Over the Wall: A Collection of Short Stories (NaNoWriMo 2014)

Day 26: The Truth

Note: I wrote the last five hundred/six hundred words or so while sitting on the floor of a dark hotel bathroom. I am visiting some relatives for Thanksgiving and my parents, brother, and I are all sharing a room so I was banished to the bathroom so they could sleep. This chapter is dedicated to DaAwesomeMee since she apparently had this same thing happen to her lol. How I suffer for my art, if this could even be considered art.

If you lie about something enough, you start to think it’s the truth.

Like when you tell stories from when you were little or even just when you were younger. You’ll slightly edit a story but then you’ll tell the edited version so many times you and no one else can remember the real story. You might not be able to remember exactly what happened and maybe have an inkling that that wasn’t exactly what happened but it doesn’t really matter.

For example, when I was in the seventh grade I almost hit my friend, who was an eighth grader, his name was Ryan, in the head with a volleyball. Almost hit him. I do not recall actually ever hitting him. But that’s the story I told. I’ve told that story so many times I am doubting whether or not that’s what happened.

It doesn’t matter what exactly happened since Ryan also “remembers” me hitting him in the head so there’s no reason to argue about it. It’s a story about the seventh grade for god’s sake.

Another example is my memory of having a CAT scan. I don’t remember why I was getting one but I remember going into that tube thing and someone crying, maybe me, I feel like I was very little, and then that’s it. My mother tells me I never had a CAT scan but there the memory is. That’s the kind of thing I’m talking about.

You’re probably wondering, why am I telling you all this? What does it matter what stories I’ve changed in my mind over the years? They’re stories about volleyballs and CAT scans (more importantly, CAT scans where nothing was found), why must you care?

Because today my friend was reminded of a story he had changed over the years that has now come back and bit him in the butt. You see, Ryan, the kid who I almost hit in the head with a volleyball then spent years saying that I actually hit him, just found out he had a kid.

He changed the story of his break up to save face and as time went on he forgot what actually happened and then when the mother of his child, children actually, came back into town he suddenly remembered. It was almost a funny moment, actually. He fell to his knees and made some groaning noise. If only it was under different circumstances.

The mother of his children, she had twins, was his ex-girlfriend, Lola, who I had always liked. They had broken up six years ago not knowing she was pregnant.

Ryan and Lola broke up because he wanted to get married and have kids, how ironic that is now, and she wanted to continue furthering her career. Ryan is not an old-fashioned man, he wanted her to further her career, but he felt like if they didn’t get married they never would and he wanted kids but didn’t want to explain to his family why they wouldn’t just get married, which is extra ironic now. His family is very old-fashioned.

Not long before they broke up Lola was throwing up a lot and showing other symptoms of pregnancy but they both brushed it off. When Ryan saw her when they broke up and not long after he brushed off the signs that she may have been pregnant.

To save his pride he said that she looked like shit and sad without him to save his pride. He did not mention his suspicions because he thought there was no way it was possible and he repeated this story so many times he forgot about why he thought she looked tired and fat in the first place. Until today.

A few days ago, four days ago, Lola called Ryan and said she was coming to Chicago to see her mother, who had moved to the city to be near Lola’s aunt. She asked him if they could meet, to catch up for old times’ sake. He said of course.