The first thing she ever said to me was a lie. Lying was her oxygen. It’s how she survived every day. It’s how she took breath and ate her food and walked down the street and drove her car. It’s the only thing that made her feel safe. Putting up a wall the rest of the world couldn’t climb. Pretending to be something she wasn’t. Lying. I understood, I guess. But I needed to know who she really was. I needed to get inside that head of hers. I needed to be a part of her life. But she didn’t have people in her life. She had passing faces and passing names that she probably won’t remember in two days time. But I needed to be there. So I came up with a plan. I wanted to know who she really was. I wanted to know what was the real face behind that mask. I wanted to know if she was even wearing a mask. I want to know why she was running and what or whom she was running from.
She told me the truth once. It was the only one time she told me something that wasn’t a lie. Only one time she looked me in the eyes and told me something that was completely and utterly true. She was smiling when she said it. But her eyes were blank. Her eyes were always blank. But the smile was real. The smile as genuine. She looked at me she looks a little chuckle and she said, “I’m scared. I’m always scared. That’s the beauty of life.”
The beauty of life. She had a secret, the key to the door that would unlock the beauty that is life.
I wanted that key I just didn’t know where she hid it.