Few escaped the lure of the secret gardens. The secret gardens are not found on a map. It is not a physical plot of land. You don’t learn about it in geography. You may touch upon it in history. There are no boundaries, no fences. It exists where the heart is. It’s here behind well-manicured lawns and massive oak doors. It’s on the grass and clay tennis courts, a church pew during mass; the mens locker room at the swimming club.
Mothers turn their heads away from the obvious and sneak a bottle in their purses. Parents indulge themselves in cocktail hour. Babysitters see all but don’t tell. A teacher tells parents their daughter looks out the window and day dreams.
Better leave well enough alone. Keep shame in a bottle or a pill. Try and escape from behind closed brocaded curtains. It’s not far away. It’s in our memories, our childhoods and in the sins of your fathers.