“So… Can You Keep a Secret?”

“can you keep a secret,” she said—while trying to approach me.

It was a cold winter afternoon and the town seemed to be slower than ever. Pedestrians were planning each step, making me think what’s so scary about slipping?

She was, however, slower than every other living creature. Maybe it was something about her dress—which was obviously too long for a short winter afternoon.

“I said can you keep a secret?” she repeated as if it is my last chance to answer.

I tried to make eye contact just to make sure she’s talking to me. But eye contacts are not something the winter would tolerate. Every time she exhaled, a white cloud of vaporized air hid her eyes—and she wasn’t willing to breathe slowly.

You usually don’t want to ignore an old lady, especially if it’s cold out there and you’re the guy wearing hooded puffer jacket. That would be solid evidence that my grandpa is right and “the youth are nothing but selfish and corrupted creatures.”

Not willing to be a part of my grandpa’s narcissistic ideology, I asked “Excuse me?” with a caring sound. (There is something about pretending you didn’t hear the speaker at first that gives you the courage to sign up for the conversation).

 “I said… Can you keep a secret?” she repeated—after taking a deep disappointment breathe in.

-      “do I know you, ma’am?”

-      “look, Daniel. I need you to answer my question with a yes or no, right now. Can you keep a secret?”

It was a small town and everyone knew each other. So, I wasn’t surprised by the fact that she knew my name and I wasn’t afraid to let her notice that.

- “Sorry ma’am but I do not know who you are and why you’re asking me to keep a secret. If you need help, just tell me. There’s no need to make things complicated, okay?”

I tried hard not to sound selfish and corrupted uttering that final “okay?” but I obviously didn’t succeed. (I’m sure my grandpa would love to watch me end my line like that—just to prove his own fogyish ideas).

However, that final “okay?” sounded awkward enough to force a deadly silence on our second-rate tête-à-tête.

I used the pause to turn my back on her and continue doing nothing. (How many useful stuff can a young man do while waiting for the bus, anyway?).

“I don’t need your help… just tell me if you can keep a secret,” she insisted—this time with a more aggressive tone which always suits an old lady.

-      “look… ma’am. I can’t keep a secret of a person whom I don’t even know.”

I tried so hard not to put an “okay?” at the end of my courageous disclaimer, and it worked. I could see she’s smiling behind those waning white breaths—which was satisfying and unsettling at the same time.

But nothing mattered, to be honest. I started with a stupid question, continued with a selfish “okay?”, and still, managed to end the talk with an unrelated answer to avoid a purposeful dialogue.

It was almost like the most pleasing formula of having an exchange with an unwelcomed stranger—or at least it felt that way.

Now, I could turn my back on her being sure that she’s not going to be a bother anymore, and I did so. However, just to make sure that she’s aware of the state of our conversation, I tried to act like someone who’s in a hurry and is waiting for the bus: first, I looked at my watch (like I’m frowning at a bus driver who’s been late—and not a watch). Then, I put my hands in my pockets and made some quick and unnecessary moves while peeking at random objects here and there. I even tried to stand on my toes to look over the street in the direction of the allegedly late bus—even though there was nothing to block my view. But that didn’t matter since people do become irrational when trying to imply they’re in a hurry.

The problem was that I was too busy acting that I didn’t realize what time it is when looking at my watch. (Maybe my teachers were right and I wasn’t ready for method acting yet).

My acting classes always ended at 5:45 p.m. and I waited at the bus stop for 10 minutes before the bus arrived. But now with all those awkward exchanges and my unnecessary acting attempts out of the school, I was quite sure that I’ve lost track of the time.

However, you could easily tell that something is wrong and the bus has definitely been late for real—because I’d never seen the barbershop close before I leave. (It was a cozy small shop with bright lights and a wide window filed with typographies that made it hard to sneak peek and waste your time while waiting for the bus). But now, I could see the owner turning off the lights, grabbing his coat, and looking for his hat to leave.

-      “So, you can’t keep a secret, huh?”

I obviously didn’t need to turn around to see who it is but this time, the sound was coming from farther away. So, I felt safe enough to look back, knowing that I could easily avoid eye contact and even ignore the questioner as if I didn’t see her.

There she was, sitting on the clean corner of a bench while the rest was still covered in snow. (I assume she cleaned the bench herself as one of her sleeves was stretched down to her fingers, making it a snow shovel-like tool).

This time I didn’t need to pretend I didn’t understand—nor did I wanted to. Moreover, she already knew I’m not a nice guy, and the fact that she still insisted on talking to me was a consent to let me be who I am, the selfish and corrupted young.

So, I kept my hands in my pockets, turned my head aside, and a bit back to let her know the next sentence is aimed at her:

-      “yep. Can’t keep a stranger’s secret, ma’am. That sounds nonsense to me, to be honest. But you seem like a nice lady. So, I’d say don’t let a stranger like me have your secrets ma’am. I don’t want to sound like I’m advising someone older than me, but if you have absolutely no one to talk to or share your secrets with, you can always write them down instead of telling them to strangers. Okay?”

And there it was again. A selfish and corrupted “okay?” at the end of my homily. (Uh, if only I could find a better way to end my lectures…).

But I didn’t want to give up on my would-be confessor. Plus, I’d love another chance to try method acting out of the school—because I owed myself an AdLib from the last scene.

So, first, I looked at my shoes to focus on my forthcoming lines (that’s also what you do with a camera that fails to auto-focus). Then, I smiled as if my shoes are two cute puppies asking for some free pet (that’s the kind of smile you need to seem concerned, kind, and gentle).

However, she was still behind me and everything I did was just the rehearsal—and not the actual play. So, I took that final deep breath in, keeping the fake smile real and slowly turned around to face her.

I had everything planned in my head. I was going to lift my head while turning it around. (That’s what you do to inform the person behind you that there’s nothing to be afraid of. A sudden turn without that smooth angel is always a sign of danger).

-      “look…” I added to my opening line. “I know you need someone to talk to… but…”

-      “shut your filthy little mouth boy… you think I don’t know who you are? How dare you act like a gentleman you silly piece of garbage?!”

One thing was for sure, I didn’t expect that. Not only she stepped on my line but she also changed the Mise en Scène by coming closer to me. (by the end of her line, she was only a couple of steps away from me).

You usually don’t want your co-stars to step on your lines neither do you want them to change the Mise en Scène without letting you know. So, I prepared for a suitable reaction.

“wow, ma’am… I need to stop you right there,” I said while holding my hands stretched out and slowly stepping back. (That’s what you do when encountered with a threat. And I wanted her to notice that—although I wasn’t scared of this tiny short old lady who’s not even dressed properly for the setting).

“Come back here,” she said, pointing her stick at me like she’s ordering her disobeying slave. It was weird that I didn’t notice she’s carrying a stick the whole time. (I’d like to know the secret of hiding such a long object in the stage rather than her actual secrets).

“you can’t keep the secret of a stranger, huh? So, why would I?” she continued. “I saw you picked up Mr. Johnson’s wallet and put it in your pocket like a filthy little robber. And I saw you touching Ms. Lebedev like a disgusting pervert… Do you want me to keep your secrets? Huh? You, young people, are nothing but spoilt pieces of garbage.”

I was stunned and desperately in need of an AdLib. I couldn’t remember my lines and I’m pretty sure that I ruined the Mise en Scène because I stepped back more than it was necessary.

-      “Now, listen to me, young man. I’ll keep your dirty secrets for two more days. You’ll either give Mr. Johnson’s wallet back and apologies to that poor woman for your unleashed dirty lust, or I go right up to Jack and tell him everything.”

As I said, it was a small town and everyone knew each other by name. So, I was pretty sure that knowing who she’s talking about is a dismissible part of her line. However, I knew what it meant “to go right up to Jack and tell him everything.” Jack was the last cop on the planet earth that you’d want to meet—especially as a young criminal.

All I needed was a cutaway—and it was sure to come. Right when she thought she caught me the bus showed up. And as if my prayers were accepted, it honked a couple of times to grab our attention (I assume even the driver felt the tension between us and wanted to do something about it).

-      “look… ma’am. I’m sorry that you had to witness such stuff but I have no idea who you’re talking about. My name is not Daniel and I’m just here to visit my grandparents who live on the St, Middleton. That’s it, okay?... And I can’t miss the bus ma’am. I got to go.”

I managed to finish my lines just before the bus arrived and I was even able to keep the eye contact before the hissing sound of the bus door ended it.

-      “I’ll see you in the court you filthy mother…” she yelled at me before the bus driver used the hissing sound of the door to step on her line.

Finally, I was safe. To reward me for such an honorable performance, I decided to take my time and choose the coziest sit on the bus—as they were all empty.

“don’t worry about her, Daniel. She’s just crazy,” said the driver looking at me through the rearview mirror. It was the time for me to utter the last line of the play and wait for the applause. So, I continued my sympathetic laughter with “yes… I know. But she’s still lovely, isn’t she?” which made both of us laugh like two civilized guys who care about the society—although they are well-aware of its ruthlessness.

“She was a good actor,” I thought as soon as finding the best spot to sit. If I were a theater critic, I’d prefer her performance over mine. After all, it was me who ruined the Mise en Scène and forgot his lines. She even managed to make use of the objects in the stage—and I can assure she pulled up her stick like a professional Head Fly.

Of course, I was the antagonist and the audience (hopefully) wouldn’t pay much attention to my almost-amateurish overacting. However, I was glad that I had two more days to brush up on my skills and perform better—because she was definitely going to call the police on me.

I spent Mr. Johnson’s money to buy me a ticket for the next Sunday’s The Master Thief play—although I hate community theaters. And I didn’t feel sorry for touching Ms. Lebedev when I had the chance—as she’s the most beautiful and charming mature lady in the town. (We even exchanged a couple of smiles after that incident. So, I’m sure she doesn’t need my apology).

All I need is to remember “The best way of successfully acting a part is to be it” and try to avoid overacting when performing in front of those biting cops. That’s it.