What If 1

 I Lied

I lied!

On that day;

on December 8, 1951

in Evanston, Illinois

upon meeting,

upon meeting and instantly falling in love

with the girl on the kitty-corner stool

I lied.

Not immediately

but later.

I lied later.

Upon meeting Susan’s parents

I lied.

Upon discovering that college,

–for the wellbeing of their daughter –

upon discovering that a superior college education

was of the upmost importance

in the minds Susan’s parents…

and in the mind of Susan.

Until this time college not a consideration,

what else could I do?

I lied.

When one is young

when this then seventeen year old boy

met and instantly fell in love

with this then sixteen year old girl

who’s love was somehow,

who’s love was instantly reciprocal

considering this girl,

considering this girl’s reciprocal love

as a gift from God,

praying the past eleven years of laziness

could be overcome,

would,

with the help of God,

be overcome.

When one is young

when one has met the girl

the girl he knows,

the girl the young man simply knew

is the girl that one day

he would marry

and if all that stood in the way

was a college education…

was a superior college education,

then being a young man

then being a very young man

that felt…

that truly believed

if he worked hard enough,

this gift from God,

with the help of God,

those past years would be overcome.

But for then,

upon meeting the girl’s parents

what more could this

– far from studious –

young man do but lie?

What If 2

 The Lie

“Susan tells us,”

her father said,

that you’re a senior.”

“Yes, sir.” I said to Susan’s father.

“Taking any particular classes?”

“How do you mean, Mister Friedman?”

“Well, what are your long-term goals?”

He asked, “What do you plan on majoring in,

in college?”

Uh-Oh!

Three sets of eyes looking at me

I glanced at Susan

who was staring intently.

Uh-oh, indeed!

Realizing this could break ‘it’ with

Susan before ‘it’ got started, 

remembering a suggestion

my father had made some time ago

desperately, “Photography!” I said.

 “Photography?

In college?

What do you mean?”

“My dad owns one of the best

commercial studios in Chicago,

and I’m…” lying through my teeth,

“planning on going to R.I.T.:

the Rochester Institute of Technology,

 uh, for photographic arts…”

“I suppose,” Mister Friedman said dubiously,

“one could make a decent living in photography.”

“Especially of one’s father owns the business.”

Mrs. Friedman added.

Thinking I was ‘out of it’,

at least for the moment…

“Your grade average,”

Mister Friedman asked.

“How’s your grade average?”

Uh-Oh!

“Susan’s dropped from A plus to an A last semester,

but she’s working extra hard to bring it up again.

Aren’t you, dear?”

Looking at her mother,

“Yes, Mom,” Susan said,

now looking expectantly at me.

Thinking, From an A plus to a regular,

old-fashioned A!

Exaggerating slightly,

actually lying through my teeth again

“I carry a B…”

 glancing at Susan,

“plus average, but,”

 I added quickly,

“that’s improving this semester also.”

Seeing a look of disappointment on Susan’s face,

“Switching schools and all, you know,

kind of threw me off.”

This being a somewhat plausible answer,

looking at each other, Mister and Mrs. Friedman

nodded imperceptibly.

“If you kids want to go out for a while,”

Mister Friedman said,

“It’s okay with me.”

Looking at his wife,

“Okay with you, honey?”

To be continued

©January  17, 2012 / Mark M. Lichterman