Liar (500 Words short story project, January 23, 2019)

You always do this to me, you know. Well, not just to me. To everyone. You drag us all into your ridiculous stories and hoaxes and conspiracies, and not one of us has the guts to stand up and tell you we don’t buy it, we’re not playing your games anymore. I’m mostly sure you don’t believe this garbage, either. But not one hundred percent sure. What’s going on inside your head? When you lie, do you even know you’re lying?

I used to think I understood you inside and out, that I had you pegged. I would confidently whisper to our mutual friends, “Oh, you know how Sarah is. She’s a pathological liar. She does it for the attention.” But lately, I just don’t know.

You showed up to work that Monday morning breathless and buzzing. “You will not believe what happened to me last weekend!” you gushed.

And I thought, you’re right. I already don’t believe it. But the new girl, Gina from HR, was both kind enough and naive enough to say, “Oh? What happened?” And stood listening with her mouth half-open, ready to swallow whole whatever tale you trotted out this time.

“I was out driving,” you began, and that’s when I started to check out and wander away from the break room. I already had my morning mug of tea, and the daily crossword puzzle wasn’t going to solve itself.

“Krin, where are you going?” you called after me, and I froze midstep, a grimace on my face. “You’ll to want to hear this — it will be especially of interest to you!”

“Yes, come back!” sweet, dumb Gina cajoled.

I sighed, and turned back into the break room. “I can’t stay long, Sarah. I have a lot to get through this morning.” I had some good theories about 4 down, “heroic canine.” But I could tell I wasn’t going to get out of listening to this story without a fight.

“So, like I was saying, I was out for a drive. I like to do that on weekends — just get out of the city and wander for a bit. It helps me to clear my head.” You paused here and sighed, staring into the middle distance. Gina was doubtless imaging the many wearisome troubles that cause you such distress that you must flee the city to seek solace.

“And?” I asked, hoping to moving things along. “Then what?”

You flashed a quick, irritated glare at me — you hated it when anyone interrupted your flow. “Well, usually I drive out west of town, out where the bluffs are. I like to feel like I’m sheltered by their protective embrace as I ponder life’s sorrows. But this time, something spoke to me. It might have been a spirit from beyond. I’ve been in communication with my third-great-grandmother for the last few weeks, and I can sense that she’s guiding me toward a great revelation. So when I felt her hand moving the steering wheel, I allowed her to dictate my path. I have complete faith in my ancestors, of course.”

Gina, still wide-eyed and open-mouthed, nodded in appreciation. I just barely disguised a derisive snort by covering it with a cough.

“Grandma take the wheel,” I quipped. “And where did dear Grandmama lead you?”

Again you threw a brief glare at me, but your features quickly returned to calm serenity. “Krin, I can’t believe you don’t know. I mean, you should have sensed it, I’d have thought.” You smirked a bit, knowing you had Gina on the hook, and thinking you might be about to hook me as well. “Dearest Grandmother Maude led me to your backyard.”  

(This post is part of the 500 Words short story project.)