Want to hear me speak this to you instead?

Speaking of lying about things, (as I was in this post about Kitchen Ballet) I used to lie a lot more. The first lie I remember telling was when me and my mom lived in a small apartment at the University of Waterloo. We always called them the “Married Students Apartments” because I guess that was their school-sanctionned title, even though none of the kids I knew there had parents who were married, and the rest of the student population (I found out later) called those tall, yellow buildings the Roach Motel. Anyway- that’s the setting for Risa’s first lie: small apt, funiture made of moving crates, two small budgies, single mom.

I lied and said I hadn’t eaten any Vicks throat losenges when, I fact, at that exact moment I had pretty much all of them in my mouth at once. I can’t remember for sure, but I’m pretty certain my mum figured it out.

Even later, after I dropped ballet, I found there were other scenes where lying about practicing might be advantageous. Band, for instance. I missed the day at school where everyone tried out different instruments, so when I got back my choices were clarinet or flute- neither of which were anywhere near as appealing as trumpet or drums or trombone or even the ginormous tuba my little friend Merissa got to play. So I picked flute (my mom had played flute when she was young. If you can’t get drums or electric guitar, you should at least see if you can make your mom happy.) And then I lied about practicing it. In really unnecessarily elaborate ways. Like I’d come in to school a little early and go over to the music room where hoards of diligent girls were returning their instruments after a long night of scales and merrily merrilys and I’d sort of mime putting a flute back and then stamp my “Practicing!” card flamboyantly maybe two or three times and be on my way.

In class, when all those stamped days should really have been paying off, the prim and bouncy music teacher would rap her stick and motion for us all to begin to play and I’d blow away for a second and then miraculously be overcome by - the bane of any wind instrument musician’s existence - the (whoa) head rush. And would promtply flop over, stick my head between my knees and stay there for much of the rest of the class listening to Veronica Jacinto trying desperately not to laugh.

Veronica Jacinto played the flute next to me. She played beautifully and I am, to this day, plagued by guilt at the thought that I may have been the bump in the road that veered her away from a fulfilling and sexy life as a professional flute player. Not just because I could make her laugh, but because when the time came for our big end of year concert, our teacher, mistaking Veronica’s haunting, accurate melodies for my own improvisational finger play, gave me first flute seat. With the audience on one side and Vicky J. on the other I mimed something close to what Vicky did, and managed for once not to plague her with the giggles, and got through the most bizarre performance of my life in somewhat of a daze. And when I got off stage my mum gave me a great big hug and said “I had no idea you were doing a solo!”

Strange days.
Ok, kids don’t lie, and stay in school.