Anon Anon Anon...Ever and Anon

It would've been a shame to let her in on the secret that we kept for so long. It's not that we didn't trust her, though we didn't. It was that she didn't trust us. It would have been the end of her if we told her the secret, and she told someone else. She's just like They are, and They wouldn't understand.

It was a yesteryear to come that day, but the summer was over and winter had frozen up our appetite for anything normal. All pretenses lost; normal is the only thing that we can't get back from our childhood. Youth comes with age and innocence is a fairytale told to the ancient dying so they feel better about joining us in our lives as we try to have a better sense of things.

It was a purple summer, though none of the other seasons were blue. We mixed and matched orange and green to get it that way, which was perfect as far as perfect goes. As farfetched an idea as it may have been, we thought little of it for fear of imploding due to just thinking of our self worth--if we have any left, anyway.

The secret is one of those things you never knew that you never knew you'd never know. We all knew it'd be a bad idea, but bad was replaced with ungood to make it sound better, just so we could pretend not to notice the difference. I thought it was a masterful thing, but I think I thought I was the only one—it turns out, I was really the only one who didn't.

Shut up, Lie, father told you he wasn't proud.

We never spoke of it after that, but it is all just the same. We never really spoke of it to begin with, and never had a reason to bring the subject up.

We sang silly campfire songs to cover up for the fact that the secret we kept was a lie, yet we kept it anyway. We decided it best to keep the lies, and give away the truths; that way we're honest to everyone else, at least. It wouldn't be right to lie to ourselves about lying to ourselves; I never thought it worked quite right that way.

Sally sold sea shells to Shawn by the sea shore, and I would die before I told them that it wasn't pointless. Jack was nimble, Jill was quick, but neither of them jumped over a candlestick; it was me. I know, these are listless children's games of hopcrotch, truth-or-bare-it-all, and hide-in-the-bedroom-and-peek-through-the-door. I'm sure I'm forgetting one, but if you think so, you're missing the point altogether.

It would be a shame to let everyone know about everyone else but ourselves; the best kept gossip was like working in adult sweatshops as opposed to sunshine and butterflies. One little rumour kills us until we can't take the death anymore and come back to life by word of mouth.

I told mother she'd be grounded if she told grandpa why grandma plays leapfrog on Saturday evenings now. Looking back on it, I'm not sure if she listened; adults are so hard of hearing when they don't want to do so. Selective hearing was made for newborn children, but that ability was stolen from them when we thought we could make better use of it. As careless as we were; the adults were the ones to end up with it in the end.

BFF stands for Big Frilly Foeknees; modernized Puritan jesters who won college-level spelling bees took hours to figure it out. If it's any consolation, Best Friends Forever would have been their last choice. That's okay because any sign of intimacy would mean the death of what humanity is really about. After all, transcendentalism is saved for the incoherent and the crazy homeless; that way we don't have to share our latest fix.

I gave father an allowance, because Lord knows he didn't know how to budget anything wisely, save for time spent—wasted, rather—on silly things like taxes and lobotomy. He made a fortune with his dancing monkeys who came in a first class airplane—though I think it was truly they that made a fortune off of him—and he wanted to buy childish things like Ferraris, houses that are too big, and fancy clothes. I told him to focus on the more simple things; I've recently heard that the Ken Barbie doll has come back in fashion, so go buy the pink Corvette instead. And so I am left squeezing out what's left of my piggy bank through that small slit in The Pig's back, because keepsakes are too precious to break with a hammer; I'll just throw it away and hope I did the environment some good by recycling plastics instead.

I thought it would be different when I put Butterfly Kisses in her hair. Apparently, those things only work in real life, because the song lied to all of us about reality. I share an ice-cream sundae with myself every second Tuesday of each week, but such a thing is much too grown-up for mentioning; all other times I debate with the mirror about politics and religion to show off the child that I am.

I used to think that good manners and bubble-gum didn't mix, but when I realized I could chew with my mouth closed, I didn't explode, so I was left to believe that it was fine. Which is good, because it means that there is hope yet for the adults who've yet to learn their manners, but are masters with bubbles that are bigger than their heads.

Laziness is next to Godliness, or so I'm told. Procrastination was one of those mutated science projects gone awry; we were really trying to discover the genetic code for pink fuzzy bunny slippers; I really think we may have been cheated out in the end. So when the winter turns into spring and the rabbits of white, black, and grey come out; don't blame me...it was my idea to make them pink and wear them on our feet, you were the ones that merely replied with anon, anon, anon...ever and anon.

It would be unthinkable to wear too many clothes during the winter; we ice-skate with our bare feet, because the burning sensation is more erotic than bubble baths and ice-cream sundaes. It's safe to say that we never heard of contraceptives and condoms, in our childe's play, we always went for the real thing before it was used up and no good anymore.

The secret is one of those things you never knew that you never knew you'd never know; like the way the sun lights up her hair, and how she smells like roses in the rain...