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Lies The best lies are simplistic. Think of a child, caught in the act of defacing the family dining room walls: "But I didn't do it, Mom! Look, the baby is holding the crayon! And anyway, I can draw way better than that. And anyway, red is my favorite color, not that gross, pukey green." Besides simplicity, the key is to remain calm, deny everything, and enunciate your fabrications with an extra dose of sharpness to imply — but not directly say — that you are outraged by whatever you're accused of. You can try playing dumb, but that only works when the accuser has little to no experience with liars. I don't spin webs of lies that I then have to keep up with. Too much energy, not enough wiggle room. My girlfriend called me on my cell one day, hysterical and crying, and demanded to know if I'd been cheating on her. She had proof, she said, in the form of a friend's notebook she found lying on our kitchen table that he'd foolishly left behind. "It says you fucked him!" she shouted into the phone so loud my ears hurt. And I had, it was the damned truth. Hell if I even know why, other than the fact that I was sick and tired of her, and that I was experimenting. My affair was like clockwork — every Monday at his house during "poetry readings." For months. I was a twenty-something-year-old rebel, and damned if she was going to spoil my game. "For heaven's sake, he's a fiction writer — fiction — dammit. He makes shit up for a living! Not to mention that the very definition of a lesbian is that she doesn't generally fuck men. And anyway, how dare you go through my friend's stuff." Sharp, perfectly enunciated words, voice calm with quiet anger. No stammering, no pauses, no hesitations to give me away. No, it was not a speech I had practiced. In fact, it wasn't a lie at all, and I was curious to see if she'd catch it. "So you didn't fuck him?" Guess she wasn't as slow as I'd thought. I heaved a dramatic sigh into the phone, and answered with a very disappointed voice, "No." "I want you to come home," she whispered, and I could tell she felt sorry she'd called. The one-word answer is the best of all lies. Don't back it up. Don't rush to fill the silence, or answer the beseeching eyes, or acknowledge the deeply unhappy sighs. I told her no, then hit the end button on my phone. I was at his house, after all, and couldn't very well just get up and leave with his hand down my pants. Some lies exist to protect, others to destroy. Think of your mom asking if she looks fat. The automatic answer (unless she's so big she can't fit through the door and her weight poses a health risk) is, of course, "No." Think of your most bitter moment — a traitorous friend backstabbing you, an abusive lover shattering your dreams. Most people will grow a serpent's tongue when faced with a possible lie that would grant them revenge. My lie was neither to protect, nor to destroy. It was a pathetic copout. It was a lie I told myself more than her. Because I was at this man's house, so I told myself, for either unknown reasons, to experiment, or because I was sexually frustrated and sick of my girlfriend. In truth, I am no rebel. No truth-seeking, frustrated woman. The problem with telling lies is that you eventually become your own victim. And given enough time, it's hard to sift through even the simple untruths. They become ingrained, real, thick with promise. With his hands down my pants, I had a rare, lie-breaking epiphany. The lies I'd wrapped around me were these: I want desperately for her to leave me. It would be easiest to create some sort of fuck-up to drive her away. Therefore, screwing around and being caught was the best way to end our relationship. And besides, it would be fun. And I'd been caught. And I'd lied to get out of the lie. Somewhere deep inside, an honest voice pointed out that if I didn't want her to know of my affair, but still wanted to leave her, then I'd have to face her with truth. And I'd have to quit lying, and quit fucking around. Honestly, lies — even simplistic, even perfect — are not really, ever, good lies. Feedback? E-mail me at kimberlylafontaine@yahoo.com. |