Liar, Liar, 'Trossis' On Fire!

Have you ever been caught doing something you shouldn't have, then decided to tell a really elaborate lie to get out of it, only to realize that the truth would have been a whole lot easier to deal with than the lie? But now you've gone through all that trouble to concoct a story that borders on the ridiculous (or is in fact neck-deep in ridiculous) and you realize that going back on your story would snatch away your credibility before you could say "I'm sorry" so you stick with the crazy lie and feel bad forever?

I don't lie very often, and for that reason, my lies tend to be pretty absurd. I have told many a whopper in my day. I remember in 5th grade, during recess, some boy was teasing my chubby ass for no particular reason except that I was the new kid (so was he o, but I was shy and thus an easy target) and I was so outraged at my powerlessness that I lashed out at him as hard as I could with the only weapon I possessed: my tongue. Even then, I knew that emotional pain was harder to heal than the physical. I'm so ashamed of what I'm about to type. I looked him square in the face and said, "I may be ___, but you raped your sister!"

I already said I'm ashamed; don't judge me! I was only nine! I had no idea what rape was, but I knew that men did it to women and that it was bad. I knew that it was in fact an abominable act, and it was the only thing in my mind that equaled what he was doing to me at that moment. It never occured to me that he might know what rape was. Or that he'd be so pissed about it that he'd report me to Ms. Ellis, our inherently cruel teacher (or so my child's brain insisted). Ms. Ellis was a robust, 60-something black American Methodist from the Midwest who had recently broken her right hand, which was taking forever to heal. She had been in a bad mood for months (or years, depending on who you ask), and from the moment we met, I got the feeling that she didn't really care for me. That was a new experience; I'd always been teacher's pet. Now SJ, provider of all the sweets and pastries her mother could produce to satisfy Ms. Ellis' sweet tooth, was teacher's pet. But that's not the point.

As our hero - who has grown up to be some sort of OCD freak - ran to Ms. Ellis' classroom to report me, I considered many things. I considered chasing him to beg him not to, but I was too chubby to exert myself that way, plus he was already halfway through the door. I thought about going back home to Mrs. Carter's, where I was squatting, but she and Ms. Ellis, being the only black Americans in the school, had formed an alliance and called it friendship. Sooner or later, I'd be caught and then I'd have to face the two old ladies at once. So that wasn't an option. I had just decided that I should begin frothing at the mouth and feigning convulsions when he emerged from the classroom and informed me triumphantly that Ms. Ellis wanted to see me immediately. That was the day I had my first hot flash. As usually happens when I'm in trouble, my brain scrambled and I couldn't even think about where I was going, not to talk of what I would say when I got there. Before I knew it, my stupid legs had transported me through the door, where I stood quaking.

"Girl, come closer!" Ms. Ellis' grating voice snapped at me from her desk at the other end of the room. I prayed that I would trip on my shoelaces and bust my head on the cold concrete floor, but I realized that I was wearing Keds and they didn't have laces. God, why have you forsaken me??, I cried inwardly. At that age, I could cry on command, but even that particular talent failed me that day. There would be no mercy for me—unless I could come up with the perfect lie.

The following is the conversation that ensued between me and Ms. Ellis, recalled to the best of my ability. Be warned: it is a gross display of bumbling stupidity, as caused by blubbering fear, lack of preparation time, and an innate disability to lie properly, especially when it counts.

ME: What did you say to old boy just now?

k: Me?

ME: Yes, you, child! Do you see anyone else in this room?

k: No, Ms. Ellis.

[silence]

ME: You want me to ask you again?

k: No, Ms. Ellis.

[silence. kulutempa hopes that Ms. Ellis has forgotten the question.]

ME: [kulutempa], what did you say to little boy outside?

k: Nothing, Ms. Ellis.

ME: Look here, I do not have the patience for a lying child. Now, I will ask you one last time: what did you say to the overgrown baby outside?

k: (trembling terribly and desperately searching for an answer other than the honest one, reaches for the absurd) I said that he will reap his sister.

Note how clever my dumb ass thought I was being. If I said the boy would reap his sister, and he heard rape, then he would be the bad one. It wouldn’t by my fault that he had such a rotten mind. And the little s.o.b. was what one might call a bad boy. As much as he teased me, he was fascinated by my breasts (yes, I had breasts at that tender age) and because we lived down the street from each other, he often took the opportunity to let me know he saw 'em. Again, not the point, but God, we were some rotten kids!

Anyway, back to my abysmal lies. Ms. Ellis was actually taken aback for a fleeting moment. It soon because obvious, though, that she was just interested in seeing where I was going and how far I would be willing to go in this lie.

ME: (shrilly) Reap?!

k: Yes, Ms. Ellis.

ME: And just what does that mean, young lady?

k: (stammering) It’s just another way of saying that he beat his sister.

ME: What? How?

k: (slowly growing more desperate, yet strangely confident in her ability to keep this going): Yes, because it’s just like reaping a harvest, you know, you have the stalk of wheat or whatever and then you use it to whip someone. No, no! It’s like the motion of reaping a harvest, the same motion that you use to beat someone. Reaping. We say it at home.

I’m already laughing hysterically at this memory. What was I thinking?? Clearly, Ms. Ellis was asking herself the same thing. I imagine that she was thinking to herself, I’m too old for this. My arm is broken, I hate these damn kids, and this one thinks she can tell me this ridiculous lie and have me believe it! I’m a grandmother, I can’t even see my own grandkids, and here I have to deal with these bad-ass children who don’t even know how to lie. In a Christian school! These heathens are going to hell, starting with this fool in front of me. But to me, she sighed heavily and massaged her forehead with the fingers on her good hand. When she looked up at me again, she peered over the top of her glasses (which was no easy feat, given the size of those bad boys) and said, “I don’t know what happened out there on that playground, but if I ever hear that any of that filth came out of your mouth again, I will call your father and you will be going home in shame. Do you understand me?”

I couldn’t believe it. I mean, I knew that she didn’t believe me, but she wasn’t even going to punish me for lying? I was overjoyed. “Yes, Ms. Ellis. Thank you, Ms. Ellis. I’m sorry, Ms. Ellis,” I said, walking backwards as quickly as I could, before she changed her mind and used her good hand to smack me across the face (I was still in transition from being at home, where my brothers did not miss a chance to give me a well-aimed slap across the face; I didn’t yet realize that Americans never beat children at school). And so I escaped what should have been the worst embarrassment of my life. I went out on the playground and gloated to the defeated sap, but only for a second, lest he find something else to go and report me about.

I’ll never know the far-reaching effects of that lie. It was certainly one of a magnitude that could have changed the course of nature. Perhaps it is the reason for the hole in the ozone. Maybe El Nino can be blamed on my big-mouthed, small-brained sin against the universe.

Of course, I swore never to be caught doing such nonsense again. And of course I’ve failed. Time and time again, actually. But I won’t bore you with those details. Does anyone have any whoppers they want to share, for fun? Not that I’m trying to build my repertoire or anything ;-).