The devil, Angel

“Thou shalt not lie. Especially you, Kimberly Stein.” I haven’t seen the sacred stone Decalogue in person, but my guess is that God added that footnote, circa 1995, once he saw how I started to live my life. I am generally a truthful person. I’ll always tell you when you’re being nice, if you look pretty, if you look like a fool dancing, or if I think you should get rid of those Coach shoes that make you look like you have your head up your ass. I’ll tell you all those things.

However, there are those things that should never be told. Lies must be taken in their place as a matter of survival. And as I sat in that passenger’s seat, completely lying to myself to survive the heartbreak of him not saying it back, I couldn’t help but remember the last time I felt the pains of guilt after a lie.

I was seven and she was Angel. Even with my young mind and my sarcasm still developing, I knew that this was a heavily ironic coincidence. The girl who prided herself as being the principal’s Third Eye is named Angel? The girl who tattled during recess time is named Angel? The girl who spit on my perfectly cleaned tree stump house is named Angel?! I knew better than that. Even in first grade.

It was raining that afternoon. I was standing with Jonathan, someone I thought of as a friend. Watching her walk away from the principal’s office – for the fifth time that lunch recess – was the last straw.

“She is the biggest brat in the entire world! Why would anyone want to be her friend?”
That’s right. I said it.

Little did I know, Jonathan decided to say it, too…To her…Some friend.

Coming in from recess into our daily Cool Down session, Mrs. Manos pulled me aside.

“Kimberly. Can I see you outside please?”
Outside? I never get sent outside. Outside is for hair pullers and foot trippers. And nose pickers.
“Okay.”

Angel pretended to rest her head on her desk when I passed. I could’ve sworn I heard her hiss.

Mrs. Manos leaned towards my innocent face and asked me the question:
“Did you call Angel a ‘brat’ today at recess?”
Well, many times, but at today’s recess?
I thought for a good minute before I answered with a response that would haunt me until my early 20s.
“No.”
I did. And I meant it.
“Are you sure?”
What’s with the third degree?
“I did not call her a ‘brat’.”
“I think you’re lying to me.”
What the heck, lady?
“You’re not supposed to lie. You know that.”
“I know.”
Oh God. Here come the tears.
“I want you to sit on the bench during afternoon break.”
“Okay.”I can do that.
“But first I want you to go inside and apologize to Angel.”
WHAT?!?!

Through the dimness of our classroom, I begrudgingly walked up to Angel’s desk, passing the group of goldfish swimming freely in their five-inch deep bowl. Lucky bastards. I quickly spouted a “sorry” before running to my own desk to cover my face with humiliation. My best friend, Kristen patted my back as I sobbed uncontrollably in the back of the room. Kids would look back as I heaved oxygen into my mouth through the wails of sorrow. Snot dripped to the top of my plaid jumper but I buried my face even deeper into my sleeve. I peeked above my arm to catch a glimpse of Angel in peaceful contentment as “Puff the Magic Dragon” played for the second time.

Bitch.

Looking back on it now, that devil Angel gave me a gift that day. A sleeve soaked in my own nasal mucus, as well as the mortal sin of lying. I never really lied before that and after experiencing the shame of being tagged a Liar for the rest of my short first grade career, I couldn’t bear to do it again. Too strong was the vision of me sitting on a bench, coloring inside the lines as I heard others sing, “Liar, liar, pants on fire!” It killed me -- but she helped me speak the truth.

That is, until this moment - the moment when I had no other choice but to tell a lie that deep down I knew I couldn’t pin on anyone, not even her. On that Wednesday afternoon, I sat there as he offered a sympathetic laugh in response to the lame-ass joke about balloon animals I heard my little brother recite.

“Where is that from? A popsicle stick?”
“No.”
Yes.“
I could teach you a thing or two about comedy.”
“Yea, sure.”
Please teach me things.

Slowly, my head made its way to the reflecting window and I lied straight to my face:
You don’t love him.
If Angel were here now, she would, without hesitation, tattle to Mrs. Manos about my inappropriate behavior. But I’m not afraid of some Third Eye. I’m not afraid of a chorus of children singing to me that I'm a liar. I’m 23-years old now and I’m not afraid to say I'm not at all in love with him. I’m going to lie my ass off, Angel, and there’s nothing you can do about it. Go puff some magic dragons.