No Bones Please
A story about lying. Honestly.
I'm a liar.
I told my first lie almost a year ago at the ripe old age of 16. Here's how it went down.
My friend Chuck's mom loved to make me chicken soup. She would give some to Chuck to bring over to my house. The problem started because the chicken soup had teeny tiny bones in it. I couldn’t stand the thought of one of those bones sticking in my throat so I would eat the soup very gingerly, my tongue constantly probing for the unwelcome feel of the bones. Eventually I would find a bone and gag.
One day, I decided to tell Chuck's mom about my issue with the soup. When I told her, she got a little defensive and said that she made the soup the way her mother used to make it, using the whole chicken, even the itty bitty parts.
Being the kind person that she is, she said she would strain the broth for me before she added the other ingredients. Even though it made preparing the soup harder for her, I looked forward to eating it because it was so delicious.
She prepared the soup and Chuck brought it over. I tucked into it heartily, savoring the delicious carrots, potatoes, beans, chicken and oh no, tiny bone bits! Mortified, I disposed of the soup and pondered what to do.
The next day she called me. "How did you like the soup?”
I didn't hesitate, the answer was on the tip of my tongue and came out smooth as butter. "It was delicious,“ I lied, "Really yummy."
Truth be told, that was my first real lie. I'm not talking about the kind of lies you say when someone asks you how you're doing. Everybody does that. I'm talking about a lie that changes your situation instantly, a lie that alters your reality with a deliberate untruth.
I couldn't believe how easy it was to lie. What I hadn't expected was the thrill of excitement that electrified me as I did it. It was a little devil that tickled my nerves and whetted my taste for life. I became addicted to that feeling. I lied about my school work. I lied about my interactions with my classmates. I lied about what I ate for lunch. I lied about my newly-acquired smoking habit. I lied to cover up my lies. I lied to lie. You get the picture.
The day I turned 17, I told my parents that I'd be spending the night at Chuck's house, watching movies and playing Farkle. However, what I really did was go to an all-night party with Lora, a girl I had met on my side job. Yes, my side job. We'll get to that in a minute.
Lora and I drank lots of liquor that evening, snorted cocaine and danced naked with twenty other people the whole night long. When I got home at three in the afternoon the next day, my mom asked me how my night with Chuck had been.
"Fine, uneventful," I lied as my head pulsed with pain from the rhythms of last night's music.
“Aren't you supposed to be working at the pizza place tonight?”
"No,” I lied, “They switched my schedule this week. I don't work until Friday.”
That evening I was going to be doing my side job. I felt a wee bit nervous because I was an up-and-coming actor in the adult entertainment industry and this was the first day on the set of a new video production. What I lacked in experience I made up for in enthusiasm.
I left the house at five, taking the keys to the truck my dad had so generously let me use until I could afford my own car. As I started the truck, I mused about all the things I had to be grateful for. Lying was one of them. I pressed the gas pedal down and took off.
When I arrived at the small studio in San Fernando Valley, the makeup artist was already working on the girls. There were two of them this time and they looked very professional as they sat calmly in their matching robes.
The set was awash with activity. The gaffer was busy directing his crew as they set lights and the audio guys were laying a cable from the boom to the sound cart. Another makeup person began prepping me in the corner. After getting some light foundation on my face and a touch-up shave, I was almost ready.
The lights came on, Illuminating the set with crystal intensity. The camera swung into place over the bed as the girls disrobed and got into position. I got a quick fluff and was ready in a jiffy. Youth does have its advantages. As I stepped into the scene, a fretful assistant director swiftly made her way over to me.
She spoke to me directly and rapidly. "The director is concerned that you are not of age. Tell me the truth, are you 18 or over?"
“Yes,” I lied. I felt that familiar thrill come over me.
Man, it never grows old.
The assistant director nodded over to the director. He stood up out of his chair. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. I was ready for some…
“Action!” yelled the director.
This is not autobiographical . . . yet!
I thought the assistant director was going to say that you lied about the size of your…acting ability.