Fibs

"He ate too much butter, and that's how he died," I said with a tear in my eye, my whole class looking at me, their mouths wide open. Then I put in my cassette tape, Hound Dog blared from my portable radio, and I swiveled my hips while busting out the lyrics.

That was my first biographical presentation in elementary school and it landed me in the principal's office. "Too much butter?! I'll have you know, Pippa's gone and scared half the third grade class! Their parents are calling me every day and none of them will eat butter," Mrs. Pulaski growled at my parents. From the corner of my eye, I saw my mother stifle a giggle, the veins in my father's neck bulging as he contained his anger. They glanced at one another and I saw my father mouth the words "Charlie." 

It wasn't really his fault that I believed every single word that came out of his mouth. Throughout elementary school, I spouted off all the things he told me to my classmates and teachers: "the skull mom uses every Halloween is from our sister who died before I was born"; "beanie babies are made out from salvaged roadkill"; "don't whistle in front of your Furby or it'll steal your soul"; "if you melt dog poo in the microwave, it'll turn into chocolate."

And that's how I always landed in the principal's office, thanking my brother along the way. They took away his Nintendo, and sent Charlie to his room whenever I was sent to detention for fibbing. So he spent middle school in his room and I spent elementary school in Mrs. Pulaski's office. I wonder if they ever realized that was my sweet revenge.