The art of self sabotage (snippet)

Just a little snippet of a chapter for a book I'm trying to write

It always amase me the hability people possessed to still be surprised by something their instict was certain it was going to happen. Like crossing a street on a red light and be shocked at the horn of an incoming car. The most plausible answer would be the loudness of the sound or the element of surprise. But its not that. I'ts the entitlement people feel of why this person had the audacity of calling them out. Even if the outcome of the situation would be them being runover, just the fact someone made a scene its unecessary. Which would make the person in the car in the wrong, not the person crossing the street out of turn. That's how self absorve and careless we are today. Pathetic I know, but in a twisted turn of events I am the person crossing the street and how annoyed am I at that beeping car. They clearly saw me running but even if they hadn't notice, at the speed they where approaching they would never had hit me. I'm faster than that. Only if I tripped but, let's be practical for a second, what's really the odds of that?

I'm never this reckless. I usually don't mind waiting for the light to turn green. Some may say, and by some I mean me, it feels like a checkpoint at a game. You linger there, on the sidewalk, just patiently observing your surroudings and the people who keep on going places you can't, until you're unpaused and can reentry the playground. When the cars stop and you're allowed to cross, it gets you the chance to surpass the others who weren't frozen in time. But how would you know the stage each player is in the game if you are the only one who's actually playing. Is there a way of winning a imaginary game especially when nobody else is aware of it's existance?

Once my friend told me about the busy days she was having at her own beauty salon and that she had to turn clients away since it was impossible to handle so much flow. I knew instintively she was lying and I needed to prove it. So I went by the salon, and stood there, lurking at a empty room, with the exception of course, of my lovely friend seating in her red chair going trough her phone. I texted her asking if she was free to grab coffee. I watch as she recieved the notification of a new message but I didn't get an immediate reply from the girl who I could clearly see from the window, was typing away on her brand new Iphone X. It got me curious to know where did she get the money to afford such an expensive piece of technology because clearly her business wasn't thriving. It never did, that's why she had to filled for bankrumptcy a year after opening.

When she finally text me back I had gone to a few stores nearby. I'm not that crazy to just wait there endlessly for a response. All I wanted was to know that I was right and I already got that confirmation. I started walking back to the salon while reading her text: "Sorry babe, can't no free time. Too many hairs to cut today. Raincheck? " There she was, in the same position as when I last saw her. Nobody else inside. The reaction of a normal person would be go to her and expose her lies. But I am not build like that. I was more irritated at the fact she keeps calling me "babe" that the fact she lied. I truly hate that term. If I confront her that's the end of the narrative and there's no point at it. I like to study people's behavior during a lie, the depths they are willing to go so the truth is never unveild, how vivid their imagination can be, do they have a tell I can identify, how much their voices go up in pitch when they're deep in their fabricated tale, how many times do they look away from my glaring eyes while they slander themselves a little more. If you confront them, they get baffled by it. Not that they got caugh doing something wrong, but rather that someone had the audacity to uncover the truth. Nobody fully owns their mistakes. They always find a way to excuse their behavior and when you least expected they do it again, and again. That's why I don't need the validation of them knowing I'm aware of the truth. Letting them think that they can easily fool me it's how I win the game. My game. It might seem radical and a very awful way to live your life, hanging out with people who take you for an idiot. I'm a little bit of a masoquist that way.

Reality is, everybody lies. From a husband telling his wife he likes her ugly dress to all adults making children believe an old fat man comes to their house once a year, creeps trought the chimney and leaves them presents. That's healthy! The difference between me and the rest of the world is that I see lying as part of our being, while others choose to live in denial being so surprise when somebody lies to them, because how can somebody do such a major atrosity! Especially to them, who never told a single lie in their life.

The only person I have ever confronted was my mother. She told me my father died in a car accident before they got married. Two months after his departure she found out she was pregnant with me. And that was truthfull. What she forgot to mention was the wealthy alive relatives I had from his side of the family. Julia, that´s what I call her now, was an alcoholic who filled her belly with cheap wine so she didn't see the point of making dinner.

My elderly neighour from across the hall was always at her door when I got home from school with something tasty in her hand. It's like she knew. I even got a warm jacket as a present after she saw me leaving for school with only a sweatshirt on and it was pouring outside. It was the ugliest jacket I ever seen but that's the only jacket I owned for some time. I believe she was the only person that never lied to me. Probably because she was so old that she had run out of lies to tell. It saddened me deeply when she past away. I was the one who called 911 to report her death. It had been three days since I saw her. Also had been three days since I had something decent to eat, so I knew Something terrible most had happen for her to leave me starving like that. I was waiting by her door when the firedepartment arrived. They asked if I was the one who call and I said yes. A very tall man in red whisk me away. I think they were afraid of what laid behind that door. When they took her away she was completly covered up I didn't get to say goodbye. And most important thank her. I never said that to her. I begged Julia to take me to the funeral but I don't think she even listen. She couldn't. She was asleep all afternoon after a morning of heavy drinking. I tried to venture on my own but I was only 10. There ain't much I could have done given the fact I didn't even know her name. Still don't. Part of me resents myself for never bother to ask the woman who kept me alive and fed for years what her name was. But if I ever mention her, I call her Marion. Perphaps that was her real name. 

Author's Note

*In need of some feedback on my storytelling,
*attempting to write in english (not my native language),
*constructive criticism is welcome,
*grammar problems may be present