The Secret Hand

Some secrets are right there in the open.  They are so secret and so forbidden that the best way to hide them is by leaving them out in the open, where anyone who cared to look might see them, but they don't recognize them for what they are because they seem too commonplace. It is in this way that one can walk past a ring of keys, or a thimble a thousand times searching for it and not see it, or, look at it, and not see it at all.  

And that's what we have.  No one has, nor ever will they suspect. She and I have been a pair since infancy, since girlhood, through pubescence and into adulthood.  She and I are expected to be a pair.  

And so we are.  

But know one knows what sort of pair.  No one knows the delicious secrets we have whispered to each other in the darkness, the unspoken things written on skin.  Even as we were passed to our respective husbands, we remained The First Pair, and so it has continued.  It is not regarded as strange, because no one thinks of it, or knows.  No one else can read our glances.  No one bothers to untie the ribbon that holds the stacks of letters in order in our writing tables. No one reads into those casual moments of contact that look like just an accidental brush of fingers to an outsider, but to us are like a bold of lighting, or a spark from a flint. 

And when people look at this photo, no one will think twice about the woman's hand hovering just above my hip. Because she was my bridesmaid, and my child's godmother, and my most public, and yet, most intimate friend.  No one will know, until both of us have gone, and some progeny of either of ours finds the letters, and does untie the ribbon, and reads them.  And then they too, will know the secret significance of the hand in the photo. 

Author's Note

I do not have a source for the photo. It was a google image.

Reviews

[Chris]

I like the weave and your mind play.