Everybody Lies
Have you ever had a daughter? One old man asks another as they stand on the porch of their apartment building with nothing to do and nowhere to go and nobody to be except for their own little niche they had both carved out. They watched a group of children on the other side of the street who had take a break from the athletic game they were playing to argue with one another.
Never had much of anything, replied the other man in his short and grumpy manner. That was okay; the other old man had listened to people talk for most of his life and found that people were generally more tolerable -- and no less interesting -- when they were silent. He had listened to the young men of his regiment talk dreams and politics and women -- all of which they knew little about. Had listened to a wife talk about children and dreams and economics though she held no job of her own. Had listened to drinking buddies -- by default -- moan about their lot in life. It was nice to have someone now who must listen to him even though the man was at least ten years younger than him and would continue the same daily routine when he was dead and buried.
You must have had something, insisted the older man, waxing philosophical as he sometimes did after his mid-afternoon drink, No one climbs to a place like this. You fall somewhere like this. Everyone here has had something and lost it and is now waiting for the end of their story to get wrapped up.
Some boy puts me up here every month, replied the younger man, Don't remember his name. Says I knew his mother but I don't remember her either. I've never had anything. Some boy gave me this apartment. Nice kid. I don't remember his name. I wish that I could remember his name or the name of his mother. I should say thank you the next time that he comes.
I would say thank you, agreed the older man, who fancied himself as something of a moral center in their friendship, mostly because the younger man was extremely open to influence, I would say thank you if anyone ever gave me anything.
After a moment of silence in respect of the share of information that had just occurred between the two, the older man reminded his friend, I have a daughter and I have to tell you that you're mighty lucky not to have one of your own. Women depend on you for everything. I'll tell you, my wife just needed me to about hold her hand to get her through the day and my daughter was the same way. Always asking me about work as if anything special happened there.
The younger man was silent except for a little grunt of acknowledgment that might have been understanding or appreciation that he had never had to suffer to vanities of women or something else that fit into the background that his friend did not know.
Trusted me, too, added the older man, Trusted every word that I ever said. Once, I forgot to pick her up from school, and I knew her mother would be screaming mad. I told her that I had an emergency at work and that I didn't want her mother to worry. Bless her soul, that child never said a single thing and even brought me a beer that evening and asked if I was all right.
He supposed that a more talkative friend would have asked if he had felt guilty about lying to her and getting rewards from such a sin.
Didn't feel as guilty as you might suspect, though, he answered the unasked question, In fact, lying to that child was exceptionally easy and it seemed to make her as happy as anything. She was like her mother in that she had small things she wanted to hear but she never probed any deeper for the truth. Children can't really understand deception of any subtle type.
He looked along the sidewalk as though he might see her coming home from school awaiting his exciting tale of heroics from the job that he had lost long before he stopped telling her the thrilling tales.
I had to leave eventually, he confessed, because me and her mother didn't get along much. Especially after I lost my job. The way she saw it, she was supposed to get a husband to support her but I wasn't quite able to live up to her standards. Or anyone's, really. Except my baby. I should have just told her that her mother was throwing me out, but I could never make things that simple. It wouldn't ever occur to me until later. So, I told her another tale, about how I was transferring to another plant where it was far too dangerous to take the family. She was thrilled to see the stories come back. I told her that I'd be back in a few weeks. In all honesty, I think that I thought I would.
The younger man finally looked at him though the expression was blank.
I gave her a final piece of advice before I left, he concluded, which was not to trust anybody. Not even me. She didn't understand, though. She wouldn't have until later.
More silence. Another blank stare. The older man, as though in confessional, felt the need to finish the story.
Do you think she still think I'll come back? He asks.
The younger man looked him up and down as though seeing him for the first time and smiled wryly, No. I'm sure that she has her own child to lie to by now.