i am not certain i have been a liar all my life, but i have been a liar for as long as i can clearly remember.
like
anyone else, i have constructed a narrative explaining myself to
myself. and in this narrative, i became a liar because i knew i did
not deserve the high opinion others had of me. i did not want others
to see the selfish, weak, slothful, even depraved person i inwardly
knew myself to be.
i
probably was a liar before the event i will describe here, but the
event figures large in my personal mythology.
when
i was i guess six years old, first grade in a public elementary
school in 1950s suburbia, some other boy and i were throwing rocks at
the edge of the playground. the game was to throw the rock as nearly
straight up as possible and, i dunno, watch it fall or something. i
don't remember who the other kid was.
one
of my throws went wrong. i knew immediately the rock left my hand it
would fall not where we where playing, by the fence, but somewhere on
the playground among the other kids.
so
i assumed the attitude of someone who had nothing to do with it, put
my hands in my pockets, and began walking away from the fence.
the
rock came down. it struck a teacher in the head, and she fell to the
ground. miss w., second grade. tall, thin, angular, with a mass of
curly dark hair. i had what i guess you would call a crush on her.
i
don't remember what happened next. she was pretty badly injured, i
guess. probably they herded us all inside. probably an ambulance
was called, etc.
what
i do remember is some days later, or maybe it was later that same
day, standing with the other fifteen or so kids in my class, all
lined up in the classroom facing the teacher, mrs. r., who was asking
for a confession. there was a roaring in my ears, and i could see only directly in front of me.
if
she had asked us one by one, i don't think i could have stayed
silent.
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