The Good Lie

I consider myself to be a pretty good liar, and I owe it all to my sister Adriana, who at fourteen years old showed me what not to say or do during the act of lying. I watched in horror as mami asked Adriana why she had a tube of fuchsia pink lipstick, a black eyeliner pencil, and black mascara. Adriana dodged mami’s stare and lied; explained that the make-up mami found in her book bag was a friend’s and that she hadn’t worn any. Mami paused and Adriana and I watched as her expression changed from angry to hesitant. Adriana’s confidence – a crucial factor when lying – wavered. She suddenly began to cry, providing mami with incriminating evidence – mascara stained cheeks.

I realized that in order to survive mami’s strict rules I would need to master the art of lying. I began to practice immediately, diving into the pool of small lies first. At age twelve I told mami I had finished my homework when in fact I had done the homework in class. At age thirteen I skipped Academic Bowl practice to go to the Art Club instead. I felt like a mastermind and soon began to dive into twelve feet. At sixteen years old I greeted mami while drunk, stating I was simply tired. I waved hello while maintaining my balance and my distance, then shut myself in the bathroom and brushed my teeth three times. At eighteen mami found a carton of cigarettes lying on top of a birthday gift. I told her the cigarettes were a friend’s, assured her I had never smoked, and then added: Why would I leave the carton of cigarettes out if I were hiding them from you? Simply brilliant.

Now that I am older, I am honest. But from time to time my mind wanders to the image of mami clenching Adriana’s make-up and lying seems safer. That's exactly how I felt about the situation with Ivan but even still I decided to come clean. The next day after we kissed I stood in the middle of his living room, rattling on and attempting to express myself, while Ivan starred at me and smiled. He wasn’t sure what to make of my freak out so he walked over to me, grabbed me by the waist, and kissed me. I kissed him back and couldn’t bring myself to tell him the truth.

A few days later, I decided to try again. I picked up my cell phone and returned Ivan’s call. My heart beat quickened with every ring. Ivan answered the telephone, we chatted for a few minutes, and then I began my spiel.

“I’m having a really hard time with everything,” I said.

That’s not a lie.

“I think you’re stressing yourself out without needing to,” he replied.

I paused and thought of the right words to make him understand. I couldn't find any.

“I’m just confused because I think I still have feelings for my ex.”

That’s not necessarily a lie.

“Last time you were here you freaked out a little bit, but then you were fine. You’re making a big deal out of nothing. It’s all in you head,” Ivan said.

I began to pace and weigh my options. The truth was he wasn’t accepting my explanations. The truth was I couldn’t tell him the truth. I summoned my inner liar and jumped into the deep end.

“You know what. You’re right. It is me. I’m really messed up because of Elijah. I just haven’t been able to move on. I can’t see myself with anyone right now. I just want to be alone…” I continued.

“So you’re basically waiting for this guy until he decides to be with you, if he ever decides to be with you again?” he asked.

I could sense his astonishment and annoyance but still continued spewing lies. I heard myself saying yes, that I was willing to wait. I painted myself as a woman in denial and somewhat of a masochist, all for the sake of sparing his feelings and sparing myself feelings of discomfort. I preferred to taint Ivan’s image of me than to taint his image of himself. I convinced myself it was a good lie because I had lied for the good of all.