out from its hiding place among the clouds for no other purpose than to behold young love as it bloomed.