Behind Closed Doors

 

 

No one knows what goes on behind closed doors.

I mean, except for my Aunt Gert, who’s since learned her lesson…at least according to the court papers.

What I mean is, no matter how well you know someone or how long you’ve been friends…how much do you really know about them?

Only what they tell you…and what you can find in their medicine cabinet.

And believe me no one’s telling you everything…especially about the mangos….uh, someplace.

But that’s always the way it’s been and probably the way it should be.

Because do you really want everyone knowing about your lint collection?

Or do you really want to know about that cute girl in compliance’s nasty habit of smelling her shoes after she takes them off at night? 

I don’t think so.

But lint and smelly shoes are really just peccadillos; the kind of things we all do to some extent when we know no one’s looking; the things that don’t hurt anyone but…well, pretty much no one.

And I’m not talking about the grasshopper enjoyment group you belong to on Facebook.

Or the fact that you binge watch all seven seasons of Gilmore Girls every other weekend.

Hey, so what…that Lorelei is pretty witty and witty pretty.

No, I’m talking about the real stuff of life that goes on behind the doors, behind the curtains when no one else is looking.  When the only face you really know, is the one staring back at you through the bathroom mirror in the dead of night.

When your tired eyes reflect fears only you know reside within.

Where taut lips seal the secrets you keep inside.

And that ridiculous long hair sneaks out of your right ear to reveal itself, mercifully only to you, thankfully only in this particular lighting.

A wife, mother or daughter received a scary diagnosis, opened a notice of foreclosure or found something they hoped they’d never see.

A father, son or brother, lost a job, betrayed a friend, can’t pay their taxes or nearly totaled their car after a long night out on the town.

Things we keep hidden behind a smile, a witty comment and care free persona. Or, sometimes, a surly response, an irrational reaction, and a “poor poor me" day, among friends.

How many of us will ever guess what lies beneath the surface of all of those other faces we stumble into, each and every day. The happy face, the bitter, even the sad?

How many of us even care…I mean, really care to know?

For the most part we each have our own troubles to parse, our own worries to weed. How could we possibly absorb, let alone understand anyone else’s?

In fact everyone else’s trouble usually seems pretty mild compared to our own.

Losing your smart phone is nothing compared to losing my remote control…let alone a friend a lover or even a favorite pet.

But because we're blind to all the doings behind closed doors, as well we should, we often judge what we don’t understand. A divorce out of the blue…a blow-up at work…a disheveled appearance or too many hours spent with a bottle.

We just don’t know, but assume to presume we do…and that it could never happen to us.

And even if it does...as long as we keep smiling, keep laughing, projecting the appearance of sanity…no one will ever know.

Because we always return to the safety behind closed doors, where our secrets are safe, and no one is ever the wiser.

For better…or for worse….

I know I left that remote right here…where the hell it is it?

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