The bike was your dad's, a man who lied easily, without even the blush. The one who lied to your mother business trip after trip, denying the significance of late night dinners with young women. You didn't lie as easily. Your pale skin flushed each time, punctuating your blue eyes, dimples, while your blond hair swept over your forehead.
The blush, I thought, was your True Inner Self, that you were really Good, but corrupted by Nurture. I would reveal this True Inner Self. Because I would really understand him. And rescue him. He was truly a kind man. He had a sweet nature. It was unfortunate that he was divorced from a wife. They married too young. They were so different. She had their two children and was with her parents. Bad things happen to good people.
He was sweet. And kind. And patient. And I wasn't going to marry him, after all. It didn't matter that he didn't have the same foundational beliefs about life and death as I did.
So I prayed for him, that he would become a Christian. Doesn't that seem like the right thing for a Christian girl to do? No, you see, I prayed so that my desire would be justified in His sight. Because deep down inside, I knew it was not a good place to be. Should we do something that we know isn't right and then ask for forgiveness? That's manipulative, isn't it? Abusing someone's love? Whether your earthly father or your Heavenly one, should you deliberately get into a bad situation knowing you can get him to fix it? "Look, I want this (him,) and I want you to make it right." God the Vending Machine.
The first time I went to his duplex, which he shared with a roommate, I saw a woman's things about. At my questioning stare, he blushed. Yes, they're her things. Well, we're not divorced yet. Well, we're living apart. Well, I haven't called a lawyer yet. No, we're not technically separated. But she knows, she knows. That blush.
"It is when a person walks at night that they stumble, for they have no light."
In the dark of night, my fingers coiled around the phone, I paused. I asked, "Are you alone??" This time, I could almost hear him blush. I saw more than heard the rustle of sheets.
But I did know. As the dawn approached, exhausted from crying, I stumbled into The Other Woman: me. Me, the unblushing liar. I could see myself standing there, having been a part of all the lies. But most painful of all, the denial of everything I Believed, and lying to myself.