I Wanna Make it up to You


I'm not good at keeping secrets about myself.

When I was little, I was mostly only a "tattle tale" about me.

I say "mostly" because I know there were times I told on my brother. You know, the typical "He hit me!" or "He bit me!" or "He ran the go-cart into a tree!"

But for me, there's not a "sometimes." It's more like "eventually." I always end up ratting myself out to someone.

I remember once when I was young, I broke this glass bottle my mom used for decoration in the living room. It was a break that could've easily been hidden for awhile, but instead, I went to my mom and confessed, bawling my eyes out.

A couple of months ago, I bought an iPod. After always saying I didn't need one and didn't understand why I would want to spend the money on one.

I've ended up really enjoying it, though. I've loaded most of my CDs to it and I'm actually getting use out of the tons of CDs I'd forgotten about.

I have this friend, John Doe. Whenever I'm considering a new purchase involving anything "techy" I usually get advice from him.

I did not ask him about the iPod. I know how he feels about anything Apple and wasn't ready for him to make fun of me. But when I decided to get a new computer, I asked him to be on the lookout.

He recommended I wait a few months until all the Vista kinks had been worked out. I was grumpy, but realized he was probably right. I decided to wait.

Then something in me snapped. I just couldn't wait anymore. I was just browsing through some systems online and accidentally clicked "buy."

I knew I was going to be in trouble. So I kept it secret for a long time.

I didn't tell very many people at first. I told Mitch and Bret one night and mad sure to say, several times: "Don't tell anyone."

Later that night, I was watching television with BJ. Doll walked in and asked "What did you buy?"

BJ immediately flipped out. "You bought something?"

"Just the iPod . . ." I said as I secretly cursed the boys.

"No. I feel like you bought something big."

"Who told you?"

"Nobody. I just had a feeling!" Doll lied.

Then I heard the traitor cowering in the kitchen. "I'm going to beat you, Mitchell!"

My secret was out. And BJ was hurt that I had intentionally kept something secret from him.

Aren't we all incredibly silly?

The other night, I was telling John Doe about how I was putting all my CDs onto my computer and how long it was taking.

"It's going to be awesome when your system crashes two hours after you're done."

"It should all be in my . . . mp3 player by then."

"You got an iPod didn't you? You loser!"

And then it all came spilling out. Just like it always does. It was totally worth it. It feels good to not hide it anymore!

That was all nothing, really. That was a mere month. I've gone years before squealing.

In eighth grade, we had a lesson in art class on wood blocks. Since wood blocks are difficult to carve and a little expensive for a junior high art project, we used linoleum tiles to make the "blocks" for our printmaking.

The tiles were soft and much easier to carve. But the tool we used was still quite sharp.

"You must always cut away from your hand," the teacher demanded. "Anyone who cuts themselves will fail the project."

"Who would ever be so clumsy?" I thought.

Two days later, I gouged the hell out of my hand.

My hand was bleeding like crazy, but I couldn't let the teacher see! Trying desperately to keep anyone from seeing, I snuck over and grabbed some paper towels and pretended to blow my nose.

I don't even remember it hurting much. I think it was the shock and fear of failure. I do remember it taking a really long time to stop the bleeding.

I managed to hide it for the rest of the day. I was in the clear, right?

Oh didn't I mention my art teacher was my mother?

So not only did I have to hide my wound at school, I had to keep my mom from looking at my hand until it was healed.

Somehow I managed. My mom never found out and she never would have had I not opened my big fat mouth.

Not that I did it right away. Oh no. I waited until long after I graduated high school. In fact, it was just a coupld of years ago that I finally fessed up.

I wanted to make sure she wouldn't be able to put me through eighth grade art again!

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