Garrett presses play on the device containing the audio recording. His voice sounds through the speaker and begins a story…
It’s been two days since Mother’s funeral. I haven’t slept more than minutes at a time since. I sit in one of the dark stained, wooden chairs at the table in her kitchen as I sip on warm scotch that she had saved for a special occasion. I’ve spent the last two days in a drunken haze roaming aimlessly through the house remembering every detail of our relationship. It started with the box that sits in the middle of the table. It’s a small tote with clasps on both sides that keep the lid on tight. “Top Secret!” is written in a wide-tipped black marker. I laugh now thinking I was being sneaky when I wrote that on the box.
Before you can understand the implications this box had on my life, you must first know my Mother and how I came to be in this world. She was a beautiful woman by anyone’s standards. She was fifty-two and despite her age, seemed to be in the prime of her life. That’s how it felt to me, anyway. She was single the entire time I grew up, but in a loving relationship with my father. They had been in love since long before I came to be. They were truly a wonderous and unique couple.
They were very close, almost like brother and sister. They had a physical relationship that went the way many of them did in their circle of friends. She wound up pregnant with me when she was twenty, but he was better than his friends. He sat down with Mother over the course of several days and they hashed out how to move forward. I’ll spare you all the details, but he was as active in my life as I ever wanted or needed.
He was always happy to see me and take me places. We went to museums, ball games, camping, and more. It was just that he lived in a different house. Mom and Dad were happy with their separate living arrangements but went out on dates often. It was different, but I had no complaints. My father was anything but an absentee parent who only sent five dollars on my birthday. In fact, Mother would often happily roll her eyes at how over the top he would get when it came to my annual celebrations. I could not have been happier.
I’m staring at the box as I recall my story. The words written on the box were not there when the contents inside began to accumulate.
When I was about ten years old, Mother decided she wanted to get a job and she sat and discussed this with me. I smile looking back at how she would approach me when a discussion was in order. It was always when it had something to do with a disruption in our familial routine. She would sit me down on the carpet in the living room and she would get drinks and snacks and set them between us before sitting and talking to me at my level. She never spoke down to me at all.
In that discussion, she told me our routine would only change a little. She told me she had gotten a job and that she would always be home when I went to school but sometimes would not be home when I got back.
“Is that okay, kiddo?” she would always ask with a smile.
She always sought my approval before discussions had ended. She fielded any questions I would have, and I always left every conversation feeling comfortable about whatever was happening. She took great pains to ensure I was never confused, bothered, upset, or any other way but positive about a family decision. Being an adult now, I find it odd how authoritative parents are toward their children. I also know that my family was a rare case.
That’s where it started.
I’m trying to find the note that started everything. There are hundreds of them in the box. Ah, here it is.
Dearest Garrett,
I hope you enjoyed school. Today, I have to work late but not late enough to miss our time tonight. Have a snack when you get home and I’ll see you as soon as I get there!
Love, Your Mother
The sound of a glass being filled briefly interrupts the story. The sound of clinking ice is soon overpowered by liquid splashing over it.
I remember this one. There’s a stain on it from the lunch I had while at school the day she wrote it. I remember being surprised when I opened my lunchbox to find it. It wasn’t the first one she left, but it was the first one I kept. The words on the top of the box weren’t written that day. I would always put the notes in my backpack and when a lot of them accumulated there, I would empty the bag and put the notes in the box.
When I first started saving the notes, I just kept them because I enjoyed having something from Mom when I felt lonely or something. After a while, I noticed I had a deeper attachment to them. I loved my parents dearly, but Mother held a special place in my heart. I suppose it was because she always treated me like I was grown. A person really feels included, appreciated, and oftentimes loved when they’re included in decision-making processes; especially ones that include and affect them.
Let’s see what this one says.
Love,
I’m going to miss you while you’re at camp with your Dad! I’ll have snacks and drinks ready to sit and hear all about it when you get home!
Love, Your Mother
There was a kiss mark on that one. It seems sometime later I drew a heart on it. I did that to my favorite notes. I remember the night I wrote hearts on some of the notes. It was the night that changed my life and the same night that the words appeared atop my secret box here.
When I was sixteen, I was sitting down in my closet and reading through them all, marking my favorites with hearts on the back. It was during that time that I recognized a cognitive change in the way I viewed Mother. She had always been my mom, but I started seeing her as a woman. As I said, I was changing and my thoughts toward Mother had also changed. I was confused and didn’t know if something bad was happening to me. That night, I left a note for her.
Mother,
I would like to have a talk tonight. I will prepare the snacks!
I love you,
Garrett
That note is something I found out not long ago was something that Mother kept. I didn’t initially know why she kept it, except maybe that it was one of the first ones I wrote to her. I was used to being on the receiving end of our letters.
The next day, after dinner, I prepared the snacks and called Mother down to talk to me. It was a long chat that took us well into the late hours of the evening. I started the conversation, asking about sex and any associated topic I could think of. She was always considerate of me and answered every question with enthusiasm and facts without bias. She referred me to my father as well to get what she deemed as the most important perspective on the subject.
I learned and understood a lot about human sexual behavior including the taboo nature of my feelings. I never expressed them at all, but the information gleaned from both my parents lead me to believe that my thoughts weren’t common among people in our society.
All that was when I was sixteen. That talk didn’t change the dynamic we shared. Three years passed and nothing changed between us but my thoughts about her developed as I did. I knew not to say anything about it at risk of changing the dynamic that was a solid part of my life. I resolved to just admire her for the mother she had always been and the woman she was in my eyes.
Next thing I knew, I was about to be headed off to college and my life changed again, but this time without me knowing. I was to take a train to the university but before that, both my parents helped me pack up and store the things I wouldn’t be taking with me. It was a great day and I enjoyed the time Mother spent with me before I headed out on my own. Looking back, had Dad not been there, I don’t know if I would have taken my adulthood into consideration and perhaps broken a barrier that would have changed both our lives.
Instead, I lived for the moment and enjoyed an uncommon opportunity of having both my parents happily working together with me. I guess it was that day that we packed my childhood up and the adult world opened up to my adventurous ways. They both drove me to the train station, and I boarded the train after a proud exchange from Dad and an emotional one from Mother. The last thing I saw before I boarded the train was Dad’s arm around Mother and her waving at me with a tear running down her cheek.
Another drink pouring interrupts the story followed by a hard setting down of the bottle next to the microphone on the device.
While I was gone from home, Mother would call me often and tell me about her days and I would go on and on about my classes and the people I met. We would talk for hours and I often would get the feeling that I was talking to a woman I’ve known all my life instead of Mother. I always shrugged it off, but sometimes my urges would get the better of me. On nights when our conversations went late, I would hang up the phone and masturbate after being hard while I was on the phone. Every one of those times, I would cum and feel an immediate surge of guilt after.
The phone calls never stopped being a common occurrence, but I was gone for a while before I received a letter from Mother.
My Dear Garrett,
I miss you. I sometimes go into your room hoping you would be there, but I feel silly once I arrive. I know you’re not there. I do this often in hopes that it wasn’t true that I sent my baby away. I know you’re out finding your way, but home is lonely without you.
Love, Your Mother
I didn’t expect the letter and it was unusually sentimental. I remember smiling as I read it and I immediately put a heart on the back of it. Per usual habit, I went to put it in the box when I realized I didn’t have it with me. I had snuck it into one of the bigger boxes that I placed in the attic at home. In fact, I placed it in the box myself and at the bottom to ensure it would not be found unless someone went looking for it.
Time went on as it does. The phone calls continued, and I received rare letters from Mother. They usually said how much she missed me. They never talked about things we discussed on the phone and they were very infrequent. Mother never gave me any hint that anything was amiss. Well, that is until one day I got a longer-than-usual letter in the mail.
Love,
I miss you. I get pretty lonely without anyone here and one night, I wanted to see some of your things. I went to the attic and sat on the floor and reminisced about the things you put in your box. That is until I got to the bottom and found your “Top Secret” box. I initially didn’t look at it but then I figured what could possibly be there? My thought at the time was that at worst, it could be a magazine with nude women or something, but that would be normal for a boy.
I’ll tell you; I was a little taken aback by what I eventually found in there. My heart almost exploded when I saw all the notes you kept that I wrote you over the years. I happily cried there in the attic as I read them. What are the hearts for? Are those your favorites? Why did you keep them? Write me back. I’d love to be able to hold something new of yours.
Love, Your Mother
P.S. Please write your response to my questions in a letter and do not speak to them on the phone.
I didn’t know what to think about what she said. It was all harmless, but she asked me questions for which the answers might cause her distress. Whatever sexual feelings I had for Mother then would never be an excuse to cause her distress.
Now, listen … I remember this thought exactly. I remember thinking that there was a reason she wanted to know only via a letter. Questions ran through my mind. Did she not want me to bring up her questions at all on the phone? The final thing that enticed me was the thought that she probably wanted to explore a thought she had but was making it so she could back out safely if her thoughts weren’t shared.
I wrote her back.
My dear Mother,
My collection of the notes you sent me does not comprise all the notes you wrote. It was most of them, though. We’ve always been frank with each other in our discussions, but something feels different about this one as I’m writing it. No matter, I’ve never hidden anything from you, and I won’t start now. To start, the notes with a heart on the back of them are my favorites. There’s no single reason why I chose them. They could be because of how they made me feel in the moment I first read them, because they lifted my spirits when I needed, or because I simply enjoyed the words.
As I grew older, I know I put hearts on more of the notes and I’ll tell you in all honesty why. As I began to mature, I began to see you more as a woman than as my Mother. Don’t get me wrong, you’re always going to be my Mom, but I found myself observing you as a woman, not JUST my Mother. I found myself a bit disturbed that I felt that way, but I never let it go.
I hope this answers your questions and as it should go without saying, I miss you, too! It’s hard being without you.
Love, your Garrett
I waited a few days before I mailed it and as soon as I put it in the mailbox, I knew something had begun that I couldn’t undo. There were only two ways this could go and despite my best efforts, I wished they would go the way I had been thinking. She could, however, dismiss my thoughts as fantasies that I’d outgrown. In that instance, I would have to internalize my thoughts forever and never bring it up again.
The phone calls continued and transpired as they always had. She never mentioned the letters nor did her tone or attitude toward me change. Sufficient time had gone by that I knew she had received my response, and nothing changed. At least there was no outrage to my admission, though I never had reason to believe there would be. It was a week before I received Mother’s response.
My Love,
I miss you so! I enjoyed your response and will treasure your handwritten letter. Did you know that was only the second time you’ve written a letter to me? I still have the first one where you asked me to have snacks and a talk later that evening. Do you remember the conversation we had? I do. You asked me about sex, and we talked for hours about it.
You’re a man now, love. Tell me your thoughts. Don’t let barriers form between us. I enjoyed many years of open communication between us and I don’t want that to stop now.
Love, Your Mother
I felt like the letter was hurried to a close. It felt like there was more that should have been said. I felt like a prisoner walking the plank and I was about to take another step toward the deep. It was weeks before I worked up the courage to respond to her letter. At that time, I noted a slight change in how Mother talked to me on the phone. It was the noted change that drove me to write what I did.
My Dearest Mother,
Whether I’m perceived as a monster by you or anyone else, it will be something I’ll have to deal with because I choose not to eliminate the availability of completely open and honest communication.
When my childish feelings began to change into those that adults have, I realized it was a normal alteration of my being. What wasn’t normal was my carnal attraction to you. It developed over several years and never waned. To answer your first question, I never told you about it because I know it’s abnormal but also that I didn’t fully understand it. I still don’t.
I admit all this to you and eagerly await your response.
Love always, your Garrett
I took great care in admitting my thoughts, but not going into any detail. I had a lot of detail to tell but wanted to ensure we were on the same page before I did so. My relationship with Mother was paramount to my being and I was not going to do anything to jeopardize it if I could help it. That said, I waited impatiently for the lettered reply. Until then, we carried on our phone…
