My Beautiful Liar

I don't like telling lies, especially. I don't lie because I want to. Sometimes I start to think, though, that my life is built on one lie in particular, that if the truth were spilled, I wouldn't be able to continue on living. I'm willing to defend that lie with my entire being. Lying about Kyler, that's just stupid. I can't tell anyone the magnitude of how I feel about The Schism because I lied about what he meant to me. I told my mom he and I were just friends. I told her I liked him, but I never told her that we had hung out, and I never dreamt of telling her where he touched me. And with those facts set aside, his and my relationship becomes nothing that I should feel this broken about.

I sometimes hate that I'm a teenager. I feel like there's a stigma that surrounds my age group that adults see before seeing me, and I know there's no way anyone could know how I think, how I put my words, just by first-glances, but it really digs at me when I get in trouble with an adult. I was at the library with Lalo and David on Thursday. The thing is, David acts out sometimes. He likes attention. And so he'll read books in accents and he's HELLA fun to watch, but then he'll do something stupid and his ass is on the line. For instance, on Thursday, David was reading pages and paragraphs from randomly selected fantasy books with dumb titles and cover art. You could tell that the librarian was just waiting on pins for him to break a rule. She was wetting her temple garments with the anticipation of chewing him out. And so, when David slammed down a book onto his backpack, an action that doesn't really hurt the books at all more than reading them would, the librarian MARCHED OVER, hands on hips, temple garments a-blazing, and said:

"YOUNG MAN, THAT IS NOT HOW WE TREAT BOOKS AT THE PUBLIC LIBRARY!"

David apologized and sat down and Lalo and I simply blinked, unable to process what would have made her so very angry. Had this been the sixties, the woman would have slapped David square across the face, and then spit in his eye. She was that mad.

The day only got worse from there, as Lalo and I had been sitting in the typical couple position. My head resting on his shoulder, his head resting on mine, our hands intertwined. We hadn't been at all disruptive. We, in fact, were the most quiet teenagers AT the library that day. It was about time for me to leave and so I turned to give Lalo a hug, still sitting. Supposedly, it looked like I was lashing his neck with my tongue. This was not so. The librarian marched over once again, a different librarian, but another graduate of the Bitch School, and told me that "if I wanted to cuddle," I would have to "go home." I wondered why she hadn't said the same thing when I initially put my head on Lalo's shoulder. Because everyone knows, touching a man is the most immodest thing a young lady could do! I escaped to the bathroom, where I dropped trou' and laughed at the woman as I took a piss in the library toilet. In my mind, I was pissing on her beloved institution.

For the rest of the week, I felt like adults everywhere hated me. They saw me and my young skin, and my patches, advertising non-jazz music that I listen to and -gasp- ENJOY, and they hated me. I felt like I was being denied a chance to prove myself against the judgemental glares of the adult nation. Could I help it that I was born in 1993? No. Could I help it that David likes to yell obscenities at churches and old women? No. Can I help it that my favorite word is cunt?
Probably.