Liar

I’ve always lied to myself.

Then again, doesn’t everyone at some point? Whether it be about their looks, maybe their ability to hold down a drink, anything. People lie about the smallest things. So why is my lie so big?

“I’m fine.”

My mother, who I refuse to refer to with a more endearing name, bore her gaze into the top of my head. Looking down made it easier to speak.

“Are you sure, honey? You’ve just been so snappy lately, I just wanna make sure.”

Hearing those words, out of her mouth, brought tears to my eyes.

“I’m sure. Just stressed from school,” I said, trailing off as I began backing for my room. If I did it right, she wouldn’t press and go on about her business. I could lock myself in my room until dinner, and by then I’d be able to act happier.

Act happier?

I can barely remember being happy. Maybe when I was a child—innocent, with no knowledge of the coming world—playing in the sandbox, or climbing a tree. But from what I’ve known, happiness is always short—lived. That can’t be a lie, I’ve experienced it myself. It’ll rain and the sandbox fills with water, turning my creations to a muddy mess; A short fall from a tree can land you in the hospital with a broken bone. Not that it matters. I’ve been fine without being happy. I’m fine.

_____

After sulking in my room for an hour, doing a puzzle and thinking about the unknowns of the world, my mother called out my name.

Dinner already? I thought. It’s a little early.

I walked out of my room, at a slow pace, but her face caught me off guard. A dam broke behind her eyes and tears rushed out, flooding her face and ruining the small bit of make—up she’d kept on.

Immediately, I braced myself for the worst.

“Mom? What’s wrong?” I asked, approaching cautiously. Usually she waited until she was in the privacy of her room to cry, and I am not one for comforting people.

Her cheeks puffed out in an attempt to calm down, but another wave of tears poured out. I can only pray my eyes aren’t portraying the discomfort that takes over my body. Instinct says to comfort her; wrap her in a hug, get her a seat and maybe some water. I had to fight to force that down.

“You know, Carter was coming over today, to, to surprise you—” another wave hit her, stronger this time.

“Carter?”

Oh, God.

A painful thrumming roared up in my head. Sweat coated my palms, the short sleeve shirt doing little to protect me from the wave of heat that coursed through me.

“Did Carter get hurt or something?” I can hear my voice cracking already.

I’m fine. That voice in the back of my head spoke up, trying with all the willpower I have to stay composed. I’m fine. She can’t see anything other than that, then she’d feel bad. I’m fine. I’m fine.

“They got in an accident, and, and he, uhm,” She struggled for a second to find the words, those mere seconds giving me all the time in the world to overthink.

“...and he crashed, got blown up by the car engine and they can’t identify him by anything other than the car license and guesses.”

“...and he had a seizure, slammed into a tree, and is now a pile of crushed bones and organs.”

“...and—”

“The paramedics said he died on impact.”

My heart skipped a beat.

Died? No, that can’t be right. I saw him two days ago, called him less than three hours ago, he can’t be dead.

The bewilderment I felt must’ve finally broken my facade. My mother, as much as she loved her personal space, dragged me into the dampest hug I’d ever received.

I wasn’t necessarily fighting it.

The thrumming in my head grew, pounding faster and faster as my heart sped up, the clock seeming to slow down and stay perfectly still on the shock. Carter’s dead.

I’m fine.

________

My mom hadn’t seen me cry since I was twelve. I’d had my first breakup. It was your typical middle school breakup; lots of tears, lots of drama, easy to forget. She’d texted, saying “We’re done” and I lost it. I cried and cried in my mom’s arms for hours, asking her where she thought I messed up and if I could fix it. She had lightly shook her head, smiled, and told me,

“You may feel like the pain stays forever. It hits you like a train; really hard.”

I remember giggling at that.

“But, trains move insanely fast. While you may feel the worst pain in the world, it will only be for a brief moment, then you’ll feel peace as you part with the bothering factor.”

________

The following days, I grew close to my mom.

“You ready to go?” She asked, opening the front door. She chose a long, modest black dress for the occasion. I just wore a black hoodie and a nice pair of jeans.

“Yep.” My eyes met hers for a brief moment, and a sad smile formed on her lips.

“Come on, then.”

The car ride wasn’t as awkward as I’d imagined; it was completely silent, but not the tense kind. She focused on driving, sometimes asking a mundane question about school or muttering about someone else’s driving. I stuck to my phone, mentally unprepared for the approaching few hours.

We got to the church sooner than hoped.

Carter was never a religious man, but churches and funerals go hand—in—hand, so my mom chose a small one for him. I never liked church.

My heart still ached, but not as bad as the first night. There were so many tears that night, but I couldn’t bear to cry anymore. I’d become a hollow shell that was past its prime and slightly rotten. In other words, I was not fine.

I’d never admit it though.

“Good morning Ms. Clarke, how are you?” As expected, I was ignored. Whatever, though, it’s fine.

“We’re alright. I wish we were meeting under—” she bit her lip, probably thinking of a word, “—brighter circumstances.”

The priest’s cheerful greeting faltered, his smile fading into a tired scowl. He knew we never went to that church.

“Yes, that is true. Would you like any refreshments?”

My mom and I both shook our heads.

“Alright then. You can go take your seats, if you’d like.”

My mom looked at me, worry obviously showing through her calm face.

“Do you need anything before we go in?” She tilted her head at me. I shook my head.

Speaking would only give my voice a chance to betray me.

“I’m fine.”

___________

The second we got back to the car, she demanded answers.

“Why do you insist on being the strong one in this family?” Her tone caught me off guard, and I stuttered before answering.

“That makes no sense. What do you..?” She glared at me, her raised eyebrow and unforgiving eyes freezing up my mouth. Staying quiet is better for these situations.

“You know damn well what I’m talking about.”

She never swears. This is serious.

“You act like you’re the only one going through trouble. Then when someone—not just me, but anyone—asks how you are, you just say you’re fine!” Her hands smacked the steering wheel to emphasize her statement.

I squished myself as far down in the seat as I could, my cheeks burning red from embarrassment. She took a breath and relaxed, regaining her composure to continue her rant.

“Why do you lie to me? I’m your mother. I want to help you.”

Her comforting voice brought me back to the mindset I had as a child, which I mostly taught myself from my father.

‘Fake it till you make it’ is my favorite saying. It’s true, about most things. Most.

“It’s nothing. I swear.”

She didn’t buy it.

My eyes began to fill with tears, the funeral and stress of today overflowing as I tried to answer. All that came out was a half-hearted squeak.

I need to get out of here. Quick, where could I go? The church caught my eye as I glanced around. Perfect, bathroom.

I pulled the door handle. Locked.

“I need to use the bathroom,” I whispered, staring at the top of the car. It helped regulate my tear ducts and could possibly prevent crying. She seemed to notice this time.

“You can’t hide this from me anymore. I know you keep running off to cry. Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong? I don’t want this ‘I’m fine’ crap,” she muttered, her grip on the steering wheel tightening. I shivered.

“Fine,” I whispered, so quiet I could barely hear myself. The car went silent as she listened, waiting for me to say more. “You’re right. I’m not fine.” I choked back a sob as the words spilled out of my mouth, tears beginning to leak from my eyes.

“I’ve struggled every single day since Dad left. With school, friends, everything.” I couldn’t hide the tears any longer, so I just did my best to keep quiet. “It’s just really hard to keep up my relationships when I can barely get out of bed in the mornings.”

She nodded, her silence compelling me to move forward. 

“I wake up in the mornings and I already feel drained. I’ve tried so much to fix it, like, joining a sport, or getting homeschooled, nothing works for me.” My voice rose a little, but I made sure not to yell. I don’t want to ruin any opportunity I had to get out of this unscathed.

My mom sighed, and for a second I was worried she’d forget the whole thing and we’d go back to normal.

She started driving. “When you tell a lie, it becomes easier to continue to tell that lie.” She turned down a road I’ve never been down. “So much easier, that after years of doing it, you begin to believe it.”

I wiped my eyes carelessly, any shred of dignity left from the funeral now gone. Her eyes held something I’d never seen before; a mix of disappointment, sadness, and hope.

Hope?

Hope for what?

“I wish you wouldn’t lie about that stuff. It really worries me, knowing you walk away from half our arguments to go cry. I mean, I do too.”

I stared out the window, my gaze focusing on every number on the mailboxes we passed.

Another turn. “A friend recommended something for us, and I had it scheduled for today. I’m just glad you opened up to me about all this before that. Shows my parenting is actually good sometimes.” She smiled. Not a bright smile. Her lips curved up slightly, the sunlight making the shadows around her mouth darker. She looked sad still.

“I guess saying that I’m fine was a way to get out of talking about stuff,” I mumbled, my throat sore from the attempts to hold back tears. She nodded again.

“I know. Nobody likes to open up about their feelings.” She pulled into a fairly small parking lot, next to a building covered in windows and bright decorations.

“Promise me you won’t lie to yourself anymore. Please.”

I turned to face her, and she held out her pinky, a childish tradition our family still used.

“I promise,” I spoke while entwining our pinky fingers.

For the first time in a long, long time, that didn’t feel like a lie.

Maybe lying was bad, or maybe I needed help. Either way, this was a step in the right direction. Lying got me nowhere; the hardest part, opening up, got me the farthest in life.