Haunting # 2: Loose Lips and Blank Stares

     The second Haunting took place not long after the first one. It wasn’t some grueling, frightening event that forever altered how I saw and interacted with the world and the people in it. It wasn’t loud or chaotic. There was no chaos, confusion, miscommunication, nor a situation where misunderstanding would always reign.
On the contrary, this Haunting was a single, solitary moment¾a still image floating there in my memory. This moment in time was full of silence and a twisted sort of undeniable truth that still makes my mental flesh crawl in ways I still can’t wrap my head around. So now I will describe the events and circumstances that let up to the moment in question.
After the dust settled and the smoke cleared from the first event that I wrote about in the Haunting Series, it was crystal clear that my mom was NOT going to be any help at all if I ever needed a listening ear or any sort of guidance on my intellectual journey of discovery. I sadly accepted the fact that I would never be able to tell her about all the fascinating stuff that I just knew I was going to learn about. (Reminders of this would most often come in the form of her silence or complete lack of reaction on the increasingly rare occasions that would share something with her.) Wanting to have an honest relationship and open communication with the person who gave birth to you is a really difficult desire to let go of.
So, yeah. My mother was definitely out, but what about my aunt? She always seem more sympathetic about things like this. Maybe she would understand my burning desire to learn about what was outside that little black box my mom seemed so adamant about remaining within. “Surely,” I thought, “my aunt would be more accepting and open-minded . . .”
And initially, this appeared to be the case. She didn’t get upset, fly into a full-on emotional and irrational rant, or anything else of that sort to suggest that I had made a grave error in selecting her as a confidant. But, as I would soon find out, a grave error was what I had totally just made.
The next thing I distinctly remember is looking on in abject horror and silent fury as that same aunt was letting the proverbial cat out of the bag to the very person I had hoped to permanently exclude from any further discussions about exploring other faiths. Resurfacing faiths that had suffered centuries of gross misrepresentation, to be exact. Oh, and throw my older sister into the mix for an extra twenty bonus points! Whee . . . Fun times . . .
What came next was the moment I was describing earlier. It was the moment when all three of them were silently staring at me as if I was some sort of freak or something repulsive like that. It made me wonder if I really was trying to do something reprehensible. Just why was it so bad?
I still can’t forget how uncomfortable and awkward I felt. And as bad as being stared at like that made me feel, the deeper realizations about what was happening made me feel even worse.

1) Oh. God. Damn it. Now I’ve got two more people who probably think that there’s something truly wrong with me. That’s just perfect.
2) And now they know exactly what I’m trying to do. Just what I needed. (#sarcasm)
3) I’m looking at three people who will NOT supportive or encouraging or—nope. None of that.  Three people who I will not be able to talk with freely and honestly. Everything I learn about will have to be some sort of secret, not only from them but from the rest of the family as well. Could I really handle that sort of pressure? How much would I be able to hold inside before I finally broke?

*and worst of all . . .*

4) Saying anything further would be terribly foolish. It’s clear that whatever I say in ‘confidence’ more than likely will not be staying there.

     The second Haunting taught me a very valuable lesson that I shall not soon forget. It taught me the meaning of the old saying about casting pearls before swine. This is when it became all too clear to me that I was to make my intellectual quest into the unknown alone and in silence.

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