Every Time You Close Your Eyes (Lies, Lies!)

My Mom arrived at 9:40 and by the time we got to the house it was 10:15. We began loading the cube van with my stuff: washer and dryer, mattress and box spring, couch, desk, chair, dresser, barbeque, and skis. Did you notice no "etc"? That's because that was it. I have so little stuff that I really doubt that it was worthwhile to move it at all.

Since the bed and couch were packed we had nowhere to stay, we hit the road for Humboldt at 11:30. You might wonder how it took us 90 minutes to move so little. An obvious question, but one easily answered when considered my mother's age, weight, and the fact that she is two months away from having both knees replaced. I'm surprised that she was able to do it; I could tell that she was in a lot of pain. Naturally, she didn't complain.

I awoke the next morning and loaded a few boxes from my apartment: microwave, vacuum cleaner, table, and a box of cookbooks and junk. I left for work and my Mom went back to bed for a few hours. She made it as far as Portage-La-Prairie, MB that day.

The biggest problem and one that strengthens my believe that my parents are now my children is that my Mom had not told my father about her accident. When she left she told me that I wasn't supposed to tell him, because he would start to worry and she didn't want him to panic. So in order to avoid hard questions, my Mom decided to avoid speaking to my Dad altogether. There was a message on my machine from him asking me if I had heard from her and where she was since he hadn't talked to her in two days. I knew that my father's patented irregular-heartbeat-inducing panic had already taken firm hold.

On Friday night, at 11:30 my time (so 1:30am in Ontario), my sister phoned me. There was no hello, no how are you, just a rapid fire of questions:

"Is Mom there?"

Me: "Uhh. She was but then she left."

"Where did she go?"

Me: "On her way to Winnipeg."

"That's impossible she was at the Manitoba/Sasaktchewan border three hours ago, and it's almost midnight! When did she leave?"

Me: "Uhh. It's been such a crazy...uh...day that I'm not sure what time it was. I don't even know what day it is. That's how crazy it's been. Report cards and the moving, plus all the paperwork, not to mention that whole Stephen Harper thing, too."

You don't know when she left?

Me: "What's with the third degree? Why are you asking all these questions?"

You better speak to Dad.

So my Dad gets on the phone and I cracked like a blue-tongued candy thief.

I was in an awkward position. I had to either lie to my father or betray my mother's trust. It wasn't a fair position to be put in, so I did the best I could. It felt more like a schoolyard love triangle, or covering for someone in the principal's office.

My sister called me yesterday to laugh at me. This time there was a hello and how are you followed by a big laugh and "you are the worst liar in the world, you know."

That's true. I am the worst liar in the world. I have never been able to lie with any success. The only people the lies work on are those people who actually know that I'm lying and either are too kind to call me on it or are setting me up in order to get a good laugh or as some sick integrity test (a la Star Trek's The Next Generation's Starfleet Academy). I wonder if being able to lie is a skill or a flaw.

I'm hoping that my inability to successfully lie continues to provide laughter to my suspecting victims. I figure that when people stop laughing at my expense I need to be worried. As long as people are comfortable ribbing me then I'm okay.