Liar's Brows

“LIAR!”

Shannon cringed. She was being screamed at by a little, wizened old woman who sounded a lot like Valerie The Witch, from The Princess Bride. And to be honest, she did kind of look like her as well. 

“Honestly, Officer—“ Shannon looked at his name tag, “Prescott, she ran into me.” Looking at him, she hoped he would see her as the more believable party. Shannon was a well-groomed thirty-something professional woman. She was driving a new SUV, she had a spotless driving record, and had not so much as a parking ticket. Not that she hadn’t been stopped for speeding, or parking in a red zone, but she had always managed to talk her way out of any tickets. Her accuser, on the other hand, was a tiny old woman, swathed in a cacophony of mismatched polyester castoffs, worn sneakers, with a general unkempt appearance. Her old pickup truck was as old and dinged up as she was. 

“Okay, Miss Beckett, tell me again what happened.” Officer Prescott looked at Shannon.

“Well, I was waiting for the truck pass me so that I could back into the parking space. Instead of driving by, Mrs. Karpinski ran right into the back of my SUV.”

“LIAR!” yelled Mrs. Karpinski, pointing her crooked finger at Shannon. “Little Miss here was backing up on the roadway, hoping to get into the parking spot, and without slowing down, slammed right into the front of my truck! She wasn’t watching where she was going. She was only looking at the parking spot, not where she was supposed to be looking. She ran right into me! I honked my horn and tried to put the truck into reverse, but she was moving too fast.”

“Officer Prescott,” said Shannon, using her best condescending voice, “Obviously Mrs. Karpinski is mistaken. She’s old, and by the look of her vehicle, this isn’t the first time either of them has been in an accident. She may think that’s what happened, but I’m sure you can see it’s just not true.”

The officer left both women standing on the sidewalk, while he re-examined the damage on the vehicles.

Mrs. Karpinski glared up at Shannon, who pointedly looked anywhere but at the old woman.

“Tell the truth!” Mrs. Karpinski hissed. “You know what you said is a lie! Tell the truth!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Shannon, looking down at the tiny woman.

Mrs. Karpinski fixed Shannon with her bright blue eyes, mumbled something in a language Shannon didn’t understand, while drawing out strange shapes in the air with her hands. When she stopped, she leaned towards Shannon, so only she could hear.

“When you are ready to tell the truth, I will end the zte oko.” At that, the little old woman turned and walked back to her truck.

Shannon didn’t know what to make of Mrs. Karpinski’s behaviour. On the one hand, she wanted to dismiss it as the rantings of a crazy old woman. But on the other hand, zte oko? What was that?

As it turned out, Officer Prescott did believe Shannon's version of the events. She was more than a little relieved, and not at all guilty. Who cared if the truth was a little murky? Her insurance rates wouldn’t go up, and Mrs. Karpinski would have to pay for the repairs — and that was what was important. 

It had only taken about an hour to sort out the details, and then Shannon had been free to go. There was only minimal damage to her vehicle. She parked her SUV in its intended spot, and watched as Mrs. Karpinski’s truck was towed away. 

Shannon had been on her way to the Eyebrow Bar for her regular shaping appointment. She could just make her appointment, but, sadly wouldn’t have time to get herself her favourite Vanilla Bean Mocha Frappuccino. Maybe she could persuade one of the employees to get her one. She just needed her coffee after all the drama!

Sunglasses on, designer bag on her arm, Shannon sashayed into the salon, and headed for the reception desk. The receptionist looked up.

“Can I help you?”

“Yes, Shannon Beckett. I’m here for a shaping.” Shannon smiled at the receptionist. “Not that I really need it. My brows are still very nicely shaped, thank you very much, so this should just be a minor touch-up.” 

As she said that, she had felt a little shiver run through her body and a zing across her forehead.

“LIAR!” Shannon jumped a little and looked around, expecting to see Mrs. Karpinski yelling at her. No one. What? The receptionist was looking at her expectantly.

“Come this way, please, Ms. Beckett. Casey will be right with you.”

Shannon followed the receptionist to the chair, sat down, took off her sunglasses, and prepared to be pampered.

Casey approached, looking at Shannon, her own brows furrowed.

“Shannon! How long has it been?” she said, not looking Shannon in the eyes, but above them, at her brows.

“What do you mean? This is our standing appointment — every five weeks, like clockwork.” 

Shannon was confused.

“Are you sure you didn’t miss an appointment?”

Shannon picked up a hand mirror from the workstation, and looked at her reflection. She was stunned. Instead of her beautifully curated brows — the ones that she had seen the last time she looked in the mirror not five minutes before when she had checked her makeup — her brows looked like two furry caterpillars. 

“What the heck …”

“Don’t worry. We’ll fix you right up.” Casey looked closely at Shannon’s brows. “What have you been feeding these bad boys?” She laughed, and got to work.

By the time Shannon’s brows had been threaded, waxed, plucked, and shaped back to their proper glory, almost two hours had passed. 

Shannon didn’t remember most of the procedure because she had been focused on WHAT THE HELL HAD JUST HAPPENED TO MY EYEBROWS! She couldn’t figure it out. So, ultimately, not being one for introspection, and not being able to come up with a good explanation, Shannon chose to ignore it.

That evening, after she had dropped off her car at the body shop, Shannon went home and got ready for her date with her fiancé, Blain. They had plans to go to dinner, and then maybe drinks. If it all worked out according to plan, they would end up either at Shannon’s place or at Blain’s place, and they would spend the night together.

Shannon was very fond of Blain. He was handsome, kind, and considerate. He was not the most exciting man Shannon had ever dated, but he was in love with her, and that's what mattered. Blain was also rich, but Shannon assured herself that wasn’t important. She cared for Blain, and would have dated him even if he wasn’t wealthy. Probably.

The evening had been nice. Blain was as attentive as usual. After dinner Shannon had suggested that they go dancing. Blain had suggested that they do something quieter, like go to a jazz bar and have a few drinks. Even though Shannon didn’t particularly like jazz, she had agreed. After all, Blain was paying for the evening, and Shannon wanted to keep her man happy.

When they were sitting in the booth, listening to music, Blain had asked Shannon if she liked the music.

“Sure. You know that I love jazz.” 

“LIAR!” echoed in her mind, accompanied by the zing at her brows.

Shannon’s fingers travelled to her brows, where they were met by much more hair than had been there before. Oh no.

“I’ll be right back.” Shannon grabbed her purse, and hurried to the washroom. She rushed to the mirror. They were back — her eyebrow caterpillars. She was horrified. She rifled through her purse until she found her manicure scissors. She started cutting the offending hair. She had completed one brow, when the bathroom door opened, and another woman came in. She looked at Shannon hacking away at her brows. 

“I have a great eyebrow person if you want her name.” Shannon didn’t answer, she just kept cutting. After the woman had finished, she came to the sink to wash her hands. 

She was watching Shannon through the mirror. “You know, the truth will set you free.” With that she disappeared back into the bar.

When Shannon had wrangled her eyebrows back into some semblance of order, she returned to her table.

Blain looked concerned. “I was worried about you.”

“I’m not feeling so good. I think I’m going catch a cab and go home. 

Blain walked her out, and put her in a cab. He leaned in to kiss her, but she averted her head.

“I don’t want you to catch what I’ve got.” 

“LIAR!” Zing.

He kissed the top of her head, shut the door, as the cab pulled into traffic..

At home Shannon rushed to the bathroom. When she looked in the mirror, she let out a yelp.

Looking back at her were Groucho Marx’s eyebrows. Shannon sprang into action, gathering up all her eyebrow tools — wax, tweezers, and scissors.

This can’t be happening. Eyebrows don’t spontaneously sprout. It can’t be happening.

Shannon snipped and tweezed and plucked and waxed. Half way through the procedure, Blain phoned.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Better now that I’m home.” Shannon said, eyeing her unfinished eyebrow the the mirror.

They spoke for a few more minutes, until Shannon said that she was ready for bed.

“Okay, sweetie, get better. Talk to you tomorrow. I love you,” said Blain.

“I love you, too.”

“LIAR!” Zing. 

They were back, ticker than before. “Oh my God!” said Shannon.

“Are you all right?”

“No,” she said, looking at her big giant unibrow. “I think I might be sick.” She disconnected the call. 

Shannon had seen it happen this time. It was like one of those time-lapse films showing plants growing — the hairs just sprouted from her brow in an instant.

Shannon felt nauseous. 

This cannot be happening,  she rationalized. Hair does not grow that fast.

But she had to admit it did happen -- she had seen it with her own eyes. Her eyebrows were haunted. And she had an idea why. That crazy old woman, Mrs. Karpinski, had cursed Shannon because she had lied to the police. Now Shannon was hearing voices in her head and watching her eyebrows grow like they were on steroids.

The next morning Shannon headed into work, armed with her kit from the night before. When she got to work, a group of her colleagues were standing around looking at pictures of Shannon’s assistant, Ronnette’s newest nephew.

“Isn’t he adorable?” asked Ronnette, clearly enchanted with the tiny red faced alien swaddled in a blue blanket. Shannon looked over at the photos on Ronnette’s phone.

“He’s lovely,” she said.

“LIAR!” Zing. Shannon hurried to her office, and shut the door.

She pulled out a mirror. What was she going to do? She couldn’t spend all day mowing the field, so to speak. Instead, she decided to take the drastic step of shaving off her own eyebrows, and then pencilling them in.

With a shaking hand, Shannon went to work. Snip, shave, pencil. Almost a good as new — but not really.

Shannon grabbed her phone, and made an emergency appointment at the hair stylist. She ran to the salon.

“Bangs. I need bangs. Just below my eyebrows.” 

Newly snipped, she headed to the office.

Shannon examined herself in her mirror. Between the new cut and her black horned-rimmed hipster glasses, Shannon hoped she would be able to camouflage any unbidden hair growth.

Shannon had a work-thing that night, and was expected to glad-hand the potential investors in the Internet startup she worked for. Investors don’t want the truth, they want their egos stroked. Shannon was nervous.

That night during the party she had to rush away twice. Once when she commented on how lovely one of the clients looked, even though she looked like a Vegas stripper, and once when one of the investors asked her if she believed all the hype surrounding her company. The last encounter had thrown her for a loop — she hadn’t realized that she didn’t actually believe in the company she worked for.

She begged off early, and headed home. Blain was waiting when she arrived home. Shannon wished she had never given him a key. 

“Hey,” she said. “What are you doing here?

“I thought that I would come and make sure that you were okay. I brought you chicken noodle soup.” He came over and gave her a kiss. “And, I like the new cut. I thought that you were going to grow it out.”

“I was, but I changed my mind.”

Blain looked at her closely.

“Are you alright? You look a little stressed.”

“I’m fine. You know, with the accident, the crazy old witch, the work thing tonight, I’m a little worn out.” She came and sat down on the couch beside Blain.

“Crazy old witch?”

Damn! She hadn’t meant to mention Mrs. Karpinski. 

“I didn’t tell you?” Blain shook his head no. “It was nothing, really. After the accident, this crazy old lady put a curse on me. She said I lied about what happened.”

“Put a curse on you?” Blain laughed. “You’re kidding, right?”

Shannon was torn — tell the truth, and have to explain the lie to Blain, or lie, and well, end up explaining it to Blain anyways.

“No, but, you know, a curse. Ha, ha, ha.”

“Tell me what happened.”

Shannon only told him about the curse, and the zte oko.

Blain looked at her. “Well, did it work?”

“Did what work?” said Shannon. She really, really wanted to avoid answering.

“Did the curse work?”

Still avoiding the answer, Shannon countered with, “You don’t believe in curses, do you?”

Blain looked at her.

“Shannon.”

“Okay, yes it worked.” She paused. “Something happens to me every time I lie.”

Blain laughed. “Really?”

“Yes, really.” Shannon described her situation. By the time she was finished, Blain was laughing, again.

“So, she turned you into your own lie detector? That’s amazing.” He paused. “Show me how it works!”

“No” said Shannon. “I’m not a circus freak.” She crossed her arms, and pouted.

Blain sobered. “No, of course you’re not.” He put his arm around her, and hugged her into him. “We’ll figure this out.” He paused and looked at her. “You know I love you, right?”

“Yes, I know you love me.”

“And, you love me, right?”

NNNOOOOOO. Not the L word! Shannon leaned into him, and kissed his cheek.

“You do love me, don’t you Shannon?”

“What a silly question!”

Blain pulled away from Shannon, and turned to look at her.

“Shannon, tell me that you love me.”

“Blain, I love so many things about you—“

“Say, ‘I love you Blain’”

“I can’t.”

Blain looked shocked, and devastated. He got up, and headed to the door.

“You were going to marry me even though you don’t love me?”

“Blain—“

“We’re done, Shannon. The wedding’s off.” He opened the door and left, leaving Shannon sitting alone on the couch.

The next day at work, her boss, Jilly Singh, called Shannon into her office.

“Shannon, I spoke to Matt Gallagher. He said that the two of you were discussing the company at the party last night. He told me that he didn’t feel that you were wholly behind the company. He said that you seemed to be less than enthusiastic about our launch. Is that true?”

“No, Jilly. I’m sure he was mistaken.”

“You are behind the company, right?”

“Mr. Gallagher must be mistaken. I told him that I believed in the company.”

“But he wasn’t convinced you were sincere.” Jilly paused. “I’ll ask you again, you are behind the company, right?”

Shannon was frozen in terror. A lie would expose her new “condition,” while the truth would cost her her job.

Instead, she turned on her heel, and left the office, knowing that she no longer had a job.

At home she dug in her purse, and found the contact information for Officer Prescott, who had investigated her car accident two days previously. She said that she needed to get in touch with Mrs. Karpinski.

“Coincidently, she’s coming into today at noon, with her lawyers.”

Shannon made arrangements to be there.

At noon exactly, Mrs. Karpinski walked into the police station. Shannon was waiting with Officer Prescott at the front desk. Mrs. Karpinski nodded at Shannon and introduced her granddaughter and her grandson, both of whom were lawyers.

Shannon recognized both grandchildren. Her granddaughter was the woman in the washroom at the jazz club, and her grandson was Matt Gallagher from the party the night before.

Before they could move to a conference room, Shannon spoke up.

“I recant my entire statement from two days ago. It was all my fault. I wasn’t looking, and I backed into Mrs. Karpinski’s truck. She did nothing wrong.”

Later that night, when Shannon was at home, she took stock of her ruined life. No fiancé, no job, careless driving charges, and an additional charge of public mischief for making a false statement. Her life was in shambles.

There was a knock on Shannon’s door. When she opened it, Mrs. Karpinski was standing there.

“You ruined my life,” said Shannon.

“No. I did not ruin your life, Shannon, you ruined your own life. You lied. Not me.”

Shannon looked at the little woman. 

“What do you want?”

“You told the truth. Thank you. And I will give you a redo.”

CRASH!

Shannon couldn’t believe it. She had backed right into the old truck behind her. 

“Oh no.” Visions of traffic fines and rising insurance rates danced in her head. She jumped out of her SUV and walked to the truck, where a wizened old woman was just getting out. She looked vaguely familiar, but Shannon put that aside.

“I’m so sorry! It’s all my fault! Are you alright?”

Mrs. Karpinski looked up at Shannon and smiled slightly.

“I’m fine, thank you. And you seem to be alright as well.”