Lies and Coincidences

Coincidences.  And lies.

 

I was having a conversation last week about lies.  Kinds of lies, lies we remember, lies we regret.  I’m 49 years old.  I have told a few lies….

 

But the first lie I can remember telling sticks out in my mind.  A lie I hadn’t confessed until this conversation.  I was probably six years old and I had a neighbor named Sheryl.  She lived across the street and down a little bit.  I remember the concrete steps that led to the side door of her house.  I remember the smell of the wild mint that grew there.  (I keep mint growing  outside my house even now because I have always loved that smell.)

 

We were playing in her basement, where we often played.  Her brother was there.  Younger.  If memory serves me correctly (and oh I hope it does) he was a toddler.  I think we hula hooped there.  Built with those big red cardboard blocks.  Maybe it was one of these that made us need more room to play on the day I remember.  But there was a TV set on a rolling cart.  (I think it was a rolling cart…)  And I needed to move it.  So I pushed.  But I didn’t push from down low on the cart.  (Which is of course what I should have done.)  Instead I pushed on the TV.  And. Down. It. Fell.  I remember the crash.  The shattering.  I swear I can hear it.  And then I did the most cowardly thing.  Looking back, an awful thing (but please remember I was only six).  I blamed Sheryl’s brother.  In my clever devious head I thought that he was too young to get in real trouble.  Young enough it could have been an accident.  And young enough that maybe he couldn’t tell on me.  I remember his mother being upset.  In my head I remember her yelling (though sometimes as a child I heard things as yelling that weren’t.  Criticism and anger have always been amplified in my head.)  I think (not sure) that my parents were even called over.  (Suggesting maybe they didn’t believe my lie.)  And I believe (I fear) I lied to them too.  “It wasn’t me.  It was him.”  Probably looking right in their eyes.  (Because once you say it – how do you get out??)

 

There it is.  My first real lie.  And I told this story last week.

 

This story led to others.  My friend Holly who lived behind me.  We played on her monkey bars.  Made dares.  Collected pussy willows and put them in match boxes and pretended they were our babies.  Our pets.  It was a lovely little trip down memory lane.

 

And then…. THAT NIGHT… I was on Facebook.  Chatting with a friend using messenger.  You know how in the top corner there is sometimes a number to indicate that you have unread messages?  Well it stayed after my last response.  That happens sometimes. Eventually it disappears.  I never can figure it out.  But that night it happened and it bugged me.  And I was sitting mindlessly in front of the television… so I tried to figure it out.

 

Hmmm…..  At the bottom is a small icon marked “people.”  And it had a four.  So I clicked.  Then a choice that said Message Requests.  And again the four.  So I clicked.  There was a fb message from a museum (come to our event).  Two messages from strangers.  (So maybe this is like a fb spam catcher??)

 

And a message from Sheryl.  My childhood neighbor and friend.  Whose mint garden I still smell.  Whose basement I remember.  Whose TV I broke.  Sheryl.

 

I was shocked.  Physically shaking.  It was a nice little message.  Giving a few details of my childhood life.  Wondering if I was her long lost friend from South Bend.  Whose parents bred Himalayan cats.  Sheryl said she moved away when she was seven and always wondered what happened to her friends Shelley and Holly (who I had also mentioned that very day!!)   I immediately responded.  I was just talking about you today!!!  How incredible is this?!!  And then I waited.  I finally thought to look and see what time she had messaged.  And I was shocked again.  Sheryl had sent her message in June of 2012.  Five and a half years. I had been carrying that message in my pocket for five and a half years.  And on this day…. THIS DAY…. I discovered it.

 

And guess what.  She wrote back.  We had a few exchanges.  And I kept wondering.  Was the universe telling me to apologize??  To confess the guilt of this big/little lie I have carried for 43 years?

And so …. I asked about her brother.  The one I most owe an apology to.  And it turns out tragedy had struck.  He was riding his bicycle as a young teen and he was hit and killed by a car.  I won’t have a chance to make an apology to this boy (whose face I don’t remember.)  And I asked about her parents.  Her mother has Alzheimer’s…. She doesn’t remember things….. most likely not a shattered TV and a lying little girl from so many years ago.  (Oh I hope the memory doesn’t sometimes haunt her, too.)

 

And so for now I am keeping my secret.  Holding onto my first lie so hard my knuckles are white.  I wonder if she will see this blog.  Read my stories.  Find herself here.  I wonder if she remembers.  I wonder how much we will reconnect.  I wonder if I will ever confess.