Missing My Liar

by Tania Hershman


Am I missing my liar? she says. What was the last lie? she says. Oh yes, she says, I remember. That was the car, she says. A bad lie, she says, outbreathing. Broken bones and healed bones and eyes stitched shut. Am I missing my liar? Am I? Is no-one safe? And she gets in her new car and leaves.

The next week, the same questions. Are you missing your liar yet? Am I? she says. Is my liar here? she says, looking around, looking under and behind. Is there room for a liar here? What was the lie before that? Oh yes, the cat, that lie was not a broken-bones lie. The cat came back. The cat found its way. I am not missing my liar yet. And she stands up, leaves a cheque, and walks away.

It takes six months. Am I missing my liar? she says and this time: Yes. Everything is too truthy. Everything is just right there where it is, as it is. My liar added worlds. My liar turned life coloured. She cries when she says this. My liar hurt me, cheated, stole from me. I miss my liar. I miss, I miss, I miss. And she curls around and fits herself into the couch, bones sewing together and her eyes cemented.


Tania Hershman

Missing My Liar by Tania Hershman first appeared in Issue 2 of Bare Fiction Magazine (April 2014).

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