Sees All You Think She Can

Then she gave it all away. “Where’s your sister?” Ha! She didn’t know everything. Rather than gloat though, I looked up in a slightly panicked manner. “What happened?” She demanded. I struggled to explain. “I wasn’t feeling very well, so I came home. She’s still there. I sa…said I could get home all right?” I blurted out in a rush. “Really?” My mother said brusquely. “So why have you been crying?” She looked so hard at me, obviously doubting what I had said. I don’t know if she had needed any psychic ability to notice that, but I thought I had hidden the effects of the tears well. “Come on,” she continued. “I know you have. I can see it in your face.” “I …. haven’t” I tried to lie.” “Don’t bother lying. I have had three phone calls from mothers in the valley who said you were crying as you rode home past their houses.” She explained. Aaaahhh. I understood. That neighbourhood watch of eagle eyed window peepers (peeping ‘from’ windows, not into) and, before it was necessary to form an actual organization to do the same. Proving the way the bush telegraph used to work, was still alive and well. The modern convenience of  individual household telephones rapidly allowing even faster information transfer, between mothers. The ‘psychic’ ability my mother apparently possessed wasn’t even being used. I would have laughed except, now I had to explain why I was crying, without her finding out about my pathetic attempt at crime while being trusted to go out to the street fair with my sister.

“I ran out of money and wasn’t enjoying it anymore. So I wanted to leave.” I admitted. That was clever I thought. Not lying, but also not admitting anything. I suddenly felt a little more confident. Never a wise move for an eight year old when speaking with a somewhat more experienced adult (parent or not). “That doesn’t explain why you have been crying.” My mother persisted. Then, there was nowhere to go without a lie. “I slipped on the bike and hurt my leg.” I came up with quickly. I looked up. Looking for sympathy. I thought that was pretty clever too. Easy enough to explain as it had happened before. I felt a little rise in my confidence again. This was going pretty well. That was of course the worst time to have had that thought. Just before it all went bad. My mother looked me in the eye and said quite simply, in that way of ripping the ground out from under one. “Was that why you were being spoken to by the policeman?” She inquired suddenly. The question coming out of left field really surprised me. I must have opened and closed my mouth, two or three times. Unable to rapidly provide a suitable explanation I moved the mouth hoping the brain would fill in the words. It didn’t. Then I tried the potential querulous approach. “Policeman?” I asked innocently. “What policeman?”

(Continued tomorrow)