A Truth Made of Lies

A Truth Made of Lies: Part Eleven

At the beginning of this school year, my driving skills had been inadequate, to say the least. After six months of dating Claudine, I had been able to practice. Now, whether or not my driving ability was quite up to Ferrari level remained to be seen, but sometimes the only way to learn how to swim is to throw yourself into the water. That had always been the Mussini way, although my father had opted to enroll me in swimming lessons rather than toss me into the Rideau Canal.

            Many poor decisions were made on that day. I was quickly combing the grey into my hair whilst driving so that Claudine would recognize me and the police officers might actually believe that I owned the vehicle and wasn’t simply borrowing without asking. This led me to a few close calls, not the least of which placed a long, though only hairbreadth scratch along the exterior. This was not only ignoring the fact that I was completely reversing my story of having a poor practice by driving Claudine to my monstrous home with a Ferrari only in the hopes of impressing her. Also, I didn’t have a cell phone and wasn’t able to receive Kevin’s frantic calls telling me not to go. This all added up to disaster, but as I was driving along, the wind whipping my freshly coloured hair, I couldn’t feel anything but euphoria.

            I told myself this what love felt like. I didn’t know it was just the breeze.

            I drove up to Claudine’s home and found two cars in the driveway. I walked up the steps and found two umbrellas sitting together in a stand by her door. I knocked on the door and felt where two hands had clasped the doorknob. When Oedipus realized that he had killed his father and married his mother, he chose to gorge out his own eyes rather than live with the truth. Perhaps that was what Claudine and I had been doing, blinding ourselves. I couldn’t see who she really was nor could she see me. When he answered my knocking, it was clear that Claudine’s husband did not suffer from her tarnished sight.

            “Hello?” he said in a confused and yet patronizing voice. It became immediately obvious that my hair wasn’t fooling anyone.

            I thought of an excuse quickly, hoping to leave as soon as possible. “Do the Montagues live here?” I asked, sheepishly.

            He shook his head.

            “Oh sorry,” I replied and made my way down the stairs. Before I left, I turned back and saw Claudine come out behind her husband. “You have a good day now,” I said and then left. While walking back I heard him ask her if she knew me. “No,” she answered, “I’ve never seen him in my life.”

          I hit my head on the steering wheel, not because I had been so completely stupid all along to not have added up all the clues, but because the first family name I had thought of was the “Montagues” from Romeo and Juliet. It didn’t get more idiotic than that.

            I thought about that mistake all the way back. I just wasn’t able to process anything else.