Rhyme, Reason and Lies

Deceiver, Dissembler (Liar, liar)

One day, she woke up. The sun was not shining through her curtains and she liked it that way. Her curtains are made of thin nylon-polyester but the dark royal blue color absorbs the light well enough to render the room softly lit, as if the light bulb was blue gray.

She sat up from the left-side of the bed even if she was alone, even if it was a mere single sized one. Beside her in the bed right lay several big pillows that she barely touched. She wonders if that is how it would be like if she did sleep beside a person on a decent-sized bed? Would she stick to her side of the bed, refusing to touch that other person?

Looking down at the covers, the pillows and the myriad other things that litter her bed, she felt dismay at the clutter. Looking all over her room, the clutter on the bed is amplified by the sheer clutter of everything around her. Standing up, she simultaneously shoved her blanket behind her while putting on her indoor slippers. Of course, she had to pause in the act of wearing her slippers because it’s positioned awkwardly because her feet simply tossed them aside when she got into bed the night before.

Today marked the third week from her graduation. Summer greeted her simply with unemployment soon after the triumph of graduation had faded. Still living in the room where she lived off-campus during college, she had not the heart to leave the city where she learned to be herself.

Meet a woman who came into the city as a girl, fell in love and never left her lover. Her lover, the city, never condemned her for the new life that she decided to carve out for herself… Even if it is a life built on lies.

Your trousers are alight (Pants on fire)

She met up with her friend who just flew in from a workshop and conference that she helped out in. Already her friend was embarking on her career… That friend came home, brimming full with stories to amuse and awe–and yes, to envy.

The gears in the mind of our protagonist started grinding and churning. What story should I tell my friend? She knew that the truth was simply too boring and mundane…that she spent several days sleeping at a friend’s house, simply talking and not doing anything more, that they slept on a bed narrower than what she had in her room but never touched. She then recalled her own bed. Untidy, crowded, without rhyme or reason–much like her own life. But even more important than that, it was obviously solitary.

She thought of her bed. The pile of blankets that she used every night because of the cold kisses of her lover. The many insubstantial masses of matter called pillows that surround her each night. Unlike her lover, these pillows turn warm at her touch but get cold once more if abandoned. Then she remembers the other things which do not belong in bed like her books of insipid plots, glasses, clothes among other things. All of which are basically garbage in one form or another.

She suddenly remembered the night she sat in the living room of the house in solitude. Outside the darkness was opaque but inside, the flourescent bulb made the light just as opaque and unforgiving as the darkness beyond the walls. Unfortunately, the cold embrace of her lover can easily permeate both light and dark. That embrace silently comforted her as she cried. That was probably one month prior to the day she met with her friend for coffee. In her mind, she juxtaposed both moments side by side and saw that in some weird way, the time difference was the only difference between that moment and the one she was experiencing in a crowded coffee shop, in front of one of her closest friends and confidante.

Shoving the clouds of distraction, her eyes and ears focused once more on what her friend was saying. Then she blurted out, “I lost my virginity while you were gone!” which caused shock to ripple over her friend and herself for she never said those words before in her entire life.

From what pole or gallows shall they dangle in the night? (Hangin’ on a telephone wire)

Then she saw the envy, hope and unspeakable trust that shone from the eyes of her friend. Her audience was captured, enamored of each word that fell from her lips. While her listener drank up her words, the storyteller got drunk on the attention. Barely functioning from the buzz, she heard a tiny voice in her mind saying, “You’re telling a bare-faced lie!” But she shrugged it off because she would rather burn in hell than disappoint her captive audience….

Soon, their discussion jumped from one topic to another and she forgot to say the most important piece in her narration, “Just kidding!” Until, they left the coffee shop and went their separate ways.  Walking down the stairs, inserting the key in the lock, walking across the living room, opening her door, removing her clothes, getting ready for bed, brushing her teeth–all these actions were done woodenly, automatically.

Then she made a cozy little pocket on her bed, arranging the pillows and other things then lay softly. She stayed awake the whole night, recalling the glory of the story that she told. Then, as if angered, her lover threw a gust of cold wind into her window. She was shivered from her euphoria and was forced to face the stark truth of her lies. Then she swore then and there to do everything possible to make sure that the lies become the truth. So that among all the lies that were said, the only problem would be the time everything took place in. Comforted by the thought, she went to sleep because she had an early morning the next day.

So what’s another lie?