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"Why so dishonest? Think of any lie you once told, and force yourself to stick with the first one that pops in your head. Write a piece about that lie."
--
Autoharps run for roughly 100-400 dollars, as far as I've seen. That instantly meant that my mother wanted one. Not to learn, of course, but to hang on the wall-- and pretend that she knew how to play. She was silly, that way.
We were putting something back on its stand on the wall, probably the guitar I'd received for some holiday, and we overshot-- paying too much attention to the guitar, not enough to the autoharp.
The sound was awful. Strings meet buttons meet hardwood. We were in shock, disgusted-- afraid for our lives.
No way we would live to see another day, when something like this had just happened.
The harp in splinters, laying in a pile of its own buttons and strings.
We didn't leave it, no, of course not. Who would be so irresponsible?
We pushed it back behind the cello, and brought the guitar to my room, stuck it in the closet out of guilt (where it remains to this day).
"Your stupid cat broke my harp." Mom told me, more than a month after the incident.
I only nodded, trying to look unconcerned and uncaring, as usual. It isn't a hard look to pull off for me. I've found that the two expressions that look the most natural on Asian faces are Happy and Whatever. The ladder I do very well, with minimal practice.
"My stupid cat says he's sorry." I assured her, flipping the channel from something stupid to something even more stupid, and maybe slightly educational. "Besides, on a scale of 1 to 10, how much did you care about that thing?"
"Two and a half."
Suddenly, I didn't feel so bad about breaking it.
Years later, and she still doesn't know.
I still don't intend to tell her, though, either, because I dislike owing her money.
 X x __ compos M E N T i S · Thu May 14, 2009 @ 05:04am · 0 Comments |
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