Secrets Are No Fun

The Diagnosis

It began when I was in fifth grade. I was a normal kid. I woke up every morning, rode the fifteen-minute bus ride to school, rode the fifteen-minute bus ride home from school, ate everything that Mom served me for dinner, attempted to do my homework, and then, finally, went to sleep. This continued every day with the additional ballet lesson, tennis lesson, basketball lesson, piano lesson, and occasional afterschool tutoring session.

And who was the puppet master to all my plans? Who decided where I would be and at what time I showed up? Mom. Who else in the world would be able to coordinate my schedule, besides Mom?

I’m not saying I had a bad life, but it was definitely a boring one. If you saw one of those movie montages where they repeat the same day over and over again, you would say, “that sounds like Rebecca’s life.” I hope you get the point.

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It was a Tuesday when I got home from school and Mom wasn’t there. This was unusual considering Mom was always home to see me when I got home from school. And if she wasn’t going to be home she always warned me beforehand. I mean, of course Marta, our Hungarian babysitter, was always home for us. But she wasn’t as good as Mom because she didn’t speak any English and she just wasn’t Mom.

You see, Mom loved me so much that she even quit her job for me (and for my twin brother and little sister). When I was in first grade Mom decided that she wouldn’t be able to work as a lawyer in the City and be home in time for my brother and me when we got home from school. It was a good thing she realized that her real job was being my mom because no one else was as good at it.

 Anyways, there was no fresh food when I got home which was also weird. Mom was a cooking fanatic. She told me that she didn’t know how to cook until she married Dad and that he was skinny when she first married him. But he’s gained thirty pounds in the past fifteen years, thanks to Mom’s cooking.

Mom’s able to cook anything you ask her to. Just give her time and she finds at least five recipes that are perfect. And normally when I get home from school the entire counter is filled with vegetables, fruit and chicken or meat. It was like having a home cooked thanksgiving dinner every night, except without the turkey. So I pretty much freaked out once I realized that we’d be eating leftovers. And my twin Sam, and sister Mollie thought it was weird, too.

“Where’s dinner?” Sam whined as he walked into the kitchen, letting the swinging door swing right into Mollie.

“You don’t need dinner,” my sister rubbed her forehead where the door just smacked her. She sat down at the dinner table next to Sam. “You could hold the door open for me, you know?”

Sam rolled his eyes and rubbed his belly. My brother was a little bit heavy. But he was only eleven and he didn’t have to worry about girls until he was at least twelve. “I’m starving… Where’s mom?”

My sister and I looked at each other. Clearly she wasn’t home and clearly there wasn’t going to be any dinner. We understood that. Sam didn’t. Why did people always say that he was the smarter twin? 

For some reason, people always said that Sam was the smarter twin. Maybe people thought that because he was really mature for his age or because he wore round glasses that made him look like a chubby version of Harry Potter, but Sam was definitely not smarter than me. Yes, he was better in math. But I am better in English. And to defend my case, Mom told me that we even had the same IQ scores. So I guess that sort of made us… equal? But that’s a story for another time.

“So….” I started as I stared at the empty table in front of me. I clasped my hands together and rested my head on the cold table. Mollie did the same while Sam got up to look for Marta.

Marta came in wearing her usual white sweatshirt and blue jeans. She started speaking in Hungarian, which I could understand as well as a crying baby. This time though I understood what Marta was telling us: there are leftovers in the fridge… Enjoy!

Then we sat and ate chicken and rice in silence. Then we went upstairs to do our homework. Mom hadn’t called yet and I was getting annoyed.

I was concentrating on a math problem when the phone suddenly rang. I jumped up from my desk, happy that I had an excuse to take a break from doing homework. I ran for the phone, hoping it was Mom but my sister grabbed it before I did.

I ran across the hall to my sister’s room, “Can I please have the phone?” I begged as I pulled the telephone away from her but she motioned me away and turned her back to me. I kept whining though. “I need to speak to mommy!”

I could tell that she wasn’t going to give it up. I ran downstairs just as I heard my brother’s voice over the intercom. “It’s for you, Rebecca,” he said and hung up the phone.         

“Hello?” I picked up the phone in the kitchen. “Mommy? I miss you. How are you?” I asked in the sweetest voice possible. She had to remember that she was coming home to the most perfect daughter in the entire planet!

“Sweetie, I have news,” she started. “I went to the doctor today and she told me that… that I have a boo boo. Everything is going to be fine… but I need surgery. I will be home very soon and explain everything.”

“A boo boo? A little surgery?  Mom, what’s going on?” I demanded. I sat down on the kitchen chair and put my knees to my chest. “Hello!?” I didn’t realize that I was yelling, but I was becoming frustrated.

But then I heard a beep through the phone, which meant that one of my annoying siblings just came on the line to interrupt my conversation with my mom. So I hung up and slammed my head down on the kitchen table. My head was swimming with a million senses and I couldn’t deal with my little sister’s voice whining to Mom about why she wasn’t home yet.

I did have a valid reason for needing silence and for just needing Mom, who had just told me that she was at a doctor and needed surgery, by the way. Well to be specific, she said that she had a “boo boo.” What in the world is a “boo boo” if not a scrape? I got scrapes on my knees all the time and I didn’t need surgery to help me feel better. I needed a Band-Aid!

“UCH!” I yelled to no one in particular considering I was alone in the kitchen. I stomped my foot and ran through the swinging door letting it swing behind me. I ran up the steps to go to my room and tripped on my way. I stayed on the itchy carpet and then I started to cry.

At this point I’m guessing you all must be thinking that this girl is just really dramatic. Why is she acting like the world is crashing down when she doesn’t even know what this boo boo is? I guess it’s true though. I was acting a little bit over the top. But that was me- a drama queen. I was scared and nervous, because Mom hadn’t been home, I hadn’t eaten much of a dinner that night, and Mom told me that she needed surgery. I think just mentioning “surgery” would scare the daylights out of any fifth grader.

I mean the doctors had to cut Mom open and take something out of her. She would be sleeping, of course, which means it wouldn’t hurt. But how could my supermom have something wrong with her? And how could this have happened to me? Ever since I could remember nothing out of the ordinary has ever happened to my family, and now we were experiencing every family’s worst nightmare!