The Boy Who Lied
You didn’t lie to me about every thing. You really do have a little sister. An older one too, but no brother. You lied about that. Or maybe it’s like you said when I asked about it, maybe you misspoke, or maybe I’m just stupid and gullible.
The thing is, I’m not sure what the lies were, and maybe that made them easier to swallow, that lack of concrete evidence, but I know they were there. I know that sometimes you would look at me and something would crawl up my spine. Warning, something is wrong, it whispered in my ear. My friends said the same thing, although less subtly. You don’t know this because I shielded you from their distaste. It’s not like they didn’t try though, they wanted to like you. They saw how you made me laugh and how happy I was after a night spent with you, so they tried. They took the excuses you fed me and the ones I made for you, at face value. But because I have good and honest friends, this didn’t last long. They saw through the lies I desperately wanted to believe. And suddenly they had a lot to say, a lot I didn’t want to hear. So I argued with everyone around me, I defended you to anyone who dared to wonder about your facts, I all but begged the people I care about most just to let me believe in you a little longer.
The best liars are the ones who stick close to the truth. And that’s what you did, so for every question I asked, you had an answer easily with in reach. And stupid me, gullible me, wanted so badly to believe you that I took the answers in, like water to a thirsty man. They gave me hope. I justified, I reasoned, I believed because I wanted to. I didn’t want this fun, caring person that drug me head first into life and on adventures I never dreamed of, to be a lie. I wanted to take long drives with you, get lost with you and not worry about if all the things we talked about along the way were true. I wanted to live in the world you had created for me, the one where I could trust you, and where half truths and dishonestly were unthinkable.
But guess what? I’m not stupid, and I’m actually not all that gullible so eventually, though it took longer than I would like to admit, I started listening to the knife of unease I would sometimes get with you. It made you mad, you would argue with me, then hold my hand and apologize, you were sorry for upsetting me you said. Not for lying you weren’t sorry for that because you never actually admitted to it. This scene played on a loop for a while. I would call you out, and then somehow we would end up clinging to each other, you dragging me back into the land of make believe. You can only live for so long on the stuff fairy tales are made out of though. I despised the moments of clarity I sometimes stumbled on. I resented my friends for their blunt delivery of the truth you denied me, but eventually I knew I couldn’t live in your liar’s world with you any more. I was too honest, my morals plagued by even the tiniest lie, I didn’t fit into the sketchy place you resided, and you had no interest in rising up to my honest expectations.
For a while maybe I was stupid and gullible but at my core I am loving and hopeful. I am trusting and I have faith. And the lies you told me will not change that. I will not let the doubt and worry that you seeped into my life to remain. I will not become cynical or bitter, just because one young man could not stand tall enough to tell me the truth all of the time. You did not teach me to mistrust others, only to trust myself more, and for that I thank you.