Only the Pretty Lies

by Rebekah Crane

It’s much easier to idolize the dead. The living constantly fail us. But in death, we remember a person as near perfect.

My own ideas and thoughts were incoherent most days, so far from brilliant they verged on ridiculous. Embarrassing, really. No, it was much easier to play someone else’s genius. There’s beauty in imitation, and every once in a while, a cover song can even rival the original. That was my life—a cover song. It still is. But I’m OK with that. Better than OK. I prefer it. Aren’t we all cover songs, in a way?

That’s what good friendship is, I suppose—a place to unload the clutter of the mind.

One of the biggest fallacies about life is this: Most people think that by telling the truth, their lives can go back to the way they were. But that’s a lie. What was can never be again. The truth creates a whole new reality. And until someone is ready to confront the truth, it’s better to just keep your mouth shut.

“The only reason moments smell better after they’re gone is because we can’t go back,” Rayne answers. “Even the bad ones tend to smell sweeter than the pain most of the time.”

“Anger is the thief of time.

“You have to wait your turn while the whole alphabet goes before you,” she says. “You’re so used to being last all the time, you think it’s OK for people not to pay attention to you. You let others shine. Wait your turn. Let others take the lead, because you’ve always stood at the back of the line, while Allison Arnold never had to stare at the back of someone’s head or try not to step on someone’s heels. But you’ve been cautious about stepping on people your whole life, simply because teachers like alphabetical order. But alphabetical order is bullshit. And you deserve the front of the line as much as any other student. Am I right?”

It wasn’t until later that I realized Ellis always snuck out of the house, but not back in. She knew Rayne was waiting, and she never avoided her. If she hadn’t wanted to get caught, she wouldn’t have done that. Somehow Rayne knew, and she was there every night, waiting for Ellis. “People want a witness to their pain,” Rayne said. “Not a judge.” That’s what I’ve tried to do for four years—not judge Ellis. Now, from her side of the bed, Ellis whispers, “You know I love you, right? I can’t imagine my life without you. I’d be miserable.” “I know.” “Will you play our song?” she asks. “It helps me sleep.” Our hands are interlaced. I whisper back, “Of course.”

“You need to ask yourself, Amoris—is your comfort really more valuable than my humanity?”

People don’t like deserters. Especially people who benefit from the system, because the more people who refuse to live by the rules, the more the system crumbles. You have to decide how you want to live. Lines are easy to follow. They’re comforting. It’s why most people stay where they are.”

“Is it really that bad?” I ask. “You can’t come out?” “I’d lose everything,” Tucker sighs. “No sports. No friends. I don’t even know what my parents would do. They’d probably move just to get away from the shame, which means I wouldn’t just be ruining my life, but theirs, too. My family’s lived in Eaton Falls for generations. Our land is everything to them. I couldn’t do that. Not now. Not when I’m so exposed. I can wait. College isn’t far off. Next year at this time, my life will be different. I’ll be on my own. My parents can make up some story as to why I never come home. No one in town needs to know, and we’ll all be safe.” “But in that scenario, you’re still losing your home, your family. Doesn’t that make you sad?” “Is it really my home or family if I’m not accepted as I am?” he asks. “Home should be a place where you feel safe. Where you’re accepted just as you are. I’m living in the illusion of home right now, but the truth is, Sam is my home.” Tucker may have just described love perfectly, or at least what I think love is meant to be. “That’s beautiful,” I say.

The conversation with Zach was over a month ago. I promised myself I’d wait for Christmas to break up with him officially. When he’s home. I owe him at least that. Zach didn’t do anything wrong. He didn’t fall for someone else behind my back. Zach factored me into all the changes he has planned. But me—I’ve eliminated him without his knowing.

To make our own selves feel more comfortable, we negate the voices of others we simply don’t want to hear.

“Do you know why I wanted to be a teacher, Amoris?” she asks. “Because none of my teachers looked like me. They were all White. That’s not to say they weren’t kind, or good teachers. Most were. But they had no idea what it felt like to be me. And kids need that. The secret to a good education has nothing to do with reading or multiplication, or facts. A good education is about belonging. It’s about being seen. Learning you’re important to the world. I wanted to make sure that kids like me knew I was seeing them.”

“I know you love him, Amoris,” Kaydene says. “On some cosmic level, I’ve known you two were destined for each other from the beginning, as much as that scared me. And he loves you, too. But love doesn’t exempt you from reality. It only demands that you work harder in the face of it. I hope you’re up for that.”

kids. Hell, I’m a total runner when it comes to relationships. The second a person wants to get serious is the second I want to bolt. But I can tell you what love isn’t, Amoris. Being in love doesn’t mean being ignorant. It doesn’t mean the world gets more beautiful. In fact, I’m pretty sure most people who fall in love are scared. All of a sudden, you care a lot more about what happens. It isn’t just you anymore. You have to deal with someone else’s pain, which, let’s be honest, isn’t easy. But someone else’s pain shouldn’t have to be suitable, or palatable, or convenient, or even make sense, for us to deal with it. Pain is pain. It isn’t up for debate. It just is. Stop thinking this is about you. If this is about you, and proving you’re not a bad person, then you don’t really love him. You’re using him to make you feel better about you. To prove Kaydene is wrong about you. If you continue to look at it like that, you’re right. You are going to hurt him. So I ask you, is this about you or Jamison?” “It’s about the both of us.” “It doesn’t sound that way.” “What?” I ask, frustrated. “Are you mad that Jamison’s mom said she didn’t trust you? Or are you mad that she might be right not to trust you?” I fumble for a response. “I just want her to trust me. I’m a good person.” “Not trusting you is not the same as saying you’re a bad person. This isn’t about you.”

“Books are like hearts,” he says. “They should be shared with the people we trust.”

“I don’t deserve him, Tuck,” I say. “When did love become something a person deserves? Love is a human right, not a reward for good behavior.”

“I was just thinking how much our lives have mirrored each other’s. We had babies on the same day, at the same time no less. We’re both married with two kids each. Both parents work. Middle class. And yet, your daughter was raised knowing she could be whoever she wants to be. And my son was raised knowing he’d have to prove he wasn’t what other people think he is.”