Lessons in Lying

note: this is for an Art Prompt Writing Contest Word count including title: 987

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The first time I flew on an airplane, I threw up. We were jammed like the proverbial sardines inside a Tupolev something or other–a slick white machine that looked more sailboat than plane–my father holding the crinkly brown bag in front of me, his face awash in embarrassment.

The time after that, he leaned over me and pulled up the plastic cover, exposing a small round window. We were just high enough above clouds then, my first look from this close up. These clouds looked unimaginably soft, the way cotton candy would look if there were a lot more of it than any stick could hold. I remember distinctly the intense desire I had to touch them, to run my fingers softly over their backs, as if they were alive, and a strange conviction that if I fell in that moment, I would simply bounce lightly a few times and then sink into their softness.

I felt Ems tense her small body next to me. I took her hand in mine, not wanting to rush her yet, wanting for her to feel brave as we lay there, staring up at the sky that was getting darker and darker by the second. I could feel the air change, turning staticky with ozone. I rubbed soft circles on Ems’ hand with my thumb and suddenly, she let go of my hand and turned to face me. Her eyes, wide with wonder just a moment ago, looked at me with sadness, something a kid that small shouldn’t have in them yet. I swallowed, the terror of the questions in my child’s eyes searing my guts.

I kept my eyes on her sweet face and nodded, a tiny nod. At all of six and a half, she could read me better than most adults I knew, and I wished in that moment I could hide myself better, wished I could lie to her better, so it didn’t hurt so much.

“Do you think she is safe, daddy?” Her voice, usually ringing loudly, as if filled with copper, was small, uncertain.

“I do, Ems. I do.” I flipped on my back, keeping my eyes on the darkening sky, the space with the light in it getting smaller and smaller, as if the clouds were squeezing it shut on purpose. The temperature dropped some and I felt myself shiver. I reached into our picnic basket and pulled out an old wool blanket for Ems and handed it to her without a glance. This one still smelled like Mandy, the last of her things I couldn’t bear part with.

_{Photo Credit @torico}

“Tell me about those butterflies she liked so much, she let them kill all her tomato plants.” I felt a small wave of shame wash over me and pushed it down. Mandy was ruthless with bugs on her plants. She’d pluck the caterpillars off of leaves and squish them with her bare hands, dark ooze staining her delicate fingers, and then she’d drown them in an old plastic pitcher. Ems used to count the caterpillars on the leaves, her voice giddy as she’d add a dozen or so to the overly large number crayoned on the wall in her bedroom every week. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that Mandy was simply too weak to kill them by then. I still didn’t.

“The first time your mom saw one, she squealed. It was this high-pitched, girly squeal, the kind that usually meant there was a giant wolf spider climbing up her leg, only this squeal definitely came from outside. I ran to her, of course. She was crouched by one of the tomato plants, staring at something on it so intensely, she didn’t even look up at me.” I rolled over, put my arm around Ems and tucked her into my chest. I could smell the faint whiff of Mandy’s perfume from the thinning wool of the blanket. Ems nuzzled into me, cat-like, her cherry-pop reddened lips curving into a contented smile.

“So this thing she was staring at, the thing that made her scream like that was a caterpillar. It was bright green, much greener than the leaf it was on, and it had these dark lines across its back. And it was extraordinarily fat–“

“Fatter than Aunt Gemma?”
I chuckled, then sighed. “Yes, kiddo. Much, much fatter.”

“I don’t believe you, daddy,” Ems said in a suddenly sleepy voice. “Momma wouldn’t scream at a caterpillar. She was too brave for that.”

I felt the heat gathering behind my eyes, the stinging in the bridge of my nose. I shifted Ems' head off my chest and slowly sat up, looking up at the tiniest spot of light the clouds hadn’t closed over yet.

“We need to get home, Ems. The lightning's almost here.” I felt her stir and then the tugging of her hand on my sleeve.
“I want to wait to know she’s safe, daddy. I’m not scared, I promise I’m not. See?” Ems stood up, her head tilted back, arms flung out as if she were about to dance. “I think this is how she can see me…. When everything is dark and there isn’t anything else for her to look at. She sees me then, so she knows I’m okay.”

I lay back down, defeated by the golden haired angel with a dimpled smile. And I wished the clouds she liked to stay out for were the ones I wanted to bounce off of when I was her age, not these. Or the ones we used to spot unicorns and elephants and teddy bears in on our long ago picnics….

But that was before all the tomato plants died. Before Mandy’s skin turned paper-thin and so fragile looking, I was terrified to touch her. Before I had to learn to lie to Ems about caterpillars. And bravery. And death.