"You can't tell anyone if I tell you. And I mean anybody." He was whispering, even though nobody was around.
"Of course not. I promise. You can tell me anything," I said, looking him straight in the eyes. "You know that."
"Yeah, I know, but this is different. This is . . . harder."
"Well then don't tell me! Don't feel pressured."
"No. I need to." Silence. "I have to tell someone." Silence. I could see the internal struggle in the way he was squirming in his chair. He looked as though he was in physical pain. Whatever the secret was had filled him to the brim and was about to overflow, but it seemed his speech was being impaired by an invisible gag. Silence. I kept smiling my comforting smile at him.
"My dad is . . . not a good dad. He hurts my mom." The gag was gone, but the release was just as painful as the withholding had been.
I hadn't been expecting this kind of secret. I was expecting some teenage problem, not a detrimental problem like this. My fallback smile fell from my face as I took his hand. "Does he hurt you too?"
Kenny cringed. "Yeah. And my brother."
"No! Aw Kenny." What is the correct response to that?
"He's only four! It would be okay if he just hit me. But a four year old. And my mom!"
"No, Kenny. It's not okay to hit you either. None of it is okay. Have you told anyone?"
"Absolutely not! And you can't tell anyone either! You promised!" He was standing now, a crazed look in his eye driven by fear.
"I know I promised, but--"
"But nothing. You, you can't, can't tell. If he ever found out, if he ever, ever found out . . ." He sat back down and got quiet.
"I won't tell, but only because I promised." Clearly the wrong decision.
"Thanks." He looked up and smiled a half smile of relief. "I'm so happy you know. I just needed someone to talk to. I'll be fine."
* * *
I had just talked to him yesterday, and everything was fine. Now I was listening to silence on the other end of the line, a silence I had become too familiar with.
"Kenny, are you okay? Do you want to tell me what's wrong?" I was terrified at what he might say.
"I don't know what to do."
I could hear the tears running off his tone. "Did something happen?"
"I jinxed it! Yesterday I told you he hadn't done anything for a while. But today he hit my mom again. So I hit him! I've had it! But I shouldn't have hit him--"
"You were defending yourself."
"That doesn't matter. I shouldn't have done it. It's all my fault. I hate this. I hate it. I hate him."
I paused. "There has to be someone who can help you. Someone out there can stop him."
"But what will we do without him?"
"Kenny, you can't let this keep happening. Let me tell someone."
"No."
"Kenny . . ."
"Kayla. Don't. We'll be fine, I just needed to talk to someone. I almost didn't call you. I'm sure you don't want to deal with this. I'm sorry."
"Don't be! Don't ever hesitate to call me. I'm glad you called."
"I'm okay now. Thanks! I'll talk to you later."
"Wait, Kenny." Nothing had been solved. We had to fix this. I couldn't watch him hurt anymore.
"Sorry I have to go. I'll call you back. Remember: just, just don't tell." And then he hung up on me.
I stared helplessly at the phone, willing it to give me a solution. Kenny's determined nature was going to get him in trouble. A person can only decide they are fine for so long. Both of us held a secret, but only he had the right to share it. Overwhelmed at my helplessness in this friendship, I started to cry and curse my invisible gag.
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