Everybody Lies

(An excerpt of a new project I'm working on. A different genre, but hey, real life seems like science fiction sometimes, yes?)

Everybody Lies

I sat at the table, next to him. The big window framed the view of the port. Bright lights illuminated the pier, a large cargo ship floating close to the coast emitting a weak light. The light house changed colors every minute. He was silent, and I didn't feel like making meaningless conversation. But then he started the meaningless conversation, and so I listened attentively, eyes wide open, face nodding, wine sipping. My fingers moving the glass, my dark nail color looks darker under the pink fluorescent lights. I laughed, and he thought it was because I was bored. I laughed a bit more, and didn't bother with sharing the reason for my laugh. I let him think I was bored, and it was funny. He continued talking about work, he was learning technical terms for his job. I was learning another lesson about life. But I was not bitter about it, I was relaxed, and feeling awkwardly confident.

The waiter came offering dessert, I declined, and after offering me dessert once again, he declined too. It was my birthday, he wanted to give me a birthday cake. I didn't want to tell him I ate out of politeness. I ate because that's what people do when they go to restaurants. I didn't want to say that I still remembered saying a couple of days before that I needed to lose ten pounds, and he agreed.

The waiter left, and he continued with his conversation. But then the tune changed. He had the idea of us writing a project together. A book, he said, we would take turns writing it, three weeks each, until completing it. I felt a little sick, a little confused, a little...I thought it was a good idea actually, it would be a fun project, if it wasn't that I am actually a writer and I take projects seriously. But maybe I should stop taking it so seriously, my writing doesn't pay the bills anyway—at least not yet. And then he pulled the ring. Not that kind of ring. It was a fantasy ring I had seen two days before at a second hand store. It was a puma, adorned with rhinestones, with black lacquer spots, and green stone eyes. It was a funny ring, I laughed, and he asked me if I liked it. I liked it, it was funny. But it was still kind of sad, I don't know why. He said that once we finished our book project he would give me a real one. He actually told me that he thought about asking me whether I wanted a ring or a trip to Hawaii. He was not asking me. I laughed. Don't "BS" me, I said. I didn't want to be upset, so I laughed. This laugh lately makes me feel sad and pathetic. This laugh makes me think everybody expects me to just sit, look pretty, and believe everything they say to me. "They", the people with a meaningful connection in my life. From all of those people, he was the less likely suspect, but there he was. I looked at the ring again, and after he paid I said I wanted to go.

I looked at the view again from the corner of my eye. The image in my mind was very clear, so clear that I could almost feel the cold wind hitting my face. He, standing in front of the balcony, kissing his ex girlfriend on her birthday. Yes, in this very same place. His green-almond eyes looking out the sunset with her, going through plans on his head. He held her hand, and caressed her light brown hair. She kissed him the face, in the lips. They were so in love, looking at the sunset.  My only wish this year for my birthday, was to see the sunset, and drink a glass of champagne. But instead, it was the two of them watching the sunset, and then me, with my silly birthday wishes. I used to block these kind of thoughts before, dismissing them as nonsense. But when disappointment followed those thoughts, I started calling it "instinct"—and my instinct that night was telling me a story I didn't want to hear. 

I walked out of the restaurant with him, and my ring. As we went into the elevator, I made a joke with the hostess, and we both laughed. We came out of the elevator, and making jokes about the building —which was assisted living— we laughed. We came out of the building, and we kept joking about the ring. And yes, we laughed. I don't like to lie, but I laughed, and I lied. Because everybody lies— more so, than they'd like to admit to themselves.

That night, I didn't get in the car, went home, made love with him and fell asleep. That night, I actually climbed out of the car, walked all the way up to the terrace and waited patiently for the sun to come up. A couple of years ago, after a bad car accident, I had made a promise to always say the truth, no matter the consequences—but that's not how the world works. Everybody has lied to me, in one way or the other. With ring in hand, now more of a symbol or battle icon, I declared the "year of the truth" to be over, and officially inaugurated the Year of Disguise. I know, is bad; but it's also more fun.