Subtle Deception

I am not the person they think I am.  I was never that person.  I have been living my secret life for years. Everyone sees what they want to see, after all.  There have been plenty of hints; plenty of clues, but people make interesting choices.
People choose not to see the ugly or the frightening or the unusual. People are fearful. They always fear what they don’t understand…and no one has ever understood me.
I like my real life. My real life is where I make sense. My real life is where the world makes sense. It’s the fake life where the struggle lives.
In the fake life, I have to smile and say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ and I have to look people in the eyes. That is the part I hate most. Everything that is ugly is in a person’s eyes. They can hide all their hatred and rudeness and cruelty from others…unless you are like me. I can see past the disguises. I see into the eyes.
When I first discovered my secret life, I was 12.  It was a sunny June day and I was sitting in my parent’s kitchen eating a chocolate chip cookie. Back then, I enjoyed such inconsequential things.
My father came into the room and hugged me.  I looked at him and there it was in his eyes. He was deceiving, my mother and my brother.  I wasn’t used to what I was experiencing at that point, of course, so I didn’t know what his eyes were telling me. For days after, I watched him. I studied his eyes. Then, one early Sunday morning when he came down the stairs, he looked at me and I knew.  I saw what his eyes were trying to hide.  It was mean and it was ugly. He hated my mother. I could see it. He resented me and my brother. He wished we didn’t exist. He wanted us out of his life. I saw it in his eyes. He was going to do something bad, I was sure of it. I was the only one who knew. I knew I had to stop him. He was planning and time was short. I had to do something quickly.
Three days later, my father was cleaning gutters outside my bedroom window. It was very easy to open my window and shove the old ladder.  They said he broke his neck when he hit the ground two stories below. 
Our lives were safer then. My father had left quite a lot of money so we were comfortable. I could never explain what I had seen in my father’s eyes so I let everyone believe in the tragic accident. That was simple since people see what they wish to see.
When I was in the 11th grade there was a girl in my biology class who was picked on by other kids. She was poor and shy and she had dirty hair every day. I remember always wondering why she didn’t just wash her hair. 
One day near the end of class, a boy was shooting spit balls at that girl. The spitballs were sticking in her hair but she did nothing to remove them. She just sat there. When class was over, that boy stoid up to leave. He happened to loom right at me and I saw what was in his eyes. I saw what he  wanted to do.  I saw how mean he planned to be. 
A week later, he swerved off a country road and hit a tree. His car caught fire and exploded. The authorities decided he had swerved to miss an animal.
People see what they want to see.
That was 8 years ago. My secret life became clearer each day and today I am much more clever about it’s use. And I must use it, of course. 
Because I see. 

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