Falsehood wears a cloak to hide the ears.

From the front porch, I sip on my first cup of coffee and smoke the first cigarette.

I slept a bit late today, yesterday feeling longer than 24 hours.

I pushed the small of my back deep into the porch swing. Letting myself stretch, shake. I catch my kitten watching me in the window, and stretch once more, hoping she’ll follow cue.

She did.

This time of morning the kids from my block gather on the corner near my house and wait for the bus. Some mornings the kids yell at one another, irritable in the early hour. Other times they sing. The immaturity of their voices more pleasant than the screeching birds. Other mornings they just stand, torsos still, feet tapping or fingers drumming, trying to wake up at a not so desperate pace.

It’s a quiet morning, and the children follow it’s lead. I rock, watching, making sure the cars that do drive by aren’t speeding. I get nervous when the kids are present.

I watch them board the big yellow bus and head off to the place that fills noggins.

I thought of my own bus rides. I was the first one on in the morning and the last off in the afternoon. For more than half of the time it was just me and a kid named Brandon. He lived in the woods behind our house. My grandfather was friends with his father and agreed to let them build a house back there.

In school I got along well with everyone. I was always the mediator between cliques. I don’t know why I always took it upon myself to keep the peace… I never really cared for any of them. But I used my schooling as a soap box. Speaking out against the injustices, the untruths, shielding the weak, and putting the mighty in check.

Brandon always seemed like a runt to me. Acting bigger than what he was. The smallest boy on the football team. Attracted to girls even smaller than him. He wasn’t smart, but he wasn’t a complete idiot. All American in looks. Gleaming white teeth, light blue eyes, blonde hair.

For the most part, I didn’t have an opinion about him. I did however, grow annoyed when their house went up. They built it on the south edge of our woods, sitting on the pond. That was my Sunday morning fishing spot. I remember throwing a fit to my mother. Saying how inappropriate it was. That we didn’t need that kind of bullshit near us. Asking if Cuz (my grandfather) had gone senile. Her response, “I think you should call your grandfather about this.”

So I did.

He knew why I was so angry. And he had a back up plan, perhaps even better than the original. He didn’t tell me this, he just let me spout off my reasons. He let me stew, until Sunday morning came.

So maybe I did have an opinion about Brandon, a light one slightly tinted with negativity.

Through the years we grew close over the bumps in the road. Bouncing along and talking. He confided in me for no reason at all. Kissed my nose once, said he always wanted to do that. Told me his deep dark secrets. I’d help where I could. I’d laugh when needed.

One day we were talking about appearance and beauty. The things we’d change about ourselves and others. Gina’s teeth, Matt’s nose, Jenny’s hair.

His voice grew hushed and he leaned close to me, said he had a secret. I waited for him to tell it, the pause making me grow anxious.

Our noses were nearly touching over the back of the bus seat and he whispered, “I’d pin my ears back.”

I giggled. His ears were what set him apart from the guys he wanted to be. It gave him an adorable quality. It was endearing, at least to me. But I understood the why’s of it all.

He went on, “When I was really young, maybe five, I used to get into my mom’s desk and steal her tape at night. I’d lay in bed and tape my ears down. Thought that if I slept with them taped throughout the night they’d be laying flat by morning. But the tape couldn’t hold them. They’d just pop back up. And I’d cry.”

I was enamored with him in that moment. He had a color to me then. A shape. Something a little bit more refined than the blobs he kept around him.

So we giggled over it. Over and over. Playing the scenes in our head, describing as it went, how and when his little heart did fall.

It was his turn to get off of the bus and he stood, and threw his backpack over his shoulder. As he was walking up to the front of the bus he looked over his shoulder and said, “You know, I didn’t think I’d ever tell anyone that story… See you tomorrow Shar.”

And as the children in my neighborhood climbed onto the bus, I saw us sitting in the back seats. So little. As the bus drove off we became smaller and smaller.

It is all so far away now.