The Secret Life of Chris

A few months ago, my wife and I were clearing out old clothing from a spare closet. We were tossing the articles we no longer wore into a pile when she encountered a maroon jacket with her name embroidered on the right side. We all know her by "Christine," but back in the day when she lived that other life, she was known as "Chris." She flung the jacket onto a chair. The writing on the back was clearly visible.

"Union Equestrian Team?" I read.

"Brings back memories," she said warmly.

"You never told me that," I exclaimed.

"It never came up."

You'd think after twenty years of marriage it would have surfaced just once. Maybe it could have come up years ago, on a date over dinner when I asked her what she liked to do.

"I was the president," she offered.

"President?" I asked.

"Yeah," she laughed.

"You never tell me anything," I issued.

"I forgot," she deflected.

If that was it, I wouldn't be so concerned, but the other day over dinner, we were talking about the small traveling circus that comes to our town when Christine said,

"I used to work for the circus."

"What?" I exclaimed.

"Yeah, years ago," she answered.

Now, there are some questions men don't ever want to ask their wives, and I was about to ask one of them.

"What did you do in the circus?"

"I don't know. Lots of things," she answered.

"Like what, the trapeze?" I asked, my voice cracking.

"No, not that," she responded.

Men are supposed to be stoic. Woman are supposed to be from Venus. I thought at any moment now, my wife was going to tell me she'd already been there.

"Well, what did you do," I resumed, "you know, in the circus?"

"I worked in the ticket booth," she explained.

She seemed evasive. During moments like these, I think I'm talking to "Chris." That night, after everyone went to bed, I googled perhaps the oddest search of my life. I queried on my wife's maiden name and "flying trapeze." I fully expected to see pictures of a younger version of Christine swinging above the crowd, being snatched from the air by a muscular dude named "Karl," dangling upside down, standing on a tiny platform with her hand raised triumphantly, waving to the crowd below. The search yielded nothing. She probably had it all expunged when she took up with the CIA. The next morning before breakfast I sat her down and asked her to tell me everything.

"There isn't anything to tell," she offered, but I wasn't buying it. Later that day, Christine announced, "There is one thing."

What NASA astronaut? Oliver North aide? Hindenburg survivor? I braced myself for the reveal.

"I used to work in a prison," she declared.

"You were in prison! What did you do?" I asked concernedly.

"No, I worked there. I interned one summer. I did pressure drop calculations for the potable water supply to the sinks," she explained.

"Is there anything else you want to tell me, because now is the time? Caused a prison riot? Helped someone escape?" I asked.


 "No, that's everything," she assured.

A woman's heart is as deep as the ocean. I learned that from watching Titanic. You can never know everything about them, but I think after over twenty years and two children, my wife finally feels secure in our relationship to reveal her deepest, darkest secrets.

And when she tells me what they are, I'll let you know.

Editor's Note: Originally posted on November 10, 2016.