ITS A SECRET

Leeds Savage Writing task 10/7/13  ‘Secret’.  Each attendee was asked to write a real or fictional secret and swap it for someone else's secret.  I got the following one.

‘I am the only person in the world (as far as I know) who knows that another person is not as happy as they appear.  In fact they are very unhappy.  Telling anyone would hurt many.  So I keep it to myself and offer counsel.’

So my story went;

ITS A SECRET

‘I am the only person in the world (as far as I know) who knows that another person is not as happy as they appear.  In fact they are very unhappy.  Telling anyone would hurt many.  So I keep it to myself and offer counsel.’

Vicky cut and pasted it to a word document, saved it to her desktop and grouped it with her selection from the raft of ‘Dear Dorothy’ letters and emails.  The magazine sucked out hundreds of notes to Dorothy from the angry, defeated, forlorn, lonely and heart-smashed members of its reader base.  Every week from now on a flood of painful confessions, ignorant questions, life-worn vitriol, adolescent whining and general moaning was going to land in Vicky’s inbox. Being Dorothy for one day a fortnight was just part of her loosely described journalist’s job.  She had to select five bits of correspondence that she thought would make fuel for interesting replies.

 The last Dorothy, her predecessor, Steve, a bald, fat 40-something Glaswegian used to carp on endlessly to her about the archaic tradition of magazine agony aunt columns.  Unlike Vicky who was on the celebrity watch team, he was the magazine’s sports reporter.  His Dorothy responses were in thinly veiled condescension or gave incongruous advice bordering on the incredulous.  The Dorothy column was becoming a parody under his hand.  Vicky couldn’t stand to think people might actually take Dear Dorothy’s advice and she had eventually summoned the courage to suggest that Phil have a word to Steve about CitiLife magazine’s long tradition of the Dear Dorothy column and the depth of its reader loyalty and trust.

Phil had smiled patronisingly at her saying Steve was the only schmuck he could get to write the shit and unless she wanted to take it from him she’d best shut the fuck up and get back to digging up celebrity gossip. 

That was a month ago, two issues of bile drenched Dorothy advices to the love-struck and life-wary readers of Citilife magazine.  Then, last Monday, Steve simply stopped coming to work, no phone call no letter of resignation, he just didn’t come in.  Phil had tried to contact him but no one knew where he’d gone.  Anyway that’s a police matter now, as far as Vicky knew Steve could have fallen in a canal or been shot by an enraged reader.  She didn’t much care, the Dorothy role had immediately fallen to her with Phil’s blessing of ‘Congratulations Dorothy, don’t let it distract you from your real job here.’    

And Vicky had taken to the fortnightly task with her usual commitment.  New Dorothy intended to become once again a voice of reason and comfort.  It was proving a good balance for Vicky, to escape the vapid world of celebrity and sit for a few hours with the thoughts and fears of real people with real problems.  Although this one was tempting her to do a ‘Dear Steve’-style reply.

For shit sake, who in this world thinks they have the sole right to solve global happiness?  Or.  What sort of person thinks they are responsible for judging the sincerity of happiness.  And.  Who the fuck said it was wrong for someone to project a happy demeanour?  Then again, Vicky considered, was this letter a diagnosis of self-depression?  Was it a deluded pre-suicide note?  Bugger it. Five muniutes. She had been thinking about this bloody letter for too long already. Pulling off her ‘Steve’ hat and slipping into ‘Dorothy’ she started to draft a response.

Dearest  Secret,

I know you are wanting to do the right thing. However, in this modern and fast paced world people develop their own methods to cope with life’s demands.  Projecting a pleasant persona is an effective and practical protection of self.  There is a benefit to acting happy in as much as it is a preferable state in society and one can achieve much with a pleasant demeanour.   There is also the happiness theory that you can make it if you fake it.  Every one of us faces challenges that others could see as either inconsequential or insurmountable.  We all have our own perspective.  I am sure the person you are offering counsel to values your relationship and I can only presume from your note that they have actually confessed their unhappiness to you.  People do rise and fall in contentment at times in their life due to events or bio-chemical changes.  You do sound like a caring person and if you do have the person’s confidence I suggest you keep your counsel, do not discuss this person’s emotive state with others and direct the person to seek professional advisors.  It does not fall to you to resolve the happiness of others.  You can be happy in yourself and you can care for others but we are each responsible for our own wellspring of contentment and the actions we need to drive our happiness must come from within.

Vicky was satisfied this was a pertinent Dorothy-like response, formatted it for edit and sent it through to publication.

The day before the print run Phil did his edit and published the following;

Dearest Secret,

I can only presume from your note that the person to whom you refer has actually confessed their unhappiness to you.  If not, then butt out.  I can tell you, people are more perceptive than you give them credit for, fake happiness sticks out like the proverbial. .  Have you not considered everyone pretends to be happier than they are?   It does not fall to you to resolve the happiness of others.  I agree with you on one thing you say, you shouldn’t discuss this person’s happiness with others and if you are intent on doing anything, you may suggest to the person they should seek professional help. Be prepared though, they may be told to stop talking to you.

Citi Life hits the streets every Monday, Vicky receives her copy via email 3 hours before the print run. 

Vicky didn’t go to work on Monday, when the police gained access later that week her phone was found on her bedside table.