One Hundred and Twelve
April 21, 2012 § Leave a comment
It was over a decade ago. The setting was a dark back room of an art gallery. Up against the dingy walls were bikes, art supplies, and camping equipment. The room was packed with young people – some hippies, some punks, a lot of artists. Everyone was there to see a small, punk-rock band that would have been unknown except for the few of us who showed up with cigarettes hanging out of our mouths and liquor in our backpacks. Or at least that is how I remember it. But I have a terrible memory. Now that I think of it, it might have been a Halloween party (let’s just put it this way – there were either a lot of punks there for a concert or a lot of people dressed up like punks for Halloween). Everything else I remember. Kind of.
I was at this rock show/Halloween party (now that I think about it, it could have been a combination of the two) with my tattooed, good-humored, attractive boyfriend (who I’ve purposely chosen to remember in just that way). If it was Halloween, we were dressed up as the little plastic players in a foosball table; if it was a concert (or maybe it was New Year’s Eve?) we looked like dirty punks. Either way, we looked pretty cool… I think.
Despite not remembering much of anything from that night, there is one point that comes to mind often. Just this afternoon, when someone asked me where I ate dinner yesterday, I was taken back to that one point in that one night remembering clearly that one thing that was said.
Last night I took a scenic drive along the shore of Lake Superior. My mother and I drove with the white, crashing waves by our side. The ride took us to an old brownstone where we had dinner, nearly an hour from my parents’ house. The restaurant was a welcome change to our Friday night fish fry. As we ate our locally caught whitefish, I watched as other locals seemed to enjoy their meal away from the typical, crowded Friday night scene of downtown. This could be my secret dinner place, I thought as we climbed back into the truck to continue our evening drive.
I like to have secret places – secret bars, secret restaurants, secret spots in the woods. So when I was asked where I ate dinner last night, I hesitated. And that is when I remembered that one moment of that one night saved fragmented and worn in the back of my mind. It was at that show/Holiday party when I was dressed in costume/grunge apparel with my funny/temperamental boyfriend that I was given a great piece of advice.
She was shorter, with platinum blonde curls and ruby red lipstick. She was dressed all in black, and if I remember right, she had fishnet tights on and black, lace-up boots (although now that I think about it, that might have been my outfit). This part I know for sure though – she had a really girly perfume on that calmly subdued the smoky filled air around us. I caught a whiff as she walked past, so I complimented her on it and asked what the name of the perfume was. “A lady never shares her secrets,” she said slyly with a smile. And that’s where the memory ends. Maybe we rocked out to some music or walked down the street to watch the ball drop, but I never saw her again.
A lady never shares her secrets. That one phrase has kept me from spilling the beans many a time over the past several years. In this day in age where people are continually updating their Facebook statuses, tweeting about uneventful events, sharing pictures of everything from their dinner to their dentist appointments, and blogging their opinions, it is rare to meet someone – a lady – who has secrets. Regardless of all that I am willing to share over the internet or over dinner, I still like to have my secrets. What fun is it to give everything away? Shouldn’t we all have secret restaurants or secret beauty products or secret hobbies or information that no one else knows? Good communication can never be taken for granted, but like that pretty punk rocker/Halloween party go-er/artist told me that indiscernible night some 9 or so years ago – a lady never shares her secrets… even if she can remember them.