Imaginary

“How the hell could you not tell me you're allergic to blueberries?!" Mike shouted.

I stared down silently at the hospital sheets. I picked at a loose string on the thin blanket. I shrugged. He let out a frustrated sigh.

“Becky, we’ve been married for eight years. We dated for three years before that. I must have made you blueberry pancakes over a hundred times. How the hell, in all that time, could you never tell me you’re allergic?” He asked pleadingly.

“I just didn’t want to be a bother,” I mumbled.

“With a food allergy?!” He shouted. He let out a groan and rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. “Beck, do you realize I could have killed you? With pancakes! Death by pancakes, who the hell even thinks of that? Thank god you were still able to speak enough to tell the paramedics because I wouldn’t have known what to tell them!”

I bit my lip. I never wanted to cause him this trouble. I heard him take a deep breath and let it out slowly. He reached over and grabbed my hand gently.

“Look,” he said softly, “it’s okay. You’re alive, you’ll recover without any problems, and I’ll stop with the pancakes. No problem.”

 I half-smiled. “But I like your pancakes.”

He chuckled softly and squeezed my hand.

“Alright, then no more blueberry pancakes,” he said, kissing my forehead. “Hey, it’s been a long day and you’ve only eaten a few bites of pancake. Why don’t I go get us some burgers or something?”

I nodded. He smiled and gave me another kiss before grabbing his coat and heading out. I let out a long sigh after he left. I really never wanted to cause him so much trouble. My allergy had always been mild before, some swelling and itchiness around my throat, but nothing fatal. 

I don’t know why I never told him. He made me blueberry pancakes once on our third date. It was the first night I stayed over at his place. It was so sweet I didn’t have the heart to tell him I was allergic. After that, I just never got around to saying it, and the longer I waited, the more that I felt I couldn’t say it. Well, there was no hiding it now. Having to call 911 because your wife suddenly collapses while gasping for air during breakfast is pretty revealing. 

I looked outside, it was night now. We’d been here all day. I wasn’t surprised he was upset at me. I should have said something years ago, but I didn’t want to. I had no idea allergies could get worse over time, especially if you keep exposing yourself to them. If anything I thought the opposite might happen, the exposure would make me stronger, and maybe one day I wouldn’t even have the allergy. If you pretend it isn’t real, then it’s like it never happened.

I was always doing this to Mike, and not just him. Everyone. I never wanted to bother anyone with my problems. I always shoved them to the back of my mind. I didn’t even like to send food back at restaurants. I never complained. Even with everything that happened today, I still couldn’t bring myself to tell Mike I didn’t like hamburgers. After all, he was being so kind. How could I?

I laid back in bed and looked up at the ceiling. The sounds of hospital equipment beeping, doctors and nurses chattering, and the squeaking of shoes on the tile floor acted like white noise. I noticed there was a brown water stain on one of the ceiling tiles. It looked a little like a rabbit. I smiled. I had a rabbit toy when I was a little girl. It always made me feel better. I felt like it was the one thing that I could talk to without fear of what would happen.

I was devastated when I lost my rabbit. Well, I didn’t lose it, it was taken. My father said I was becoming too dependent on it. I know why he did it, he wanted me to open up to people more, but instead, it had the opposite effect. Instead of opening up, I isolated myself even more. Sometimes I would close my eyes at night, imagine my rabbit and whisper secrets to it. I didn’t want to remember how painful it was when he took my rabbit, and if you pretend it isn’t real, then it’s like it never happened.

I glanced at the clock. It had been about twenty minutes. I knew there was a fast food place nearby, but this time of night it was probably packed. If Mike went there it could be an hour before he got back, and if he went somewhere else I didn’t know how long it would take.

Mike had always begged for the same thing as my father. He wanted me to be more open, to share things with him more. He thought I relied too much on myself to handle everything. He was never shy to tell me about a bad day at work or something that was stressing him in his daily life, and I was happy to listen. I was glad I could be there to support the man I loved, especially when things were tough. It’s not like I didn’t understand why Mike wanted me to do the same, I just couldn’t.

Like yesterday, I went to work and when I got there I saw somebody had parked in my spot. It wasn’t the first time, but I had never said anything to HR about it. I was hoping the person would realize on their own they shouldn’t do it. Well, because of that I had to drive around and look for a spot in the parking garage. I finally found one, but it was about five levels up and the elevator was broken, so I had to take the stairs. In high heels. I thought it was ridiculous management still hadn’t fixed the elevators two months later, but I figured they were probably waiting on the repair company. By the time I finally got into work I was about half an hour late, because this sort of situation had happened before it wasn’t the first time. My boss called me in and told me that they couldn’t tolerate this unreliability on my part anymore and said I’d need to pack my desk and leave the building. Maybe I should have explained the problems then and there, but I knew he had more important things to worry about than a late employee. 

I drove around town for a while until it was time to come home “from work” that day. When I walked in Mike said hello and kissed me like always. When he asked how my day was I smiled and told him it was a normal day. I didn’t want him to worry, and I didn’t want to think about what would happen to us because of this either, and if you pretend it isn’t real, then it’s like it never happened.

I don’t know when this self-isolation started really. I think it was when I was very young. Maybe five or six, but who can remember that long ago? I think the first person who really encouraged secrets was my uncle. My mom and dad worked a lot, so they would have him watch me. He wasn’t employed at the time so it was a way to make some extra money. Besides, my uncle loved me.

Mom and Dad had so many rules when I was little, but my uncle was more laid back. Cake for lunch is okay, just don’t tell your parents. Cartoons all afternoon are okay, just don’t tell your parents. Special secrets only shared with me and him.

I remember one month his car broke down, he couldn’t come to see me anymore, so I was sad. When Mom and Dad said they would start driving me to his house I was so excited. We kept some secrets at my house, but how many more could we do at his. After a while, dropping me off at his place became the norm, even after his car was fixed. I was happy. Not only could we spend all day together, but we had our special secrets. 

At first, I really enjoyed them. We can order a pizza for dinner, just don’t tell your parents. We can play dress-up, just don’t tell your parents. We can take a bath together, just don’t tell your parents. I started to not like the secrets after that. I didn’t like uncle’s secret kisses, I didn’t like his secret hugs, and I really didn’t like his secret naps. I wanted to tell Mom and Dad, but after so many secrets I was afraid they’d be mad at me. My uncle was the one who told me what to do. 

I still remember the way he smiled at me when I told him my worries. He was giving me a bath after our “secret nap” together. He laughed and poked my nose.

“Becky, I’m gonna tell you a super special secret. Something other grown-ups would never tell you,” he said, excitedly. “When you feel bad about a secret, you just pretend it’s not real. Use that little imagination of yours! If you pretend it isn’t real, then it’s like it never happened.”

So I did, and it worked. I pretended nothing was wrong, and over time it seemed less and less real until I was barely sure it ever happened to begin with. So I did it for the rest of my life. Nothing was real, so nothing ever really hurt. I kept everything inside, because if you tell somebody, then it becomes real, and real things are painful. Having your favorite toy taken away is painful, losing your job is painful, admitting to your parents that you’ve been lying to them is painful. Blueberry pancakes are painful.

I felt the tears stream down my cheeks. I covered my face with my hands and began sobbing quietly. It was painful, horribly painful, but it was also cleansing. I felt as if the weight of all those secrets was slowly leaving me because out of all the secrets I’d been keeping, the biggest one was the one I had been keeping from myself.

Mike came back a short while later, carrying a bag from the fast-food restaurant. He started to greet me but stopped when he realized I had been crying. He rushed over and grabbed my hand, tossing the bag onto the table.

“Beck, hey! Are you okay?” He asked, concerned. “Do I need to get the doctor?”

I shook my head no. I sat there a moment, wondering what to do. I glanced over at the table. In his rush, the bag had toppled over, I could see the burgers inside. I took a deep breath and looked at him.

“I’m allergic to blueberries,” I said quietly, “I lost my job yesterday, and I don’t like fast-food hamburgers. I hate the way the processed meat tastes.”

Mike didn’t say anything, he just looked at me. After a minute he smiled and nodded slowly, understanding. He reached into the bag and pulled out a container of fries. I took them and started eating. He ate his burgers. Neither of us spoke, but it didn’t matter. I told him, and that made it real.