What initiated the problem was my distaste for the ordinary.
The mundane, everyday routine was far too dull for my liking
without a bit of imagination to liven things up. In my
opinion, mixing a bit of imaginary color into the natural
black, white or gray of the world blended into the most
picture-perfect shades and hues with which to paint my life
and the lives of those surrounding me.
This, I suppose, is what led me to become a liar. Or, in more
refined wording, to stretch the truth. To exaggerate. To
combine truth and fiction into one. To turn fantasy into
reality. You get the picture.
It began simply by my enlarging details while relating
stories and incidents. I was perfectly content with this
habit; after all, I was adding the spices for the sake of the
listener. Was there anything wrong with adding salt and
pepper to a pot of soup?
Soon, my boundaries expanded and I began making up stories
and telling them as though they had really occurred. They
were basically harmless and even managed to save my face a
couple of times. My friend from a different neighborhood
slept over at my house for Shabbos so she would be able to
attend our weekly Bnos group, for once. For some mysterious
reason, a sudden, acute bout of fatigue overcame us when the
clock approached midnight and we unanimously drifted into a
deep, peaceful sleep. Although we had intended to wake up
during the night, we slept soundly till morning.
When the sun's rays shone through the curtains the following
morning, tickling our noses and arousing us from our slumber,
our disappointment over the wasted night knew no bounds. What
sort of girls sleep the night away instead of utilizing the
nocturnal serenity for talking and fun? What would we tell
our friends at the Shabbos gathering when they'd ask us how
the sleepover had been? My imagination quickly set to
work.
A few hours later, we sat at our Shabbos gathering, merrily
relating the amazing imaginary experences we had had during
the night. The tales I spun were endless and the girls'
admiration for the amount of fun we'd squeezed into one night
was equally so.
A couple of weeks ago, however, I ran into a trouble zone.
What began as just another one of those 'innocent white lies'
developed into a full grown hideous one, and the consequences
were soon to follow. I truly did a fine job of making a fool
out of myself, and the most infuriating part is that it was I
who did it to myself. Then again, that really isn't so
unusual; I'm the one who brings about most of my
downfalls.
One day, as I was sitting by the lunchroom table munching
some pizza and chatting away with my classmates in between
bites, the principal suddenly made her appearance. She stood
in the doorway scrutinizing the room and its occupants, when
suddenly her gaze fell upon -- me!
"Avigail," she addressed me, "please come see me in my office
after lunch. I'd like to have a little talk with you." With
that, she spun around (in the formal principal fashion, of
course) and retreated into the corridor that leads to the
most formidable of rooms -- the one with the sign marked
"Principal" posted on the portal.
My classmates all looked at me, sympathetically (it was well
known that nobody who entered that room emerged emotionally
intact), and the conversation spontaneously shifted to
wondering about the subject our highly feared headmistress
wanted to discuss with me. The farewell ceremony that took
place as my friends accompanied me to my post-lunch
destination resembled a funeral. Then I tapped timidly on the
door and was ushered in to face the music -- all on my
own.
"I've noticed that lately you've made a habit of eating pizza
for lunch," she began, peering at me from above the large
round spectacles that she wore somewhere in the center of her
nose. "I think I can safely assume you are aware that this is
unacceptable?" she declared, waiting for me to affirm the
statement. Instead, I lowered my gaze and focused on the
pattern of tiles that made up the floor.
To my great fortune, she didn't coerce me to answer; she just
went right on speaking, after a significant pause.
"Part of the reasoning behind this rule is that it is against
our best interests to arouse the jealousy of your classmates
who cannot afford to buy pizza on a regular basis. You
realize this, of course..."
"Well, um..." I stammered. "I actually don't really think
that ninth graders are still jealous of a thing like pizza. I
would think that such jealousy is below our level..."
"Nevertheless,' she replied curtly, "the school rule remains
in any case. Is this understood?"
Although I couldn't quite follow her logic, I chose to keep
quiet and simply nod my head. No reason to complicate matters
further.
"Good!" She rose and pointed a finger in the direction of the
door, indicating the termination of our conference. "Then I
would advise you to return to class. I just wanted to make
sure you had this straight."
That was it! No earth-shattering blast, no rumbling
earthquake. I slowly made my way back to my classroom.
Everyone would be so disappointed to hear that it had been
such a normal, uninteresting conversation. All that fanfare
for nothing. This was a situation that seemed to demand an
extra bit of color. It was a good thing this was my
specialty.
"And so," I concluded my description of all that had taken
place, "Mrs. Abramsky ended off by informing me that I'm on
the brink of expulsion. `If you are to be seen once more,' I
quoted in an authoritative tone of voice, `eating pizza in
the lunchroom, then you can anticipate a very unpleasant
phone call.'"
This subtle exaggeration succeeded in creating a great
turmoil amongst my classmates. Everyone had an opinion to
state about the strangeness of expelling someone for so
trivial a matter as pizza. It concerned my best friend Efrat
more than anyone.
"Avigail," she lamented, "you're not going to stop bringing
pizza now, are you? I know you better than that. You may lay
low for a while, but you won't be able to resist. What if you
get kicked out? Where will you go? What'll I do without
you?"
"Oh, I don't think there's too much to worry about," I tried
to assure her. "It was probably just an empty threat."
"Maybe yes, maybe no." A cloud of worry settled over Efrat's
face.
*
Later that evening, as I was working on a tough math problem,
a foolish idea formed in my mind. I remembered the genuinely
concerned look on Efrat's face and decided to play a game on
her. Unfortunately, I neglected to think of the consequences
and dove headfirst into what was, in fact, a deep pool of
boiling water.
Math worksheet set aside for the time being, I hurried to the
house of my next-door neighbor to request her assistance.
Chana Dina, a grade below and always willing to plunge into
an adventure, followed me back home willingly, after hearing
an outline of my plan. We ran up to my room, closing the door
firmly behind us, and Chana Dina picked up the telephone
receiver.
"Hi! is Efrat there, please?" she asked in a pleasant
voice.
"Speaking. Who is this?" Efrat answered, puzzled.
"This is Chana Dina Stern, Avigail's next-door neighbor."
"Oh, hi. How are you?" she said with a touch of surprise.
"Well, I'm fine. It's Avigail who apparently is not."
"Why? What's the matter? What happened?"
Silence.
"Actually, I'm not even sure. Listen to what happened.
Avigail's parents are not home and she's supposed to be
babysitting. I came over to keep her company. A few minutes
ago, the phone rang and she answered. She didn't say much,
just listened. She started crying sometime in the middle of
the conversation and has been crying ever since. I can't get
a word out of her. I don't know what to think. What should I
do?" Chana Dina loved acting and her voice held just the
right degree of desperation.
Efrat's mind was churning. Red warning signals began flashing
in her head. "Chana Dina? Could you ask Avigail if she'd be
willing to talk to me for just a second? I have my
suspicions, but I need to make sure they're correct before I
make any moves."
"Hold on, I'll ask her."
"Hello?" I answered hesitantly, my voice hoarse and
muffled.
"Avigail! What's the matter? What happened? Who called?"
Silence.
"Avigail! Please answer me! I need to know. Is it the
school?"
"Yeah. that's it. I'm out. What will I do?" I whispered.
"You mean they called you, just like that, and told you
you've been expelled? That doesn't sound right."
"Well, the secretary called and asked for my parents and when
I told her they weren't home, she said she's sorry to inform
me but I will no longer be able to continue studying in the
current setting. That I'll have no choice but to find myself
an alternative learning institution."
Efrat remained silent for a moment. "You know something,
Avigail? This really doesn't make much sense. I mean, I doubt
that there are more than three girls in our entire class who
abide strictly by every single rule. How could they decide to
kick you out, just like that?"
"I guess I'm a born scapegoat," I replied sarcastically.
"This whole thing is completely unfair. I don't know what
I'll do, but I definitely won't leave things as they are.
I'll talk to you later. Bye." Efrat replaced the receiver
before I could add another word.
If all of Efrat's principles could be summarized into a
couple of words, what remained would probably be -- the
pursuit of justice. Polite and tactful as she was, she yet
stood firm in her belief of standing up for the right thing.
Cowardliness was a thing to be scorned. When she said she'd
take matters into her own hands, she had meant every word.
And I knew her well enough to believe it.
"Chana Dina," I groaned as I stared at the phone beeping in
my hand. "I just may be doomed. You never know how far Efrat
will take this whole joke. Oh, why didn't I realize what I
was getting myself into?" Somehow, the joke didn't seem very
funny any more.
Indeed, my fears were well-grounded, for even as I
accompanied my accomplice to the door, Efrat sat at her desk,
dialing the principal's phone number. A sweet little voice
answered the fourth ring.
"Hello. Is Mrs. Abramsky there, please?"
"Which Abramsky do you want? Shaindy? That's me! Who is
this?"
"This is Efrat Goldberg, Shaindy. Could I please speak to
your Mommy?"
"My Mommy?" she sounded disappointed. "I thought you were
calling me. Nobody ever calls me. The phone's always for
Baila or Mommy, and even the mail is always for Daddy. It's
just not fair."
Efrat was amused. "How old are you, Shaindy?"
"Four and a half."
"Really? You're just four? You sound older!"
"Well, I am! I said I'm four and a half!" Indignantly.
"Whoops! That's right," Efrat laughed. "Anyway, I'd love to
talk to you, but right now I have to talk to your Mommy about
something very important. So maybe I'll call you a different
time, okay?"
"Sure!" Shaindy crowed. "Call me tomorrow! Same time!"
"All right, make it tomorrow." Efrat made a mental note of
it.
"Yippee!" Sheindy cheered and then called out loudly, "Mommy!
Efrat wants to talk to you! She's so-o nice," she added.
The principal took the phone from her daughter's hand.
"Hello?"
"Hi. This is Efrat Goldberg speaking." She took a deep
breath. "You might think that I'm mixing into issues that are
really none of my business but I felt I just had to speak to
you about my friend Avigail Levy."
"What seems to be the problem?"
"Well, I heard about her expulsion and..."
"Excuse me," the principal interrupted, "but I'm not sure I
understand you correctly. Would you repeat yourself?"
Efrat was confused. "I was told that Avigail was kicked out
of school for eating..."
"And from whom did you hear such nonsense?" Mrs. Abramsky cut
her off once again.
By now, Efrat didn't know what to think. "Are you trying to
say that she was not expelled?"
"Quite right."
"Then... I guess there's been some mistake."
"I guess so," the principal sighed. "Efrat, if I didn't know
better, I'd be inclined to suspect you of scheming this plot
to make fun of me and waste my time. But knowing you to be
beyond such foolishness, I have to believe that someone else
set you up to ridicule me without your being aware of her
intentions. Be frank with me now. Whose scheme was this?"
"I don't think you should take this personally, Mrs.
Abramsky. I'm sure no one planned anything against
you. Probably, the girl who called me to inform me of
Avigail's supposed expulsion never dreamed that I'd take the
matter this far."
"And just who was it who informed you of your friend's
supposed expulsion?"
Efrat's head was spinning. One related trait in her
repertoire that went hand in hand with her sense of justice
was a distaste for tattle-taling. There was no way she was
going to tell on anyone, let alone her best friend, no matter
what she'd caused. Efrat's silence betrayed her emotions and
the principal sympathized with her plight. "All right, I'll
tell you what. You speak to the girl and have her come to my
office and confess, on her own, tomorrow. Be well. Goodbye."
Now it was Efrat's turn to stare at the phone beeping in her
hand.
*
When Efrat called my house a few hours later, her voice was
cooler and more subdued than usual. "I called the principal
about your being expelled," she began.
My mouth flew open in horror. "You did WHAT?" I screeched.
"Isn't it only natural to stand up for my friend in her time
of need?" she asked quietly.
"I suppose it is for you. Who else in her right mind would've
dared call the principal? Oh, Efrat! I'm so sorry! What did
she say? What did she do to you?"
"She didn't do anything to ME but I think she was very hurt.
She took the whole thing very personally. She expects the
culprit to come confess tomorrow. You'd better make sure she
understands that the joke wasn't meant to be played on
HER."
"What?! I'm supposed to tell her that I was the one to cause
this whole mess? Forget it! You think I'm crazy? I don't want
to end up really getting kicked out! Why couldn't you tell
her that you heard it from someone in another school or
something? You should've made something up."
"Oh, so I'm to blame?" When Efrat spoke in this particular
tone, I could tell she was really upset. "Don't you think you
could at least be mature enough to take responsibility for
your own actions? Aren't you old enough to realize that
there's cause and effect in life? You should think before you
do things and if you don't, you should at least have the
courage to stand up and face the consequences of your own
actions. Isn't that only fair?"
Justice, fairness, courage, responsibility. This speech was
so typical of Efrat that instead of being furious at her for
lecturing me, I couldn't help but smile. Besides, I couldn't
help admitting she was right. Efrat always seemed to be.
For once, I heeded the good, solid advice I was offered. I
really saw no alternative. The next morning, I gathered my
every ounce of courage, squared my shoulders and walked
bravely into the lion's den. It was not easy. Relating the
story was very embarrassing and Mrs. Abramsky took the whole
matter extremely seriously. I was given a twenty page report
to write on middas ha'emess and was not allowed to
join my class on their next outing. No, extricating myself
from the situation was not at all easy.
But when, at long last it was all over, I found it had all
been worthwhile. By honestly facing reality, instead of
shying away into the shadows, by accepting the consequences
for my foolhardiness, I finally felt much better with
myself.
But most of all, I learned that Hashem painted His world in
the most beautiful fashion possible, with the finest brushes
and the most brilliant colors. Mixing different hues into
Hashem's perfect shades only tarnished the world's glory.
