Snapshots

Liar, Liar

I told myself a lie once. The same lie twice, actually.

I was fifteen. She was fourteen. We were rehearsing for a school play. I didn't know her that well – not at all, really – but I knew her name was Cierra and that she had the prettiest hair and eyes and nose I had ever seen. The choir director shouted stage directions for us background dancers, but I could barely focus as I watched Cierra, who actually had lines, speak and move in a way that I had previously never considered as extraordinary but suddenly couldn't move my eyes away from.

Two weeks before opening night, after rehearsal, my best friend and fellow background dancer, Andrew, stood outside the school with me as we waited for our parents to pick us up.

You like Mark, don't you?

What?

Mark Wells. Andrew chewed on a stick of gum. I'm always seeing you staring at him during rehearsals. You like him, don't you?

Mark Wells was Cierra's dancing partner in the play. Yeah, he's kinda cute. I'd never noticed him before.

He unwrapped a second stick of gum and popped it in his mouth. You should talk to him.

I shook my head, then held out my hand for some gum.

***

I was seventeen. She was eighteen. Her name was Gina, and she had two cats and two dogs. She was in the band in high school and had a passion for music – especially drums, which she played very well. She was short, sensitive, and easy to laugh around but also easy to cry with. We would hang out in the band room during lunch, and she would show me how to play different wind instruments – placing her fingers over mine and pressing while I blew into the mouthpiece. I never did get the hang of any of the instruments I played, but we always had a good laugh at the squeaks that came out, and it felt nice to have her hands over mine. I would leave lunch blushing and giddy.

One time, during a late-night run to the nearest gas station for snacks, Andrew told me to buy her some candy: sour airheads, her favorite.

Why?

Because, he said, she'll like it. And if I'm not mistaken, you like her.

I felt warm blood rush to my ears and cheeks. No, I don't.

The sour airheads cost $1.56. My insides fluttered when I handed them to her. Her soft lips parted gently.

Thank you.

***

Now I'm sitting here, three years later, watching Lacey, Lacey Dupont who speaks French and goes thrift shopping and likes art and poetry and the environment, Lacey Dupont with radiant skin and a face like a Greek goddess and a smile like the sun, and I move my seat from the back of the classroom to the front just to be next to her, and I keep imagining what it would feel like to hug her or hold her hand or kiss her –

And I don't know if I can lie again.