Spilling the Beans

Once when I was a boy,
on my most beloved summer
trip to Maine, I got to
play Capture the Flag
with the grown-up kids
also staying at our small
inn. I felt all grown up
myself, but only for about
five minutes. No sooner
had I gotten used to
the idea I was allowed into
this, this inner sanctum of
childhood, when I promptly
made a grave mistake.
I remember how as clear as
if it were yesterday:
the game had begun and we
were all running around
that old property in the dark,
finding places to hide among
the antique out buildings,
cottages, and barns. I took
two steps to find a spot
and was horrified to hear
someone yell, "He spilled
the beans!" It took a few
minutes before I realized
just what was meant and
that I had been banished.
The part that hurts the most,
in retrospect, is that I
have spent my life spilling
the beans; I haven't ever
returned from my banishment.
I am what one might call
a bean-spiller extraordinaire.

(2008)