By Micaela Myers

                    I started out small. It wasn’t Jack who left the toilet paper roll empty Super Bowl Sunday, it was me. I was in a hurry. I could hear the Budweiser commercial was on, and I didn’t want to miss it.

            The barbeque at the beach last Presidents’ Weekend, I didn’t forget the beef patties. I wanted you to try my Super Soy Veggie Patties, to see how good they taste barbequed, with a little A1 sauce.

            The next lie was about the puppy. I couldn’t stand the way she peed everywhere, and you weren’t doing a thing to train her. It was all up to me, and I hadn’t wanted a puppy in the first place, didn’t know a thing about housebreaking one. So I left the gate unlatched when I went to work. It wasn’t the neighbor kids who did it, like I said. I thought she was cute enough and someone would find her and keep her. You hadn’t ordered a tag yet either. I didn’t know she’d get hit by a car. I didn’t know you’d find her down the street, all bloody.

            That was more a mistake in judgment than a lie. The first real lie I told was about the gardener. I told you many lies about the gardener. The gardener is behind all my real lies. It started out innocently. I liked the way Roberta’s lawn and flowers looked. Then, I liked the way the gardener looked. You didn’t understand why I couldn’t garden, which is just like you, you always want me to do all the work. So I told you my back hurt. Then I had to explain why so little yard work was getting done even with all the money we were paying the gardener, so I had to tell you he raised his rates.

            I could tell you more lies. I could tell you it was really your fault, that you didn’t meet my needs, didn’t pay enough attention to me, but really it’s the puppy’s fault. I will tell you the truth now. I had sex with the gardener—in the house at first, just to get him comfortable, but my aim the whole time was the gate. I needed to have sex up against the tall white gate, so I would stop thinking about that puppy every time I saw it. I will tell you the truth. You are a better lover than the gardener. But if it had been us against the gate I would have cried. I would have thought about how sad you were when you found the puppy. Now I can think of the gardener when I see the gate.

Even though you may be angry at me and hate the gardener, we have set everything straight again. I am able to go on living in this house and see the gate without thinking so much of the puppy, of my error in judgment. I instead think of the gardener, which makes me feel guilty. But the truth is this guilt makes me much more considerate. I will never leave the toilet paper off the roll or do anything else to inconvenience you. I will overlook your meat eating, not push my veggie patties with A1 sauce, and I won’t complain about my back. I can be honest with you. Now we can be happy.

—“The Lies I Told You” originally appeared in Issue 16 of Perigee Art, spring 2007