What Happened When I Stopped Lying To My Boyfriend
I forget things.
A lot.
It’s my big secret. I’m mortified of people finding out. I’m not talking about things like meetings, my keys or birthdays.
I mean memories. Vacations, parties, dates, large chunks of fifth and sixth grade, long conversations with lovers. I forget them all.
I first figured this out around eighth grade. A couple of friends were insisting that I just had to remember a class field trip we’d gone on a few years back. I had no idea what they were talking about. The more I insisted I couldn’t remember, the more frustrated I got. So I lied.
“Oh yeah, that was great, and also that other field trip we went on to Hearst Castle? Those field trips were the best!”
I changed the subject, shifted the conversation to steady ground. They seemed reassured.
But I was already slipping sliding down the slope of white lies. Before I knew it, I was lying constantly, to everyone I knew. The process was always the same: Someone would bring up an event I didn’t remember. They’d try to jog my memory and when I saw the frustration growing on their face, I’d tell them, “Of course I remember!” and then change the subject.
My junior year of high school, two years into the first serious relationship of my life, I made the mistake of confessing my transgressions to my boyfriend.
“But, you don’t lie to me,” he said.
“Yes I do,” I told him.
“What!” He was stricken. “Vicki, I don’t want you to lie to me. I never, ever want you to lie to me.”
“You won’t like it,” I warned him.
“I can handle it,” he said.
He couldn’t.
A couple days in and he was frustrated that I couldn’t remember a very important conversation we’d had. I forget what it was about now. But we went round and round, him insisting that it was very memorable, me replying that it obviously wasn’t. He didn’t understand why I was doing this to him.
Over the next several months, things got more and more tense as he discovered exactly how much I didn’t remember: secrets, presents, classes we’d taken together, professions of love. Half our relationship I’d forgotten, and he seemed to remember every minute.
Eventually, I started lying again, cautiously and little by little. What he didn’t know I didn’t know couldn’t hurt him.
We broke up shortly after graduation. I never told him how much I lied to him, though he got a brief sense of it during the few months of total honesty.
I think people lie for lots of reasons: to manipulate others, or to make themselves seem more important, or to cover their tracks. For me, it was just easier to tell a lie and let the conversation continue. It’s easier to avoid the protests and stares of disbelief.
I still lie about remembering things, but less often now. I’ve learned to laugh it off. I joke about my bad memory and tell people it’s nothing personal. And then I keep lying.
