To Share or Not to Share

   I screwed up. I knew I was at the time, but I just had to. When it comes down sharing something important with someone you care about, you share it before it gets discovered. Some things are easier to explain if you don't hide it first.

  Let me illustrate.

  I am a caretaker of a thing. I am not supposed to tell you about the thing or describe it in any way so be patient in my telling, you might figure it out on your own.

  This thing, which might be an object, has been in my possession all my life. It is in the shape of an object. One that has an important history. 

   I am only 49 but I'm not the only one that has had this thing. My father had it before me and his before him, all the way back to the first man.

  This thing shouldn't be shared with strangers and hasn't been until now. It isn't physical or some book. It is no artifact of legends or even a priceless work of art. No. It's bigger than that. Much bigger. Not in size, but of importance.

  Who says it's important? Who decides it should be kept secret? All of us who care for it. All of us. In order for the object to be handed down, the next in line has to see it. You must gaze upon it, hold it in your mind. Once exposed, you understand immediately; this is an important thing.

  After the shock of being in the presence of this thing wears off, about three months, it's given to you for safekeeping. It does something to you. It is subtle but powerful and will change you. A small change that really opens your eyes. 

   You can only have it when you turn eighteen though. You know immediately why when you meet it.

   I say that like it has a mind of its own but it doesn’t, at least none we know of.

  So, you know what it is, and what it can do when you get it, so you do hide it and you do keep it secret. I did for 31 years, then I screwed up.

  I fell in love is what happened. Not that young love, that puppy love of youth. No, I fell for real and so did she. Until I showed her the thing. Unless you call falling off the same thing.

  Some of us put the thing in a vault or bury it until it was time to pass it on. Some died first and left instructions for the handover, but most lived and gave it to their, of age, son. I kept it in my basement in a place where only I would know. There wasn't any fanfare or prompting when I showed it to her, and she thought it was a simple family heirloom.

  No one told me the effect it would have on her. I knew the effect it had on me, but this was not the same. It was nothing I would have expected. I didn't know if it was because of her age, (35), sex or maybe it was just her mentality, I don't know. Maybe her reaction was the reason for this things secrecy. Whatever the reason, she freaked out.

   “What is it?” She kept asking as I led her down to its place. She was excited and nervous. I was too, now that I think back. I was excited in a way I don’t comprehend. 

   Truly I led her to her doom but how could I have known?

   I knew what this thing was and I also knew its power. I should never have shared. Her reaction was more than I expected:

  She...turned. That is all I can say about it. She changed in an instant and turned. On me. At that moment I knew, but only looking back on it, if that makes sense. I knew the object, knew my mistake and I also knew we were not alone down there in my basement.

  "Why?" She screamed with her fists balled up at her sides. Her face was contorted with rage. I took a step back.

   Sadness was upon me. Regret and disappointment. I couldn’t take back what I had done. It was too late.

  "Why what?" I wondered. Was she asking me why we hid it or why did I show her? Again, it didn't matter. She was so angered by one of these things that she began to search my basement. As I watched her, the third presence was with her, engulfing her with its dark aura.

  She found what she was looking for quickly: a 28-ounce framing hammer on my workbench. She snatched it up and spun to face me.

  I thought she was going to destroy the thing but she wasn't even looking that way. She was looking at me!

  "Why?" She hissed through grinding teeth. Boy was she mad. I sighed. What had come over her? I was kind of sad when I saw it, and my father said that was the general reaction. Sad and surprised. I cried for a day or so, then thought hard about it. She was not sad. She was livid. The thing didn’t distress her or bring her down. It made her murderous!

  I had no more time to ruminate over her behavior. Now I had to deal with it. She charged me with her weapon. Her lips were twisted and her eyes were shining with fury. At some point, she had fisted her left eye, and smeared eyeliner had darkened that socket. That part always sticks in my mind: the blackened eye. The eye, the hammer, and the missing sanity.

  I am no fighter. My last tussle was in high school and I lost. Even so, I had to protect the thing, and to do so, I had to protect myself. This woman, this love of my life was going to hit me with my own hammer. I know it was not the evil that was with her here, it was the knowledge she gained from the object.

   I had no trouble taking the hammer from her but I couldn’t remove what she had learned and in turn, the madness that accompanied it. I had no choice in the matter when it came down to it. She wasn’t going to revert to her normal self, and my chances with her gone.

  So, I screwed up. I shouldn't have shared the heirloom, and I'll be damned if I show anyone again. It's only a thing, an heirloom. A small thing that rotted long ago but never left the world. Something I was supposed to hand down to my son...