Lies We Tell Each Other
Tommy was always taught lying is a sin, but he was also taught to lie to those you love most. Not out of malice, but precisely because you love them.
Tommy sat at a red light in his ancient Ford Tempo and stared out the cracked windshield at Bevo Mill. This odd building, a remnant from St. Louis’s German heritage, was a full replica of a Bavarian windmill, towering above the urban landscape. All good south city children know the story – August Busch built this reminder of the Fatherland as a midway rest stop between his now world-famous brewery and his home outside the city.
Tommy’s grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and friends all lived in south city, from birth to death. Really, everyone Tommy knew lived in south city, and no one ever moved away. His grandpa was a stern humorless man, perpetually dressed in beige work pants and a clean white t-shirt, who barely spoke and never smiled. Tommy lived in fear of him because of his serious face and never questioned anything the old man said. When Tommy was little, his grandpa would point to Bevo Mill and say, “You see that? I put a nickel in it every day just to keep it turning.” Tommy swallowed it, completely in awe that his grandpa was such an important man.
He hadn’t thought about that story in a long while. Now, at seventeen, driving his own car and smoking a cigarette from the pack he hid under the seat so his mom wouldn’t find it, he looked at the towering mill and thought, “That damn liar.” His grandpa never drove, and he lived at least three miles from Bevo Mill. He never saw his grandpa take the bus to drop the nickel in the slot. And he was elderly, in his early eighties at his death, and Tommy doubted he could have walked that distance every day. Also, why would the richest man in St. Louis build a windmill that ran on nickels from random citizens? And why was his grandpa, of all the men in south city, given this important task?
Tommy smiled, embarrassed it took him seventeen years to realize the joke, and then thought about other family lies. Santa brought presents on Christmas morning, but the packages were always in mom’s handwriting. And on Christmas Eve, he would be forced to endure the longest Mass of the year before going to his grandparents’ home for dinner with his cousins. He would rush through dinner and fidget in his seat until the adults would order the children upstairs. And then Santa would come! He came twice for Tommy each year! But the Christmas Eve gifts were always from his aunts and uncles and grandparents, even though, somehow, they were also from Santa? That never made sense.
There were less fun lies also. Tommy’s father was stern, but with an explosive side. When Tommy was seven, his parents had a screaming fight, and his mom went to his grandparents for a break. His dad said, “Your mom left. She’s probably never coming back.” Tommy cried and cried. Even when his mom came home two hours later, Tommy could never shake the fear that he and his siblings might someday be left with his dad. What if mom died?
Colleen, his younger sister, began acting out. She decided she was afraid of school and never would go back. Dad left for work before the sun rose, so mom, and occasionally his aunts, would be forced to drag a kicking and screaming Colleen to school, only to have the principal tell them he wouldn’t let her stay because she was disrupting the others. At a Catholic school, everyone knows your family’s business. So when Colleen was placed in the first of several mental hospitals, mom told him, “Don’t tell anyone our business! If they ask, Colleen went to live with her aunt in Kansas.” The same story was repeated when his older brother Michael “went to live with an aunt.”
A car horn snapped Tommy out of his reverie. He cruised through the intersection towards his mom’s house. After dad died, mom lived in relative peace in their same little bungalow with Tommy and his youngest sister, Annie. Colleen was in another hospital, and, well, then there’s the issue of Michael. Today it was Tommy’s turn to lie.
He had always been told he was the favorite child. Wedged between Michael, who provoked a beating every chance he had, and Colleen, who demanded constant attention, Tommy hid his demons, got decent grades, and therefore was both cherished and ignored by his parents. Even when they thought something was off, like when he came home drunk (he was just sick), or they found empty bottles under his bed (he was hiding them for a friend), they chose to believe him. They needed to believe him.
Michael, though, spent the last year in the county jail awaiting trial on charges he molested his girlfriend’s daughter. Michael hadn’t been around mom much in the last few years anyway and even skipped dad’s funeral. When Michael was arrested, he called Tommy. “What the hell can I do?” Tommy said into the phone. “I don’t know,” Michael said, “can you bring money?” “I don’t have anything,” Tommy said. Michael told Tommy not to tell anyone, especially mom, and to come visit when he could and then hung up. Tommy resented him for hanging this burden on him.
Tommy had lied to mom already – Michael was busy at work, he had a new girlfriend, he was out of town, and so on. But an hour ago, Tommy watched as his big brother was sentenced to five years in the state penitentiary. Tommy and Annie ditched school to sneak into the courtroom for the verdict and sentence, and without discussing a plan, they both knew Tommy, the favorite, would have to handle mom.
Tommy steadied himself as he turned onto their street. He fought back the anger and heartache that his best friend and protector, Michael, had done something like this. Every beating Michael took was one that Tommy didn’t. If Tommy broke a plate or spilled milk all over the newspaper, Michael would wait until dad got home, take the blame, and silently take whatever the old man could dish out. Michael fucked up enough on his own without needing to take Tommy’s lumps. Tommy always felt in his debt, like he owed Michael, and someday he’d repay him. But not from something like this.
He parked, looked at himself in the rearview, practiced a casual smile, and rehearsed his story – Michael got a great new job in Ohio and had to leave immediately. He would call and write when he could, but he would finally make real money and get his life on track. This was simple, believable, and coming from Tommy, he knew mom wouldn’t question it.