All My Truths & One Lie

by Fabiola Francisco

  He shrugs. “I don’t know. We don’t understand why people do things. We don’t have to understand why people come into our lives with certain roles. We simply need to understand that they do.”

  “I come from a line of red sinners and conforming preachers. It’s easier to speak of good and evil, judging others, to silence the disgust you’re living. To hide. No one ever knows what really happens behind shut blinds and dark rooms in the middle of the night.”

  “You are not him.”

  “I’m not.” I shake my head with conviction. “But his actions led to a thread of hurt and heartache for a lot of us.” I stare at the fire and suck in its heat. “When others talk about the great man he was, I walk out of the room. I look at the reaction of the few people who know the truth, waiting for one of us to explode.”

  “But it’s not your right.”

  I shake my head. “It’s not. It’s not my truth to unveil, no matter how much it did affect me. I wasn’t a direct victim of his. Over the years, the anger has been bubbling low in the base of my spine. I didn’t even feel it. I didn’t know I had it. One day it snapped free, knocking me down and throwing chaos at me like confetti at a five-year-old’s party. It broke me. The anger.”

  “What caused it?”

  “I don’t know. It just happened. I saw things as more than they were. As the truth. The masks must’ve taunted me, and I tore them off, seeing the distorted faces behind them. The realization that all I lived was a lie hit me until I was on the ground, lifeless. It was all too much at once.” I can’t catch my breath.

  “Maybe you were ready to battle it?” Matthias suggests.

  “Maybe.” I know we heal in phases. It could be that it was time I heal this. It was time I looked at my family roots for what they were. The ultimate test of forgiveness will either end the cycle for good, so I can release from this bullshit, or break me into dust that will never be recovered.

  “Why use the term The Saint in Red?”

  “Because he lived in false holiness, stained by sins.”

  Church on Sundays, prayers before bed, talk about God and attending retreats. He lived the face of religious honor. It’s why I turned away from religious institutions and stayed with my personal beliefs. No manipulations or nasty actions to feel an egotistical power. Demons eventually get exposed in the bright sun of a new day.

  “Sleep, love.” Matthias’s voice soothes me as my eyes close. I cling on tight when he carries me to the room. I stay wrapped in him until the sun rises, and I awaken to the softness of his fingers caressing my skin.

  “Good morning.”

  “Hi.” I clear my throat and look over his shoulder, to the sketch hanging on his wall. “Did you draw that?”

  “Yes.” He doesn’t look, knowing what I’m talking about.

  “It’s beautiful.” The simple pencil lines create beautiful scenery of tall forest trees.

  “Thank you.”

  “How long have you been drawing?” I scoot away enough to look at him.

  “Since I was a boy. It came naturally to me,” he shrugs.

  “Don’t pretend like it’s no big deal. You’re talented.”

  He nods once. “How are you feeling?”

  “Like I was hit by a train. It’s going to be a long day.” Last night was the first time I spoke about my grandfather. Before then, it was all internal. Swallowing more and more, unable to speak about it.

  “Reschedule your appointments.”

  “I have people counting on me,” I respond.

  “You can’t just ignore your own process.” Matthias’s words are demanding.

  “I’m not, but life goes on. I have to work.” I’m firm in my decision.

  “Get dressed then, or you’ll be late.” He sits up and moves to stand, his voice ringing with annoyance. I grab his hand and pull him back, catching him off guard. He falls back onto the bed. I lean up on an elbow and stare at his eyes.

  “Thank you.” I brush my lips with his. “Thank you for letting me speak. Thank you for listening.” His hand finds my hip under my tee shirt and squeezes.

  “You’re welcome.”

  I place my hand on his chest, holding my body up, slightly over his. His heart thumps under my hand, its vibrations moving up my arm and through me, beating a different kind of life into me.

  My eyes remain on his, both unblinking. His other hand brushes the wavy mess from my face. Neither of us needs to speak to know how deeply we feel for each other. This isn’t like past relationships. This one has no rules and all the rules under the universe at the same time. This relationship will break us and rebuild us. I just hope we’re both strong enough to stay when it’s all done.

  I stare at the doodles in my journal. This isn’t exactly what I thought I’d do when I grabbed my journal to write. Instead of words, I drew multiple designs of the next tattoo I want to get done—a crescent moon with sun rays inside. The pen is set between my fingers like a cigarette, what once was a familiar hold for me. I exhale. That was one thing I quit cold turkey after a health scare.

  I lean my head against the glass door that leads to the inside of my apartment. The day is dreary, but I wanted to sit out on the balcony. This kind of weather brings serenity into my life. Even gray brings color into some people’s lives. I’m one of those people. It’s unfortunate some think rainy days are curses from the sky. I long for days like this. It restores my soul.

  After last night’s storytelling and emotional sprints, I needed this.

  I smile as the cold raindrops tickle my feet that are propped on the railing. I stare at the garden below as the flowers and leaves dance with the rain. Finding this place to live in at an affordable price was a stroke of serendipity. When things are meant to work out, they will, no matter how impossible it seems. Making the choice to move here began a snowball effect until the path to arrive was so perfectly aligned, I had questioned its reality.

  It was a brave move, to leave and go somewhere I’d never been. I’d only ever seen pictures online, but my soul was being called. I felt nostalgic for something I never had—a longing for a love that I wasn’t familiar with yet completely consumed in. More than a soulmate.

  I reach for my mug and notice it’s empty. Right now, I’d kill for powers where I can refill my coffee while sitting here on the balcony. Since I’m not a qualified telekinesis pro, I stand and shake the water from my feet.

  I ignore the mess of papers in the living room as I pass on my way to the kitchen and warm up milk. The peace I feel now is the aftereffect of the enraged monster that shattered my rational mind an hour ago. I tore papers I had saved since I was thirteen. All my poems destroyed, shredded with the sharp nails of a lonely wolf who lives for the nights she can howl at the moon. After, I packed up my grief and shipped it away in a carriage, along with the poem I found that caused the spiral.

  When I was fifteen, my Spanish teacher told us about a contest at the county fair. It was open to everyone in the class. Write a poem in Spanish to submit. By the time she finished explaining what we had to do, I had the poem written in my binder.

  It was about the incredible man who was so loved. The man who was perfect. The person who was the example to live by.

  I gag as the microwave beeps.

  I remove the mug, add coffee to the hot milk, and swallow a chug, burning the bile back into the acid of my stomach.

  That copy of the poem no longer exists. Its words will never mock me again. Not after today.

  Years later, I made a scrapbook page with his picture and the poem. That one survived tonight’s storm. I have no idea where I packed it, but it’s only a matter of time before every false memory I have of my grandfather is destroyed. Only truths from now on.

  I make my way back to the balcony and regain the same position, feet propped, body relaxed. Not a care in the world but the strength of this coffee.

  Destruction can be a therapeutic technique.

  I grab the journal again and begin writing.


  For so long I've lived in fear. An emotion engraved in me, along with lacking. Fear of failure. Fear of having everything I've desired. Fear of never having enough. Fear of losing love. Fear of being too loved, that it would suffocate me. Every fear I had pushed away every desire I wanted. Now I get it. When your backbone is weak, when you lose that support, you lose it all.

  Losing my paternal grandfather at a young age left me vulnerable. Later in life, learning my maternal grandfather was a sick fuck left me broken. Both male pillars abandoned me in some way.

  Without those pillars, it’s difficult to live abundantly. It’s difficult to be open to a man, trusting he wouldn’t leave me as well. That I wouldn't end up with the same monster others had. The girl inside of me has been sad for so long.

  I never grieved my paternal grandfather’s death. I never faced it. It was easier to put on a mask and play dress-up. Except, this was real life, not a play. There are no dress rehearsals this time. Not unless I want to continue in the same cycle until the day my ashes are spread across the river in my father’s village.

  Our roots, our ancestors, are our foundation for strength, yet we come into this life to heal the lineage. I remember my abuse so I can heal it, yet I’ve hidden it, covered it, too afraid of what it would do.

  But was it abuse? For so long I thought so until I learned the reason why. We all came with this stamp on our body, victim or perpetrator. Some were both. We continued to fall into it. No one was taking the step to say, enough. Now we’re saying it. Those of us who remember. We can break the chains, but it starts with us.

  How many generations does it take to end the pain?

  I smile, placing the pen in the center of the journal. I know what I need to write.

  The messy cursive scribbled on the pale blue pages hold the answer I’ve been seeking when it comes to this book. All I had to do was let go and write as Matthias said.

  Through all of this, I know I need to forgive. Maybe I need to forgive myself for choosing this life because my human mind doesn’t understand my soul’s contract.

  Ho’oponopono.

  I write a lot of bullshit. A hypocrite. I make my characters heal what I don’t bother looking into. It’s not enough to make the fictional people do the healing for me. They’re only a part of me. As much as I think writing those characters helps dissolve my pain, it’s only a fraction of what I need to do. I can’t hide behind words like I’ve been doing for almost twenty years.

  I need to own it.

  My chest expands with air and my lungs fill before slowly deflating like a week-old balloon. I inhale again and blow the breath through my mouth.

  Eyes shut and black takes over, soft shots of light dancing behind my lids. One more breath, a meaningful one this time, takes over.

  In my head, I say: I’m sorry. Please forgive me. I love you. Thank you.

  I repeat the phrases that vibrate with ho’oponopono’s depth. This is for me. Not for the monster, who I’ve grown to hate. Not for my grandmother, who stood silent. Not for my mother, or my father, or my aunts, or my cousins, or my brother. This is for me.

  I visualize the little girl I was, repeating the mantras until I’m crying against my hands, wanting to scream but staying mute. That’s how I felt as a child. Raging inside, but quiet on the outside. Taught that the image we give off must be perfect, so those wanting to scrutinize us don’t see our flaws.

  In Spanish, we call that el qué dirán. Everything is for appearance’s sake. Fix yourself before others judge you. Before others see the cracks. Perfect your makeup and hair. Always put together, clothes ironed, shoes clean—wiping away the stains we stepped in on the way out. Because what was inside, was far from what was shown on the outside.

  I open my eyes. So much for working on forgiveness. I sigh. It won’t happen in five minutes. It won’t happen in five days. It will happen one day when I allow myself to forgive. Sometimes it’s easier to hold on to the pain.

  Whatever caused this fountain to burst made sure it all came out at once. I was doing so well. I laugh at my thought. We’re constantly learning in this life. I wasn’t done because I merely had some months of intense peace and happiness. That was the calm before the storm. Right now, I’m in the eye of the hurricane, and soon those walls surrounding the eye will knock on my soul.

  Checking the time on my phone, I decide to go to bed. Sleep will help calm my mind. Rest will help me center. I leave the scraps of paper on the living room floor. I’ll throw them away tomorrow when I’m not pretending I don’t care. When I’m not pretending at all. Today, I needed to allow myself a moment of falsehood so I can gather myself.

  Okay, pretending isn’t the best word. I numbed and I silenced myself so I could find a few minutes of peace. When I did, I wrote, and there I discovered what I need to share.

  I inhale the musty vapor that fills the air as I walk around town. I’ve been wandering since I left work an hour ago, thinking about what I told the last client I had, who is working on forgiving her first husband. The universe likes to throw us situations that mirror our own. I may not have a first husband to forgive, but I do have a lot of unsettled ghosts to make peace with. I have an entire generation to bow to, thank, forgive, and release.

  Makenna noticed something in me, but she remained quiet. I’m glad. I wouldn’t have had the energy to discuss anything with her right now. I need to be with myself at the moment, reflect and work through this. One thing I’m certain of is that I’m done gripping onto the pain. I want to feel so I can release. I want to move forward from this lighter.

  I’m supposed to meet Matthias and a few of his friends tonight. I almost canceled because it’s easier, and besides, I love running. There’s comfort when it’s just Matthias and me, but when we bring in the outside world, I question how we will be as individuals and as one. But alas, I can’t be a hermit. That’s not why I moved. I’ve been a hermit for far too long, and now it’s time I live.

  I smile at a few faces as I pass them on the street, following the same circular path I’ve been on since I left work. When my phone alerts me of a new message from Matthias asking if I’m nearby, I take a few calming breaths and make my way to the pub.

  I see Matthias as soon as I crack the door open. His presence will always be the first I sense in any room. It’s a draw. It’s a tie between us. His eyes find mine immediately and his full lips curve up at the ends. He doesn’t wait for me to reach him. He comes my way and meets me in the middle.

  “Are you okay?” His intuition reads me. I nod. “Come on.” He holds my hand and walks me to the table where his friends are. He introduces me to all of them. There’s a Nick and a James. An Emily and a Tom and an Anne. I’ll keep them straight in my mind after I interact with them a bit. Right now, I forgot which name belongs to which face.

  I’m asked questions about the States, my choice to move here when I had sunny skies and clear beaches within reach. I listen to them talk and tease each other, getting swept away in their accent and not understanding half of the slang they use. But I laugh at their camaraderie. It’s clear they’ve known each other for a long time, since kids. They have a strong bond.

  Matthias keeps his hand on my leg, holding me intimately as his hand wraps around my thigh and squeezes the inside of my knee randomly throughout the night. When he catches me staring at his drink, he leans in and asks if I want one. While I contemplate saying yes, I shake my head. I feel better when I’m sober.

  His smile is light, and I shiver when his lips graze my cheek.

  Emily sighs and smiles. “You two are just lovely together.” She clasps her hands and rests her chin on them. “Aren’t they, Anne?”

  I try to hide my blush, but the heat increases before I can control it.

  “You’re embarrassing her,” James says.

  Oh God. My smile is tight to keep my emotions in check.

  “Bugger off,” she tells James. “All I’m saying is that I’m so happy Matthias met you,” Emily looks at me. “He was
driving us mad with all the talk about never meeting someone.” Her smile is mischievous.

  “I was not,” Matthias defends.

  “You were a total wanker, mate,” Nick adds to Emily’s teasing.

  I laugh at them, catching Matthias’s smile.

  After we eat and talk, we all go our separate way. Fingers tangled, Matthias leads me to his car. Once outside my building, he looks at me and says, “Can I stay?”

  “Of course.”

  I laugh when he grabs a bag from the back seat. He simply shrugs. “I packed it just in case.”

  “Let’s go,” I shake my head, but my smile is etched on my face.

  As soon as we enter, I’m reminded of the shreds of paper I didn’t have time to clean this morning. I squeeze my eyes shut and turn to face him, my nose scrunched.

  “What happened?”

  I suck my lips into my mouth and bite down. “Don’t worry about the living room when you see it,” I warn.

  Matthias’s eyebrows shoot up, and he moves around me and goes into the living room. His hands are in his pocket as he assesses the mess. I remain still by the doorframe that leads to the living room, waiting for his reaction. When he turns around, sad eyes find mine. He tilts his head and nods, silently communicating.

  “Let’s go to bed.” He doesn’t say anything about the disaster. He doesn’t ask questions. He doesn’t judge. He simply grabs his bag from the floor at the entrance and walks into my bedroom, already changing by the time I catch up.

  I’m silent as I change, mirroring his confidence in hopes it will seep into me. Inside, I’m trembling with self-judgment.

  Once Matthias is ready, he walks up to me, places his hands on my hips, and leans down to kiss me.

  “Thank you for coming tonight. I know my friends made fun of me, but they weren’t wrong. For a long time, I was searching for you. Not someone like you, but you. I knew the more I searched, the less I’d find you. I had to let go of my need to seek someone and enjoy life. As soon as I did, you were here, in front of me. I know you’re dealing with things, but it’s so we can become free of those emotional scars and live our life together.”