Lying liars gonna lie

“They’re lying to you. You know that, right?”

I took my eyes off of the squirrel digging for acorns in the yard. The winter had been warm so far, and it was humongously fat.

“Who is?”

“Everyone.” Gina’s face was serious as she stared at me as if trying to bore a hole through my skull.

Call me loco, but my cerebrum twitches when someone uses absolute terms. In order for me to be lied to by everyone, I would have to have a conversation with everyone. Maybe I’m too literal. Or… maybe Gina did not understand the value of accuracy in language.

I remained quiet and tried to form a coherent response before speaking. A few qualifying statements seemed in order.

“So…. you’re lying to me.” I kept my facial expression calm and non-accusatory.

Gina chuckled, her face brightening in her usual way. Her jet-black eyebrows arched with significant amusement. With a slight flip and a brush of her fingers, her bangs were swept aside. She was quite beautiful and full of life in that moment.

“Look, Nayo, we all hide from ourselves a bit in order to preserve the solidity of what we perceive to be our foundational elements. Nobody wants to be challenged on their own core beliefs. So, yeah. I get it. It is human nature to hide from some truth because there is a lot of work in digging. You can’t easily validate everything you come across.”

“You think I’m hiding from myself?” My mind was inundated with a swarm of ideas and concepts that I believed in. There were so many covering a large area of emotional, religious, societal, and political life. Was it possible that I was taking things for granted? Sure. But…

“I’ve been told that an open mind is good, but also that I shouldn’t just believe everyone because it means being easily swayed. If I believed everyone, I would just change my mind too often. Some things are easy to believe but are still wrong.”

Gina shook her head and her pony tail shook gently. “It’s not about having an open mind, it’s about questioning. You should accept what you can prove. Yes, many people will lie to you. Some unknowingly. You can’t just believe everything you hear.” She laughed at the idea and grinned at me. “The more common a belief, the more it should be questioned. My dad used to say: ‘If your friends jumped off a cliff, would you do it as well?’ You have to ferret out your own answers, but it is worth considering other points of view before accepting or discarding. At least filter ideas through your own morals and beliefs.”

“Hmm.” I was unconvinced. “Sounds exhausting.”

“Yep. I like to keep things in four categories. That which I do not believe because I have looked at the information with my own eyes. That which I think is false but have not had time to fully test. That which I think is true but have not tested. And lastly, that which I know is true because I have tested it. I don’t have time to check everything, so that’s a small bunch.”

I thought about the lies I was told as a kid. Santa Claus, Elf on the shelf, speeding is wrong, people are naturally good… [Sigh. Good time for a bit of humor?]

“So you’re saying that Santa Claus isn’t real?” I slapped on an exaggerated grin.

Gina guffawed loudly. “I can’t prove he’s not real.”

“What?” That was not the answer I expected.

“Everyone has an agenda! Sometimes it lines up with the truth. Sometimes the truth is the agenda. With Santa Claus, I am not sure what your parents thought, but there are a lot of options. Maybe they just told you because that’s how they were taught. We look on the past with some nostalgia and like to imagine that our children will experience the same. Maybe they wanted to teach you about giving or about receiving unconditional gifts from a third party, like Jesus but in a cuddly, secular form. Maybe they have some other reason.”

“Hmm,” I said again. Something as simple as Santa Claus brought up some deeper questions.

“Why wouldn’t my parents want to say that gifts are from themselves?” I looked back at the yard, and the squirrel was still shuffling around in the leaves.

“I know, right?” Gina waved her hand. “The parents do the work to make the money, they buy the gifts and wrap them. They deserve the credit, but instead, they actually lie to their kids. The retailers have an agenda because it separates the gift from the concept of the parent and the parent’s income. The idea that poor parents can’t afford the same kinds of gifts for their children is distanced when Santa Claus gives the gifts. The kids, unaware of cost, think there is no effect when they want something expensive, and kids that young aren’t taught the concept of frugality. Some parents set aside wise frugality to purchase things they can’t afford ‘because Christmas.'”

“But, it’s an innocent lie. children don’t need to know the details of the parent’s budget.”

Gina shook her head. “‘An innocent lie.’ There is no such thing! Eventually they learn that their parents lied, and it introduces doubt about the people who most love and care for them. It teaches the kids that lying is okay sometime. Small corruptions breed big corruptions.”

“Well, aren’t you just cynical today.”

“I’m cynical every day, but that’s not the point. Putting blind trust in people is short-sighted. It’s flat out dumb if the person or entity is powerful.”

“Why?”

“A single person can only do so much damage with a lie. Powerful entities can lie, buy lies, get their friends to lie for them, and coerce you to accept their lie as truth. Powerful entities can turn a lie into profit or control. Your average one-off person can’t do that because their scope is limited.”

“So, the more powerful someone is, the less I should trust them?”

Gina looked thoughtful. “Yes. That’s actually a good way to sum it up. After all, there are no benevolent leaders. They will all put their own wants ahead of yours, and they’ll tell you that they’re doing it for you all the while.”

“It all really seems like a lot of work.” I shrugged.

“Taking part in your own life is worth it though. Not that I’m saying you don’t. It’s just… people who are apathetic or distracted by things they can’t control end up going through life without questioning. The path of least resistance will allow the liars to shape your world.”

“And then what? I buy kale instead of iceberg lettuce?” I tried imagining the extent of the damage caused by moving to kale. It was so bitter, and no way would the kids eats it. I sighed again.

“No,” said Gina. “Maybe you vote differently, maybe you ignore an issue that pops up at work or school. Maybe you treat a friend differently because they hold an opinion you disagree with.”

My hand raised and fingers brushed through my hair. I turned and then paused and smiled at her. “I won’t treat you differently, Gina.”

“You say that now… and maybe you won’t because you’re enlightened. Others will though. I’ve seen it.”

“Really?” I could not imagine how that would happen.

“Sure. for instance, one acquaintance of mine I knew through a local bowling club stopped talking to me altogether, but only after he publicly bad-mouthed me on social media.”

I shrugged. “Well, what did you do?”

I liked one of the posts from that pizza joint down on 12th street.”

“Oh, come on,” I said, “how is that possible? What did the post say?”

Gina looked at me with a quizzical look. “What does it matter?”

I shrugged again. “Maybe it said they love putting dog turds into the pizza dough?”

Gina laughed loudly. “Okay. Let’s say the pizza joint had posted that, and I liked the post. So what? What does it matter? Their words that may or may not even be true, and more importantly, I might “like” the post for any random reason. This guy who has spoken to me many times, knows my personality, and knows that I’m not a nutter… he ceases to be my friend and talks really negatively about me. He never asked me why I liked it.”

“It’s free speech, right?” I chuckled.

“Don’t actions matter?” Gina looked kind of serious now.

“Uh, well, yes.”

“More than words?”

“Absolutely! but if you’re saying crazy stuff, you have to expect to get some blowback.”

“That’s a cop-out, and you know it.”

I shrugged. “Think so?”

Gina still looked serious. “You assume the person getting the attitude must have said something weird or controversial. What exactly does a “like” on social media even mean? Is it a word?” She shook her head. “In fact, it’s only statement is the context of the original social media post. The post of the pizza place.”

“Aaaaand there we are,” I smiled. “What did their post say? Context matters.”

“You’re right, of course. I don’t even remember what their post said, but it wasn’t controversial. What’s more important is why I “liked” it. Since nobody else could know what’s in my mind, trying to judge me based on it without asking for clarification is like trying to prosecute me for a thought-crime.”

“How so?”

“Okay. Ultimately your projection on me of what you think that I think and then judging me for that projection. That’s a thought-crime. It’s not like I actually thought what you may judge me for. In fact, you, as the judge thought it and then assumed that’s what I meant and then judged me on your thought.” Gina held out her hands. “The thought-crime is being so incredibly whiny and judgmental! You know me, I prefer for people to speak their minds. A lot of the things I “like” are not agreements with the statement. Most are agreements with the concept of supporting the differences among us. If you say something weird, but I agree that you should be able to say it, I might “like” it.”

“I can understand that.”

“I think the bigger issue is this chump who used to be my friend. What kind of self-centered, overly-sensitive, blowhard goes through the “likes” of others and chooses to get offended and blow up relationships? I mean… it’s just asinine. Anyway. to bring it back around to the topic at hand… this ex-friend is lying just like everyone else. Everything is masked in layers of their own agenda and baggage, and there is no honesty about what the real issue is. It’s a constant and unrelenting projection of their bent mind onto the backs of other people.”

“And it pisses you off,” I said.

Gina looked at me and her face switched from serious to the Gina I knew best. “Yes. Nuance is expected, but self-honesty and communication would cut through the mess and make the world a better place.” Gina looked out the window at the squirrel.

“Lying liars gonna lie?” I asked with a grin. “What can we do about it?”

“Live honestly and don’t blindly trust anything. It’s all about what you can control.”

I nodded. “Which means I can’t trust anything you just said.”

Gina looked at me with a faint smile. “No. It means that you may be able to trust, but you will have to run it through some filters and make a choice. Lazy or stupid people don’t use filters. They just trust blindly or go to the other extreme and don’t trust anyone at all. Which one would you rather be?”

“I’m offended.” I said.

“I knew you would be.” Gina smiled at me and gave me a side-hug. “I gotta go take Mom to the bank. Thanks for the chat.”

Escape and Symmetry: A Captive Tale

The skrriiiitch of sharp fingernail echoed on the metal wall behind me. I grimaced and swiped a hand across my crusty, gray overalls before pulling hair down to muffle the penetrating noise. I bent closer to the object in front of me and whispered silently.

“With perfection comes escape.”

Mentally, I traced the thin, curved line until it made a hard left at the dimple. Though I tried to suppress it, a momentary grin broke out on my face. The angle right there was sublime despite the difficulty that the dimple had created. I brushed my hair out of the way with a quick back-hand and picked up the fork. With utmost care, I extended my fingers with the sharp tine downward.

Skrriiiitch!

My hand twitched involuntarily and barely brushed the object with the tine. With a quiet sob, I swiped my hair downward again to muffle the noise. At the swipe, the fork nicked my forehead and a sharp pain bloomed. With hair over my ears, I ignored the pain and bent closer to examine the object.

Above the upper-right side of the curved line, a finger’s-breadth away, the surface was faintly marked. Another sob welled up from my innards and threatened to overcome my senses. I forced it down with great effort.

[is it ruined?]

My eyes frantically scanned the area. The curved line was unbroken. I sighed and licked my finger.

[salty. sour.]

My neck twitched as I gently rubbed the accidental mark with the tip of my wet finger. When I lifted my finger the mark was not gone, but it was dulled, and I sighed again.

Then I saw it. A boundary line jutted outward, away from the curved line and intersected with the dull mark. It was beautiful. My thoughts became captivated by the unexpected symmetry. To clear my vision, my hand swiped hair out of my eyes.

[the pattern shines with an light all its own! why didn’t i see this before? it just needs a…]

I reached out carefully with the fork to trace a ray of the pattern’s internal light. As I adjusted my grip, something sticky locked my finger’s movement, and my fork nudged the object again.

“GuhRAM!” I barked explosively as my head flailed involuntarily downward just once before I regained control of myself. Quickly, I scanned the room behind me to see if anyone had noticed. The dark monitor shifted its lens in my direction and paused. I shrunk down, kept my face toward the object in my hand and acted nonchalant.

[nothing wrong here. where is bad-cop?]

My head swiveled ever-so-slowly in the other direction. At the window I saw the backside of the light monitor’s frail structure and jerked my head away.

Skrriii-iiitch!

[focus]

I shifted the fork to face the object at an easier angle.

[three more lines, maybe 4. it’s time]

I opened my eyes wide to block out the periphery. All it would take is focus. [focus] My hand edged closer, and when the tine touched, it left a thin, crimson mark. I blinked at the unexpected color. The red shone with a deceptive light. It was muddy and beneath it the dimpled surface bled through orangely.

“No!” I said quietly, but still too loud. With my finger I tried to brush the red away, but in its place was a larger and thicker red mark. There was a footstep behind me. Cradling the object carefully in my left palm, I turned my head. The dark monitor was there with that implacable expression of boredom. It nodded over my head, and I turned the other way. The light monitor approached with lazy, swaying hips in its normal manner.

[i’ve done it now. play cool.]

I smiled toothily and then dialed it back a notch when I realized that it was maybe a bit too much.

“Uh, how are you today?” I asked. My left hand slowly circled behind me to keep the object out of its sight. The light monitor’s lens was dull and its voicebox crackled.

“What did you do, Lindy?”

[how did it know my name?]

I stammered, “nothing?”

Skrriii-iiitch!

I looked to my left and hoped Arthur would distract the monitors. He lifted his massive fingernail from the table in front of him and gazed at it intently.

[is he sharpening that for an escape weapon?] The thought ricocheted around my noggin for a moment, and I decided it was utter foolishness.

That was when I felt the object disappear from my hand.

“Nooo! Give it back!” I wailed. There could be no coming back from a loss of the object or from the wailing for that matter. My head swiveled rapidly toward the dark monitor who now held hostage my perfect escape plan.

[how had it become the bad cop?]

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” said the dark monitor. Its lens shifted toward the receptacle in its hand.

“I’m clean enough!” I blurted. “These are not the droids you’re looking for!”

The dark monitor chuckled dryly and nodded at the light monitor. “We need to rotate the movies more often.” It held out the receptacle.

I gritted my teeth and my eyes slid over the beautiful shape of the object in the other hand. I could see the curved line beckoning me. My Shangri-La, even through the red marks.

[no! i am so close!]

I could see that the red mark had shifted and become attached to the dark monitor’s hand. Without thinking, I chuckled, and when I saw the depth of its infection, I laughed even harder. In a moment I was guffawing chaotically with my head thrown back.

[you can’t fight the infection!]

My head flung itself forward as if it had been tapped by a wallaby holding a lucky rabbit’s foot. I wasn’t laughing now. Then I felt the light monitor’s clamper force my head back. With its other clamper, it pried my chattering teeth open and the dark monitor emptied its receptacle into my mouth.

My eyes bulged with disbelief. How did the monitors switch roles so quickly?

Darkness crept in from the edges, and I sighed, then slumped.

[try agam-moro]

It was dark and I felt a gentle swaying. Then it was dark. And silent.