Truths Untold, Lies Unsaid

“It tastes disgusting!” 

The mother’s eyes searched the faces at the table as she served each plate generously. The father chewed with steadfast resoluteness; his impassiveness at this moment of more paramount importance than the poker game he had returned from. The children pushed charred edges around the plate noiselessly – having learned long ago the lesson of silence. There was no complaint.

“That looks ridiculous”

The mother nodded encouragingly as she proudly celebrated the illegible scrawl that the boys produced; exclaiming in false delight as she gestured exuberantly, before sticking the offending pieces of art on the fridge to display. The boys emboldened by their mother’s joy dared glance his way, but his steadfast gaze stayed glued to the back of his eyelids until they turned away. There was a truth unsaid. 

“I can’t afford your new toy”

The father carded his hands through the boy’s sandy brown hair as he cajoled the boy into bed with a thin-lipped smile. A frayed sleeve and a dangling leg with pyjamas bottoms that cut off above the ankles was the vision he turned away from as he switched off the light and headed back over creaking floors to his room. There was no promise made.

“There is no cheque coming”

He gathered the bills that were left by his breakfast as he browsed the newspaper trying not to let his eyes linger on the employment section should it in some ways betray his prospects. The cup of coffee was cold by the time downed it before hurriedly slipping on his tie, coat, and façade before he kissed his wife as he did every day and headed off. Some worries were stifled.

“I have no job!” 

The husband, briefcase in hand walked with purpose down the cobbled streets. He tugged at his tie in the reflection of a shopfront as he marched down the street with the throng of day workers with whom he shared no destination. His crisp white shirt and well-ironed suit belied the turbulence it hid; sun glinting off polished buttons as he hurried along on another fruitless quest of job hunting unknown to his familiars. There was an impression to be made.

“I can’t afford it”

The cheery Barista smiled at him from the truck. “Just your usual?”. He shook his head in the negative. Hurrying away before her next question was given a voice, he clutched the bitter Americano in his hand; grimacing at its taste as it hit his lips. His pockets felt lighter and the flaps of his coat beat at his sides as he paused to toss the offending cup in the trash. The usual sweet croissant and cream coffee were sorely missed. There was a desire that was denied. 

“I have no prospects”

His friends chattered care freely over the possibility of impending promotions and raising of wages, content in their lot of life. He contributed little, choosing to hide behind the many utensils and the obscenely small piece of art that was his meal - the excellent cuisine barely palatable as he chewed with little appreciation. There was shame barely contained.

“I have no experience”

The man twiddled his thumbs beneath the hardwood as his face smiled serenely above it. The spluttering AC threw stale air into the room filling the awkward silence with a modicum of sound. The rustling of paper and indistinct murmurs behind covered hands preceded his exit. A firm handshake with a cool hand but damp neck before he was out. Back onto the streets already late for his next appointment. There was a truth omitted.

“You look appalling in that dress”

The husband smiled in painful appreciation as the wife twirled gracelessly in front of him before a knock on the door granted him respite from the smile that was slipping from his face. The worn dress of a fashion a few seasons old told many a tale of events gone by, but nought would come of his distaste, and so he stayed mute. As she stepped out for a night with her friends there was a pride that was ignored. 

“I don’t have any money left”

The bartender smiled tiredly as he opened a tab for the young man’s payment; all too familiar with the types that frequented his establishment. But he poured the cheap liquor into the bottle with nothing but a commiserating nod and went back to faithfully wiping down the long-stained counters. The young man was neither the first nor the last with a common secret in need of a hole to hide in. There was a story unvoiced but heard.

“The music is terrible”

Lewd jeers and bawdy applause ran around the quiet pub in the early hours of the sunset as people cheered on the mediocre band and passable tunes. Servers weaved with precariously placed glasses on wooden platters as they dodged indecent hands. To his right, a slobbering giant downed another glass before slapping his back with a meaty hand and exclaiming “The music’s good tonight eh?” There was an opinion that was buried.

“I have a wife”

The young lady had brought him a drink. Tired of the stale beer he had accepted it with a curt nod she must have interpreted as an invitation. The stool beside him was soon occupied and coy flattery spilt at his ear. He indulged in the experience, if only for a brief reprise from his daily life before an energetic youth boldly asked his chatty companion for a dance. He watched her go will little regret. There had been a reality overlooked.  

“I am happy to be home”

As he stumbled back home alone, he thought of what awaited him. His children, who would wake to a gift less birthday but would still scream the next night till he read them to sleep and his wife, who voicelessly mended the tears in her dress while his dress shirts stayed crisp and clean. He was both richer and poorer than most, and he could not muster the conviction to convince himself otherwise. It had been a day that held many untold truths, stifled desires, unvoiced opinions and yet as he laid down to rest his last thought was peaceful. Fearing no witness and screaming his vulnerabilities, throughout it all he had stayed truthful to himself. and to his conscience, he had never lied.