Short Story - Honesty Is – Aaron Eugene Lee

By: Aaron Eugene Lee

Frosted Flakes, or Wheaties. Cheerios are all gone: only two little o’s remain. The boxes are full of words like “Best” and “Brightest”. “Be all you can be”, that’s our army’s slogan. Tiger Woods ate the Wheaties, I wanna be like him. The tiger says his are “Grrrrrrreat!” I gotta be the best, brightest and fastest. And I wanna have my breakfast with some toast. The toaster is on the other side of the table. A real problem. I groan, and then come to my senses. I grab the small card table and wrench it sideways, knocking some silverware and the salt shaker on the floor. I made a mess, but I get the toaster.

Since my wife can’t help me, I help myself to the bread cooking machine. It takes too long to heat up so I pop it early and just stuff my face with cold rye. It is cold and it is rye. It is also dry. My mouth is full of this dry rye bread – I chew it loudly and my wife just scoffs.

I think she lied to me last night. I think she lied for me last night. Last night in bed I dreamed of rye bread. This morning has fulfilled my wild dreams of the night before. Have you ever woken up from a dream just to have the dream fulfilled?

I had to.

I had to buy my wife’s lie. Eat it up like I was eating the toast. We don’t always talk when we go to bed together. Sometimes we just lay there and dream before we nod off to dream. It seems that we wish for things. Me and my toast. Her and her lie. That’s all it was, a little white lie. What does a white lie mean in the midst of life. Ask me, or ask my wife. My wife will tell you it means a great deal. That Honesty is important. That Honesty is secure, safe, binding, and sure. Honesty is all of these things. Ask me and I will say that a white lie in life is like a piece of cold rye toast and an opened salt shaker on the floor.

I beat my wife to the floor that day. She was going to clean up the spill, but I insisted. I got there before her. She had a rag – but I had my napkin. How unexpected was I that morning? You see, I rarely get a napkin to eat my Wheaties, or my Frosted Flakes. But that morning was different. She was about to clean the mess – but I beat her to it. I got there first. I made the mess, and I would clean the mess. I didn’t really need her there. Not for that. What is a white lie in the midst of life? It is only a small mess that I can clean up myself…that, and a cold piece of toast.

After dropping the salt, I thought it was like losing a part of myself. We are all made of salt. ‘From ashes to ashes and dust to dust’. What about ‘from salt and to salt we shall return’? I thought maybe we were all just a little white lie in the midst of some one else’s life. I have now given up my salt, and lost my dust.

Before I go to work in the morning I have a kind of ritual. I suppose we all do. I do. My wife does, and I do. I remember my parents having their own morning ritual, so I suppose we all do. I step in the shower, and then back out. I forget my toothbrush. I keep my toothbrush in the cabinet – but I brush my teeth in the shower. So I need to remember to take my toothbrush in the shower. Kills two birds with one stone, I say. My wife won’t shower with me because I brush my teeth. I thought she was strange when we married, but the longer you live with someone the more you learn to love them. Her ritual begins with cleaning up after me (except for that one morning) and then avoids me in the bathroom. She won’t even come into the adjacent bedroom if I’m still getting ready. She complains about the steam and my singing. Of course she compliments my singing on occasion. I think it just depends on what song I sing that morning. This talk is tiresome – no one wants to hear about how I brush my teeth after cleaning up after myself.

My morning ritual progresses, as does my wife’s (and everyone else’s I suppose). I head off to work and the rest of the day is rather uneventful. Not to suggest that nothing exciting ever happens, but just to say that I’ve gone on about my day too much already. I want to talk about THAT day. Just THAT day. When I ate Wheaties and Frosted Flakes because the Cheerios were all gone except for two. If you can understand that day then you may believe me when I say I have seen the CHILD of MERCY and MERIT. It was a circumstance that day. Something happened that changed my world. That changed my wife’s world. It was OUR world really, and what changed was between us. We were visited that day, though we never fully introduced ourselves. Our visitor came and left, like visitors tend to do, but ours left us with a gift.

Whoever came and went left us feeling silly. Stars silly. That is, so silly that we felt we were seeing stars. I dropped the salt and lost my dust. She came to help and I helped myself. At first it seemed like an act of rejection, and hers of retaliation. But when all was said and done I looked at her fine curves. How she filled out that dress very nicely. How she moved with grace and her shadow had trouble keeping up appearances with the real deal. My wife. So lovely, even if she did what she did. How could she stand it at all? Why hadn’t she left me yet? Not that we ever fought – not really. Not that there were ever harsh words between us. Or threats, or fists, or fires of passion. I had swallowed my toast, but I wanted a second helping now. Honesty is brutal.

My wife, the queen of bees. She could have had her pick right out of high school, but she held out for me. We didn’t meet until we were both out of college. What does that mean? I mean – I wasn’t likely to meet anyone, and her…she could have had them all. But we met each other and now we were here together. The queen of bees and the jack of trades. But what could I do for her? The answer that came to me was my brain child. An idea so inspired that I think it was also left for me by our visitor. Something just for me. Just for me to give to her. I brushed my teeth before getting in the shower that morning. She knew about it too, because she passed through the bedroom that morning. Maybe that was her gift to me. Another chance. She saw me and I her. We both knew that my morning ritual had been set aside. And after that we made love and I called in sick to work. We wanted to spend all day together, but after our passionate throws we knew it was kind of like the salt and toast. Except maybe it was a little better that morning, after the sex. Though we didn’t spend all day together it felt like we did. She said she had urgent business in the office and couldn’t just call in sick. This was the real world and the real world needed her. I told her I understood – and that morning I think I did.

What did I do all day? It was like lying on a bed of nails. Not necessarily fatal, but if you try and get comfortable it makes things worse. She came home, and we saw each other again. We could still tell. That morning hadn’t been a dream. There was still something between us. Given to us by our visitor. Maybe the world didn’t change because of it – but something did, something just between us. Honesty is indirect. My wife may have lied to me the evening before, and she may do it again. But not every night, and I love her for it.

The only other spectacular thing about that day was my dream. Not the dream I had while I slept, but I’ll tell you I met my wife that night. It was before that, when we laid down together and just breathed beside each other. We dreamed before we fell asleep. I couldn’t tell what she was dreaming, but I’ll tell you mine. I dreamed of the Honesty between us. What did it mean to me? Honesty is a one way ticket to the deepest part of a person’s soul. It is a dark ride, and I have found myself frightened by it. But I ride the train and stare out the black window until the daylight comes back. Dark windows also provide a good reflection, but I did not turn away. I looked into the window anyway, seeing myself in the dark. The shadows beyond took shape and I saw a bird. A Crane. A beautiful bird that swooped down to the ground. It was flying. No, it was falling and it was lying. The bird of lies was headed for the ground and there might not have been enough air to slow it’s descent. I wanted to scream out. To tell it to stop, to break its own fall. But that is not Honesty. So I prayed. Move into the fast lane, Crane. Die quickly, Dye your feathers red. Do not stop, do not hesitate, do not think that you can save yourself but give in. If death awaits you, be Honest.

My dream got me sweating a little bit, and my hand started to shake. My wife grabbed hold of my hand and I was able to stop, and sleep throughout the night.

Story Tags: Aaron Eugene Lee || contest entry || Honesty Is || relationship || short story