Free The Taste of Salt by Martha Southgate Page B

who lives in New York City. And she wears a red sweatshirt—that’s why I got one—and she writes down everything she sees. But then her friends find out that she wrote some mean stuff about them and they get really angry. The things she says are true, but they’re kind of mean.” She paused for breath. “But then Mrs. Henderson, here’s the crazy part. She has this grown-up friend, this lady who stays with her, and she tells Harriet that she has to
lie.
That sometimes you have to lie about things. Do you think that’s true?” She looked up at me, her eyes intent and thoughtful. She was clutching her notebook to her chest.
    I looked out at the kids playing on the playground and I listened to their whoops and shouts. I felt that it was important that I be honest with this child. It had been a while since I’d been honest with a child. “Well, I think that’s right. Sometimes you do have to lie. Sometimes the truth hurts and it causes pain for no good reason. Sometimes. Then I think it’s right to lie. But you have to be careful.It’s a trap, lying like that too much.” My heart sped up as I talked, even though we weren’t moving at all. Why was my heart racing like that? I could feel the girl’s warm body next to mine. “Sometimes you do a body more harm than good trying to protect them. Sometimes the lies get to be too much. You know?”
    â€œSo you think it’s okay to lie sometimes?”
    â€œYes, I do. Sometimes. As you get older, it gets easier to sort out when those times might be.”
    Ayesha nodded gravely. “My mama says don’t lie. Period. But I don’t know. When I read that in
Harriet
, I thought that might be true. I could think of times when that would be true.” She stood up, suddenly. “Can I go play now?”
    â€œSure. Sure, Ayesha. You go on now. You can leave your notebook here.”
    â€œDon’t look in it. It’s private. That’s the other thing I learned from the book: Keep your notebook private.”
    â€œI won’t look, I promise.” She ran off, her braids bobbing, her feet almost kicking her own behind as she ran. I placed my hand on her notebook but I didn’t open it. I thought about what I had said about lying, if that’s what I truly believed. How did you know when enough was enough, when taking care of someone or something through a lie wasn’t the right thing to do anymore? How could a child tell the difference? How could I? I felt the oddest thrumming startin the soles of my feet as I watched Ayesha play. I didn’t know what it was. I just felt it.
    The rest of the day I kept thinking about Ayesha’s face while we were talking, the way she looked as if she were trying to figure out the weight of the world. Some kids begin to see that there
is
a weight of the world before others do—Josie was like that. I always felt for her a little. But I always admired it, too. It helped her be clear about things. She saw how things were at home and she got the hell out—as much as a high school girl could anyway. There was a kind of clarity in that.
    The Boys & Girls Club wasn’t far from our house so I always walked there and back. It was an unseasonably warm day and everything was iridescent. The sycamores on our street arched gracefully over the quiet sidewalks. I waved at the neighbors, Henrietta Boyd with that yappy dog of hers and old Mr. Emerson, who used to get after the kids so when they ran across his lawn. They waved and helloed back, their familiar voices floating by. I could feel each footfall on the pavement. Everything was starkly outlined in front of me as if it were under glass. When I arrived home, I put my key in the lock, opened the door, and entered the house. It was cool and dark inside. I went into the kitchen and Ray was sitting there, home from work early, a cigarette burning in front of him, a beer sweating onto the table.