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Tell Me A Good Lie For Once
“You popped my heart seams,” she heard over her speakers. And he did. He’d lied so gracefully that it was impossible not to believe it. Maybe it was because she was just that gullible. She didn’t know.
Come to think of it, she thought, he did seem like the type of person who would live a secret life. Everything he said and did didn’t all add up. She didn’t ask questions because she cared about him too much to accuse him of lying.
So as she heard, “You popped my heart seams,” the negative memories came flooding back. She remembered that repressing feeling she got when she finally realized that all he’d ever told her was lie after lie, and the fact that he was not phased by it. She, on the other hand was giddy, fidgety and awkward.
She cried on the way home that one day when he forgot about her after school. She waited in the musty grey hallway, all alone, with not a soul to talk to.
“I’ll be right back,” he lied. She sat there on the wooden bench and watched him with his blue jeans and black Nikes walk up the sloped hallway and disappear around the corner. She heard loud voice of him and some other girls talking. “They’re better than me. Sorry I’m not like them,” she couldn’t help thinking. After twenty minutes of waiting she got fed up and left the school
Her eyes stung with walled up tears on the windy walk home. All the insensitive things were all adding up in her brain now.
She didn’t know why she stuck onto him for so long. All he did was lie to her and act ashamed of her. She would often put on a fancy dress and sit in front of the mirror for a long while and ask herself, “Am I pretty enough for him yet?” Then she would take the blue and green cross stitching yarn necklace he’d made for her between her fingers and look at it with extreme scrutiny. What did this mean? Was it supposed to magically make everything all better? Was it an implied “I love you”? She couldn’t tell.
Now she notices it even more so. Now that its’ all over. Even though it itches like hell sometimes and would like to chop it off with every pair of scissors she comes across, she doesn’t. It brings back the good memories. Of the freezing days at the park. Reading the dictionary. Trying to lure her fat dog into her room. Sitting on the bus together to band contests. It makes her think that he might’ve, possibly, maybe cared once a long time ago when he used to talk to her in public. She should just cut it off and bury it in her backyard, or throw it in a lake. That way she wouldn’t have to think of his lies anymore and she could sleep well at night, knowing the subject of him and his lies would never come up again.
But if she did that, then he would take off the bracelet she made him and he’d forget about her forever.
Why should she care? He only seemed to care when they were alone. Why should she pay him any respects when he couldn’t do the same for her? The classiest jerk she knew didn’t deserve any of that. She couldn’t help it. It was her personality….caring about people too much was her specialty. Although, people treated her like crap.
“Just cut off the necklace,” her friends would tell her. “It’s that simple.”
It wasn’t. When you cared about someone that much you couldn’t.
But he was a liar. He made her hide in the closet. He called her crazy for it. He was ashamed of her for no apparent reason. He cared more about his shallow cheerleader girlfriends than her.
She remembered every word he said, every lie he told. Memorized everything about him. She never received an apology ever. “I’m sorry, dear. I hurt you.” That was all she needed. Ha! Like that was going to happen.
She thinks cutting off the necklace will be liberating.
She wants to cut off the necklace.
She reaches for the scissors.
“You popped my heart seams.”
Her chest tightens.
She closes her eyes. Opens them. Throws the scissors across the room.
The dog jumps up and gives her a pissed off look. The scissors barely missed her sleeping pet.
She was so close. It would be the last thing she’d need to do before she started the process of forgetting about him completely. Everything else was already nice and neat in a box ready to be buried. This was the last thing to be added. Somehow she couldn’t. Somehow this was the last time she’d believe him. But she said that the last fifty times.
Maybe he does care. Maybe he does love me. Now she knew she was lying to herself. But the thought couldn’t be shoved out of her mind.
Stupid necklace. Stupid liar. Comfortable liar. He can have his stupid cheerleader girlfriends. An apology would be nice though. A passing glance. A wave. A smile. Anything. She wished she’d stop beating around the bush and bury the hatchet. She got up but didn’t look at her neck in the mirror. “My take on you is simple…you comfortable liar.” Chevelle now played on her iPod. Notice me, talk to me, care about me….something! You comfortable liar.