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Inside Out

In the basement of our house
Was a workshop 
Of gray tools 
And the smell of 3-in-1 oil
There under the steady glare
Of florescent lighting
My father
Worked.

Whenever he called me downstairs
It was to talk 
About something important
Or a mistake I made
After every few sentences 
He would adjust his glasses 
And pause
To make sure I understood every word he said
A habit
He had until the day he died. 

Speaking with determination
He told me never to lie 
You may think people don't listen
He said
But inside they do
The mind
Works 
Like a sponge
It remembers everything
Even when we get tired and forget.
So remember
Nobody likes a liar.

I first saw Susan walking
Down the street
Head held high 
Graceful 
I tried catching up with her 
But she was quicker 
Than I was 
We met again when she dropped her keys
Picking them up 
I told her 
She was the most beautiful woman I ever met
A slight exaggeration
An innocent white lie
But a lie nevertheless.

Soon we were together
Clothes on
Clothes off
The new found 
Thrill 
Of intimacy
Was intoxicating.

In small bits
Day by day
Freedom evaporated
And our lives
Became hopelessly twisted 
In an undertow
Of life, money,
Apartment
Problems and future
I wasn't honest with myself 
And deep down inside
I never knew 
What I was hiding
Or how fragile a relationship could be.

One night she asked if I knew 
Anything about roses 
I barely stammered a what?
Roses symbolize love, sympathy and
Elegant beauty
She said
But they're one of the most fragile flowers 
Ever
They can turn brown and die
From a chill in the air.

I fell asleep on the couch that night 
Getting up in the morning 
I saw the made up bed 
And in the kitchen

Nestled between coffee and sugar
Was an envelope
With my name 
Scrawled in clear 
Bold handwriting
My hands shook
As I reached for the envelope
The urge 
To leave it unread
Was strong
Until suddenly, I tore it open
And read it through 
From top to bottom
Over and over again.

Catching my breathe I sat down
Enfolded
In the strange quiet 
Of an empty apartment
Wondering how different things might have been
Had I not told white lies.

lovenightmenightnarrative

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