Liar, Liar

photo by catdancing

When I was 9, I almost won the greatest prize my town ever created.

The day was muggy and hot, the kind that makes your thighs stick to a chair. My parents and I got to the fair early, so by the time the contest started, my hair clung to my face with sweat and the tops of my shoulders were pink.

It started with a cold cherry-blackberry pie that I dug into when Mrs. Martin—the school music teacher with stringy chocolate hair and manly ankles—clanked the bell and yelled, “Go!”

I remember the first sour bite. The soft sweet crust. After that it was a blur. By the fifth pie, the gold-colored plastic trophy was mine. I could see it there—sitting on the picnic table across from where the old men gathered with cans of cheap beer—and knew it was mine. I’d put it on my bureau where I could see it from my bed, I though. Scratch that. I’d put it in the closet. That way my little sister wouldn’t steal it or break it or color it in with Sharpies. Yes, the closet.

And then Mark Lewis ruined it all.

The fat boy from math class grabbed the last pie and swallowed it down in seven bites. All of the pie. My pie. Then—Ding! Mark Lewis finished the last pie. He turned to me with a wide grin full of cherry-stained teeth. Bits of pie crust hung on his eyebrows. He had won.

That’s the day I learned the meaning of the word loser. And retaliation.

I scuffed my feet on the way to the car. I hung my head low as I put my bare thighs on the car’s burning leather seats. And I didn’t say a word the whole drive home. I wasn’t sad or mad or annoyed. No, I was planning my revenge. Six days later, after the bits of cherry unstuck themselves from between Mark’s stubby teeth, I brought a pie into school—to math class. Before his pudgy fingers took hold of the crust, I launched it at his face. Whipped cream covered everything but two eye holes and a spot for his mouth, which he used to wail and wail until the teacher stopped laughing and started wiping the cream away.

Victory was mine.

photo by chrisyjewell

OK, so that was a total lie. I was just in the mood, especially because there was a lot of lying going around the blogosphere lately. In fact, Nicole passed along the Bold Face Liar award to me, so I’m dedicating this entire post to nonsense. Here are seven more things about me. One is a truth … but which?

1. Kelly Clarkson is my second cousin on my dad’s side—though we’re not really related anymore thanks to my uncle’s divorce.
2. When I was younger I knocked a tooth out playing soccer indoors, so now I wear a fake.
3. My favorite book in high school was Walden.
4. The second time I went sky diving I was strapped to the back of a Hungarian who was afraid of flying.
5. The Man and I met in an elevator.
6. My mother grew up in Germany, but only one of her sisters still lives there.
7. The house I grew up in was haunted by a ghost we used to call Larry.

Make your guess in the comments.