[ WP ] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar 's body . The bigger the lie , the deeper and larger the mark . One day , you meet someone that only has one scar ; it is the biggest one you have ever seen .

We met at a bar one evening. She had a beer in her hand, something local on tap, about half-drained. We struck up some conversation - weather or sports or some such, I do n't remember, small talk though. She made some passing comment about liking my ears, and I almost brushed it off as false praise - I think they stick out a bit too much - before I noticed her smooth skin; not a single scar visible. 
 
 I had my own fair share of lies cut into my skin - most minor, a few major. Even the bigger ones I'd usually defend, outside of a big one on my arm. `` I've been clean for a year!''. Even so, that's the least regretful mistake from that part of my life - I'm proud to say I can say that line now without the scar growing larger. 
 
 I got her name - Jane - and later, her number. We ended up setting up a date for the following weekend, and hit it off quickly. Similar interests - hiking, video games, cooking... Well, mostly same interests, anyway. I remember her coy smile when I said I liked her Coltrane collection, and a line of skin on my forearm darkened. Ca n't stand jazz, really. 
 
 I thought for about a month that she was perfectly honest, until we went to bed together. Jane seemed reluctant to take off her shirt, but that same honesty that kept her skin smooth must have demanded she not cover up now - her bra came off, and across the inside of her left breast was the deepest scar that I've ever seen. It was n't a discoloration like most scars - it was like a knotted rope was underneath the skin. 
 
 It was n't the sort of thing you can comment on lightly, but at the same time, it would be more conspicuous to ignore it. She was clearly distressed, waiting for my reaction. I was n't sure what to say, but we were both naked at that point so there was no hoping that a lie would be covered up by clothing. 
 
 `` There's obviously a story here, and I'm curious, but... Right now, it's not important. I'm willing to wait until you're willing to tell me on your own terms'' I said, and punctuated the sentence with a kiss. She ran a hand through my short hair, and the encounter continued naturally after that. But frankly the details are none of your business. 
 
 It was another six months before I learned any more details about that scar of hers. We were quite serious by now, and I'd had plenty of opportunities to see it again at this point. 
 
 Jane told me that her parents were going to be coming by for Thanksgiving, and that she wanted me to be there. Her face was strangely tense, and when I pressed for information, she just said that she did n't feel up for explaining. What could I say to that? So, I did n't press the issue, and waited for Thursday to roll around. 
 
 Her parents showed up - her mother was a frumpy sort of woman, with a flowery dress, and her father was tall, but had a thick neck and a double chin. I was surprised the two of them could have produced such a beautiful daughter, but all the same I could see some resemblance, particularly in the eyes and nose. 
 
 The first thing I heard her father say - before even `` hello'' - was right after he jerked a thumb in my direction. `` Is this that friend of yours? She looks like a fucking dyke.'' Her mother agreed emphatically. I found myself dumbstruck, unable to respond. Jane laughed uncomfortably, but her father did n't seem to notice - he was sniffing the air. 
 
 `` Turkey's already on, eh? Surprised you have n't caught yourself a husband yet, with your cooking. Hah!'' 
 
 `` No luck yet, but I'm sure I'll find one one of these days.'' Jane replied with a weak smile, clearly hiding a wince as the scar above her heart wrought its way deeper into her skin.
