I'd never call myself a frequent liar because that's just plain lies. Instead, I focused on what I called 'random lying' or even 'little lies', just for covering up simple mistakes that I tended to find myself in from time to time. Let's say for example, a friend of mine wishes to bum a cigarette, (I am an avid fan of smoking, so if you reject that facet of my life do so in order to continue reading) I might casually and randomly tell the person a little lie in such a way that I may hold onto my always depleting pack. Sorry, I could add, usually just a shake of the head and an extremely bad reason for my rejection. I had one friend once who hated germs and always expected I'd give her the start of my full and beautiful cigarette, and then end up smoking it so close to the filter it was pointless to touch the death stick after she had her way with it. With the miracles of lying of course, I happen to always make a mess of the filter; licking, spitting, and ultimately just covering it in a bucket full of disgusting germs. Whenever she'd inquire about my habit of doing that and how I need to stop it, I'd just give her an apology, if I thought it fit the sentence, and a simple, "I forgot". I guess that's how I started my life, on little and fucking random deceit.
I was a simple lad growing up in a small suburb town in the York Region. There were farms and space for the eye to behold and wander through and through. I'd grown up in a fairly friendly and calm atmosphere considering the fact that I was a very audacious child, the setting didn't fit the beholder so to speak. I found myself knee-deep in shit I'd disturbed and I was only too happy to accept the blame of it all because it excited me. I loved the chase, but the catch was where everything came together and fell apart all in the same. The more I'd create vivid and fictitious attitudes for people to understand and cope with, the better the catch felt in the end, like an author receiving a reward for something great he'd thrown together; that was me. My parents noticed the problem and never gave in to my satisfaction. Either they truly believed my amazed stories or they ceased to care about me. I'd lose touch with them in any sense at the age of twelve. I later found out my mother had obtained a divorce from my father, unveiling her husbands secret past time, cruising online chat sites and luring young boys into an assortment of appalling sex acts. I'm amazed I grew up as normal as I did, though I have to say he was good father too me and who knows what led him to that lifestyle. My mother never told me.
I was out of the house not the town as I'd subtly pointed out at the age of twelve, never to see my parents again and to live with the most wonderful woman I'd ever felt privileged to be related too. She spoke so elegantly at all times and seemed to never stop smiling, which surprised me at first that I had liked that and how comfortable I felt being in her presence. She was, from what I can remember, a short woman in her late thirties, bags always staining the underneath of her dark and shaded eyes, grey lining the roots of her long and dead auburn hair colour, making her appearance to the world as an elderly woman caught in her last moments of breath. People never mistook my Auntie for that though, as she was a woman of liveliness and charisma that just busted from her lips the second she'd open them, people hanging off her words until, once again, she'd close her bright and ruby lips. I'd always sit there though, waiting for her mouth to start functioning as if she were some sort of robot there to please my craving for intelligent banter. My admiration had never been for anyone else in the seven years I'd spent in that apartment, except for my Auntie.
I remember one extremely hot summer afternoon when I was starting to hit that age where doing illegal things were an up-most importance. I believe I was around four-teen and I was a boisterous teen, finally hitting puberty and testosterone flowing through every part of my developing male body. I was becoming a man and it made me feel good, extremely good to say the least. I found myself, in the heat of the family room sticking to the hot leather couch I'd been sitting on for hours since the morning my Auntie had gone to work, and I think my mind wandered everywhere-imagination taking over my hormones. I'd started to enact the unthinkable right there in the middle of my empty and silent area enclosed just for me, just for that right moment when I'd be able to do this. Sweat beaded around my brow and forehead, which I swiped off with my free hand, but narrowly missing a single drop of sweat that dripped down into the center of my eye, blinding my sight and distracting me, causing me to stop what I was doing, rubbing my eyeball frantically. Let me paint the picture for you most honest reader because as we understand it; I am sitting on a sticky ebony couch, my pants placed around my ankles, and my fingers impatiently darting back and forth over my eye to take the sting away. As all that underwent itself I believe I didn't hear the doorknob twist open. With a greeting of pure embarrassment my Auntie came bursting in just barely realizing what was going on, she avoided her eyesight from me, giving me time to pull back on my pants, which were stuck to my leg due to the build up of sticky sweat. Fuck, I was embarrassed but I was a kid and that's what guys happened to do. Thankfully, Auntie had always understood how life worked and never ridiculed me nor made me feel guilty for touching myself. In fact, she just plain never talked about it and that's why I'd always been grateful to her. Everything I did and anything I was, she just plain never talked about it.
Auntie focused on the better things in life and always told me, "Julius, if you always take life seriously you'll never be happy. There's a time for seriousness, but never forget the times that are or were filled with joy because those are the moments that'll always live on in you." Me of course being the smartass I was would just reply, "Okay Auntie, whatever you say," secretly admiring her quote and never letting the grasp of it go from my filled head. I'd always made room for that wonderful woman, even in her last few years she held onto. Cancer had caught up and made her older beyond her years and the strong woman I'd always woken up to too making pancakes and baking, was fragile and could barely muster the strength to sit at her bedside. She'd never cry though and I wouldn't either, at least not in front of her, though I'm sure she'd heard me through the thin apartment walls. Every night, I'd go into her room and wish her a good night, kiss her on the forehead and think to myself this will be the last time you say I love you, so I should always have meant it. I would go into my room and pray. Praying to whom? I don't really know as I did not believe in god or any religion for that matter. I happened to just pray on my tears, each one saying how scared and distressed I was as they trailed down my frozen cheek into the corner crevice of my lips.
"I'd never call you my nephew because that seems too lowly of a position and you could never be a son because I wasn't there to raise you as a baby and child." I looked down into her withering green eyes and asked, "What is my title to you then Auntie? What do I mean to you?" With that she leaned closer giving me one last pathetic kiss placed on my forehead, mixing with a bit of tears that fell from her eyes. "You are Julius and although people may not understand you now, in time they will see you as I have seen you. A wonderful and loving individual who loses himself from time to time, but eventually finds his way. I never had to care for you because you cared for me." I couldn't stand it anymore and the thought of looking down at the only woman who cared for me dying right in front of my eyes tore my heart straight from my chest. I took her hand in mine and placed it close to my heart and for the first time, I wept right in her view giving up whatever restraint I had on my emotions. "My poor Julius, don't cry." And with that she slowly died, with that smile she adorned everywhere bright and ready for the afterlife. Her grip loosened in my hand but I held on strong, clenching my hand making a fist onto hers. In some ways I'd never let go of Auntie but in the literal sense I had, and it was time to move on now.
I'd graduated high school at an early age considering the advancement courses you could enroll in through Summer school and night classes. Also as I had so few friends, I had plenty of time spent working on assignments and studying until I'd pass out every night. I was a hard worker and I couldn't make time for other people who weren't interested in working, all except for my late Auntie who I'd always enjoyed conversations with. Why bother stand around talking if it wasn't getting you anywhere? Actually to be honest, I'm perfectly lying, a little lie if you care to believe that. I did know this one person, a little girl and when I say little I mean a year younger then me.
This girl was breathtaking in every sense and I wasn't sure if I liked her or worshiped her. I always remember the way she'd give me a look when I said a bad joke or tried to act serious for a couple of seconds. The mere glint of her eye had me fixated from start to finish. Her name was Caroline.