Stronger than a Lie

In the modern world, people tend to utter things without real thought. Their lies spill out of their mouths like seemingly harmless little breaths, Ann realised as she tried not to eavesdrop on the other customers in the café. She had tried to pick a quiet corner earlier in which to wait for her sister, Charlotte. But the audible old lady two tables down had no trouble sharing her gossip with the entire coffee shop. How generous of her, Ann thought sarcastically as she gently poured the sugar onto her caffè latte, trying not to listen to their conversation.

In a fantastical world filled with wizards, elves, and dragons, words seemed to hold so much more power, she thought. If pronounced properly, it could create something breathtaking, mend which has been broken or even inflict pain. Maybe that is why I’ve always thought words have lost their power, Ann wondered momentarily, looking up at someone walking into the café, thinking it was Charlotte. People no longer fear the use of simple phonetic sounds, because it doesn’t come with a price. That belief, along with so many ancient traditions, cultures and languages, seems to have been lost to this world.

Ann glanced at their deceased mother’s music box, carefully placed next to her on the table. She’d found the old box tucked away with all their mom’s things when she finally helped her father move to a retreat. Longingly, she traced the decorative carvings on it with her finger, stopping at a crack that had been mended many years ago. Suddenly, the sugar sank through the foam of her latte, causing an explosion between the delicate layers and a memory trickled into her mind, like a vision in a pen sieve.

In it, Ann saw her sister and herself playing on a carpet. The room was warmly lit by the afternoon sun, accompanied by a sense of safety. Without warning, a single scream shattered their sanctuary. Their mother entered the room. Angry and crying, cradling a family heirloom. Broken.

Fear gripped Ann’s heart. Somehow, she’d hoped their mother wouldn’t find out what she’d done. Her heart fought violently to escape. It was an accident, but would she still forgive her?

Ann glimpsed at their mother, but guilt formed an alliance with fear when she saw the pain engraved on her mom’s face and her loss wallowing in her eyes. Was I strong enough to bear the responsibility? Ann wondered, terrified.

“It was,” her voice cracked. She tried again, swallowing non-existing spit.

“It was,” Ann’s eyes drifted towards Charlotte, staring at her, wide eyed. Would she be strong enough?

Ann saw how her sister’s neck swung around, begging their mother in disbelief. Charlotte had broken mom’s teapot just the previous week, so it was easy for our mother to believe me, Ann remembered. Looking away from her painful memory, Ann sighed in relief as she saw Charlotte walk into the café, smiling.

Perhaps words no longer possess the type of magic to inflate your despicable aunt, but maybe it still holds some magic, after all, she thought, standing up to embrace Charlotte. Because the lie I told many years ago cast a spell on my sister, causing a divide.

Their laughter filled the café, drowning out the old lady’s chatter as Charlotte humorously explained why she was so late. For many years, I didn’t know the magic words that would heal our relationship.

The room lit up by the afternoon sun and Ann’s heart swelled as Charlotte received their mother’s music box appreciatively. 

Luckily, my apology held far more power than my lie.