A faint mist of vaporous emotion wettens the eyes

As he tells me about a Fernando Garcia.

Hadn’t seen him in years

Had him listed as an emergency contact.

An awful, random tragedy

That he’ll never mention again

That probably never existed.

Yet he speaks with an enthusiasm, a force

Charisma that makes me want to believe..

 

But the words don’t match the facts

Don’t even match the other, earlier words.

His actions never hear the promises he makes.

And if I call him on it?

A fresh, angrier lie.

But the intent is always the same,

Sob stories, rants, and mea culpae

all hide one wish behind them:

“Give me a pass.”

 

Can’t meet his eyes as he tells me

he’s going to see Fernando’s mother.

Slowly, sadly, I shake my head,

Grieving truth and trust.

But not Fernando.