Opaque

18 | Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire

"He who does not bellow the truth when he knows the truth makes himself the accomplice of liars and forgers." - Charles Peguy

Chapter Eighteen

Lying was an art form - an extremely hard to master one at that. To be a good liar, one needed to have a memory equivalent to that of a camera or a computer and that was why, most humans were terrible liars. It wasn't because we, as humans, weren't capable of lying. Oh no-lying was actually an integral part of our survival. The simple truth was that we were just incapable of remembering and keeping track of all the lies we had said.

My profession was one that required me to lie from time to time, to hide things from others for the sake of the general welfare of the public-an excuse many politicians use-but in the end, even I, after passing through several mental examinations and withstanding (and mastering) multiple forms of torture, was not a perfect liar.

However, when someone like me, who may or may not be a perfect liar but was a professional lie detector, came face to face with a liar-a terrible one at that-there were only two ways the situation could go.

One, I could pretend to be oblivious to the painfully obvious signs a novice liar portrays and simply continue with the task at hand, or two, I could call him out on it and let him decide which path he wanted to take. Even a stranger could tell, I was simply not well-versed with the art of ignoring and so, I chose the latter.

"Really? You don't sound too sure about that," I said, raising an eyebrow in a mocking gesture ... Or at least, I hope it seemed that way. I couldn't actually tell because I was, even though it pained me to admit it, one of those people who simple couldn't raise an eyebrow. I liked to blame it on my already arched eyebrows.

He laughed, his nervousness morphing into a tangible form.

"I think I would remember where, when, and how I began loving boxing," he said, his eyes jerking from one side to another, but his tongue in control.

"I thought you said you and your brothers pretended to be wrestlers...not boxers."

He seemed to stop breathing for a minute. His eyes opened wide as he realized he just walked himself into a verbal trap. His shock, coupled with his lack of consistency with his lies, made it crystal clear that he was only an amateur.

"Oh yeah, I meant boxers," he said, shrugging as if this was nothing but an honest mistake.

"Are you sure," I asked with a smile, which I hope came out as teasing, "Who knows, maybe two minutes later you'll say you wanted to be a police officer and that you were simply playing cops and robbers."

He smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. He was uncomfortable and I couldn't be happier.

"I'm positive," he said, once again composing his body. For an eighteen year old kid, he sure had mastered the technique of controlling his body movements, but sadly for him, his body made the signs and efforts all too clear.

"I think we should order something," he said, picking up the menu and hiding his face behind it.

"You can order, if you want. I'm not hungry," I said, turning my nose away from the nauseous smell of sardines and croissants fused together.

He placed his menu down, looking smug as if he had just thought of something brilliant. He leaned forward again, a coy smile tugging his lips upwards, and whispered, "Are you sure you're not hungry? You look like you can use some meat."

Was it a crime to strangle a teenage boy, who was merely five months younger than me, in a public place? Ethan was definitely not on my potential friends list.

"I could say the same about you," I said, gesturing towards his seemingly flimsy arms, placing my arms on the table. My short sleeves were perfect for this occasion as my biceps-I take great pride in them-were on full display.

It was an intimidation device-show your opponent your muscles, imply or exaggerate your strength, and watch them melt-but one that wasn't necessarily fool-proof. There was little chance that he'd fall for it, but I hoped that my retort, albeit a bit childish, would do most of the damage.

I knew he had muscles underneath his three quarter sleeves because after all, he did have a moderate amount of strength yesterday during our training session to be able to land himself on my list, but he didn't need to know that. Judging by his upside down smile, a frown to be exact, and his intense gaze narrowed at his biceps, I knew I hit a sore spot.

Did I feel bad? Not really, considering how he had, merely a few moments ago, implied that I had some sort of eating disorder-which I didn't have. It was really getting tiring explaining to people that no, I wasn't anorexic nor bulimic. There's a fine line between being concerned for someone's health and outright judging their eating habits by their body shape.

If the media was finally jumping on the bandwagon and placing the issue of bullying in front of everyone's face, why did they consider it inappropriate to judge someone who was bulky but appropriate to make cruel, hurtful, remarks to someone who was thin? To me, both were problems that needed to be solved. After all, it was unfair to take one side and completely ignore the other...

"Would you like to order Ma'am," another waiter, older in age, said, opting to speak in English rather than making a failed attempt to speak in a French accent.

"No, I'm fine," I said, smiling at the waiter, hoping he wouldn't ask me the same question. I didn't think I could hold back my anger the second time.

He gave me a curt nod, glanced at Ethan who suddenly seemed to be very disinterested in the setting around him, and walked away to another table nearby.

"Well, I'm glad we had this chat," Ethan looked at me warily, "You should get a phone call in two business days," I said, standing up, purposefully making the statement vague just to see the scared expression on his face. Perhaps, I was being a tad childish but I didn't really care at the moment.

"Hold up! What for," he said, standing up as well.

"Oh it's nothing important," I said, brushing off a piece of lint on my shoulder, "It's just a standard procedure we require all victims of an assault to follow."

"But... I wasn't assaulted," he said, in a wavering voice.

"True, we're aware, but you were placed in a potentially fatal situation and we need to make sure that your mental health hasn't been affected," I said, examining my nails.

If this conversation hadn't taken a turn for the worse, I would've explained the procedure to him in a nice, gentle fashion. But, he shot himself in the foot when he decided to play the role of a cocky, arrogant, boy who, more likely than not, was more insecure than he cared to show.

"You're lying..."he trailed off when he noticed my pointed look.

Sure, I wasn't telling him the whole truth, but that didn't mean he had the right to call me a liar.

"Now, listen closely Ethan. I can either be your friend-trust me, you rather have me as a friend-or your worst nightmare. And because I'm a very patient person," I lied, "I will let you off the hook with a warning this time. Do not, I repeat, DO NOT, ever accuse me of lying, especially, when you've already been caught red-handed in a lie yourself."

"Okay, I'll attend," he muttered, resembling a three year old who has been tricked into eating broccoli.

"Oh Ethan," I laughed, "You thought you had a choice?"

With that being said, I gave him a smile, one that said "You made me mad, so now be prepared to suffer my wrath," and walked out of the restaurant without glancing back at him.

After I had walked down a few streets and I was sure that he wasn't following me-that would've been a mistake on his part-I opened the next folder in my bag.

Next up was Mia Thompson and we just so happened to be meeting up at a dojo. Did I forget to mention that there were going to be kids there? Oh great!

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