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I'm a Liar

"What do you think will make you happy?"

I stare at the words on the small screen of my mobile phone. I look thoughtfully up at the ceiling of my room, not that I can see it. Those words have so many responses that I could give. Telling the truth is one of them. I shake my head, no I wouldn't.

"What do you mean?" I type back at him.

A reply: "Years from now you're old and looking back on life, what do you think will make you smile?"

I close my stinging eyes and rub a hand over them. I check the time on the corner of my screen, 12:26 A.M. When did that happen? When did it get so late? I have school tomorrow-- today. I swallow with difficulty and type out, "Idk." 'Liar.' My conscience mutters to me. I know I'm a liar.

His answer comes back, "You must have some idea."

I smile at his insistence. He knows me too well. He doesn't say it, but he knows I think about things like this, "Sort of... Friendship maybe, or love? As sentimental as all that is." I hate sentiment. It clouds judgment and calls itself love and compassion.

"Ah, yes. You have strong feelings about sentiment."

"You would too if you're Dad only stuck around because of it," I stare at what I just wrote. Did I really want to send that? Yes, I did. I wanted to tell him. But no, I wouldn't do that to him. I press the delete button until the message box is blank and start again, "Yeah. People do stupid stuff because of it." I hit send.

His rebuttal popped up on my phone less than a minute later, "I think it's beautiful, in it's own way. Like passion or empathy. I mean people do stupid stuff because of emotions all the time."

"Maybe if they didn't the world would be a better place." I send my answer without thinking. It's a gut reaction. I live by solid cold logic and I refuse to be ruled by this thing called a heart.

"I don't think so. Emotions have their place. After all, people do wonderful things out of love. After all, if your parents didn't love you, do you think that you would turn out the same way?"

I know he means well by it. I know he does. My jaws sets and my lips press into a thin line. My reply is swift and it takes me a few time to write it without grammar errors, "It might have been better that way. After all, I would have been sent to my grandparents sooner." I hit send.

I wait for his response. It doesn't come in under a minute. It comes in three minutes. I briefly wonder, as the message that I got a new message comes up if I should read it. It would be the same thing as the last time when I told someone. My finger taps the 'View Now' button and I see, "I'm sorry. I didn't know." The same damn words. I shouldn't have told him. I shouldn't told him through text of all things.

I try to play it off: "Now you know why I don't have people over."

"Are you alright?"

I stare at the screen in my hands. I blink once, twice, three times. The message hasn't changed. I wonder why he asked me such a seemingly random question. It's not prelavant to the conversation is it? Despite this I say, "Why wouldn't I be?"

The answer, "I want to make sure."

"I'm fine." 'Liar'. My conscience accuses me and I nod in acknowledgement. I am a liar.

"So what does make you happy?" He asks again. I frown at the screen, recognising the question. Why does he want to know so badly?

I type out my firm retort, "Friends." 'LIAR.' My conscience all but shouts at me. There's an one word answer to the question, but I refuse to say it. I refuse to believe it. I won't let it become solid.

"Well I'm always here if you need me!" He says.

I know. I know he is. And that's precisely why I can't tell him the truth. The real reason why I'm happy. The reason why I go to school and put up with classes and people. The reason why I stay up until 1 o'clock in the morning on a school night to talk.

I can't tell him the truth.