Saying "No"
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Sara Abrams
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Short Story
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2009
“By the way, my name is Isaac.”
“Teresa.”
“So, Teresa, are you doing anything Friday night?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, well what about Saturday night?”
“Yes.”
“Sunday?”
“Yes.”
“Any day of the week?”
“I’m always busy.”
“What about lunch?”
“I don’t eat lunch.”
“Breakfast?”
“I eat at my house.”
“Is there anytime I could see you again?”
“Not really.”
“How come?”
“Because I’m busy.”
“No one’s that busy.”
“Well, I am.”
“Well, I guess I’ll see you at class then.”
“If you say so.”
“Hey, what’s going on? Are you really that busy?”
“No.”
“Then why did you say you were?”
“I’m a habitual liar.”
“So, what? You don’t want to have dinner sometime?”
“No. It’s more like you shouldn’t have dinner with me.”
“Why not?”
“What do you know about me?”
“Well, your name is Teresa. You’re in my Political Science class; apart from that nothing.”
“Wrong. You also know that I’m a habitual liar, so maybe my name isn’t really Teresa. Maybe it’s Sheila or Matilda or Sharon.”
“Or maybe it’s Teresa.”
“Maybe I’m not really in your Political Science class; I’m just attending because I’m bored.”
“Or maybe you just like Politics. Does it matter either way?”
“Yes, it matters because it means that you could never trust me. You would never know if what I’m saying is just something I think you want me to say, or something I know I should say so that I don’t embarrass myself.”
“Sure, but isn’t that true for everybody?”
“I am not everybody.”
“Of course you aren’t.”
“What I mean to say is that if you really got to know me, you would end of despising me.”
“Well, I don’t know about that.”
“I do. That’s how it is with everyone.”
“Well, I too am not everyone.”
“No, you’re not. Not yet. But you will be.”
“How so.”
“There will be a point in our lives that you will say words.”
“Words?”
“Yes, and these words I will be able to predict while you will be saying them. In this moment all that passed between us, all the feelings, and everything, won’t matter anymore. You will say something that will generally end it forever, and all that had happened would be forgotten.”
“Yes, but isn’t how it’s supposed to be?”
“Not always. Sometimes I am supposed to say ‘No’. Now I am. Get lost.”
“Can’t you at least give me a chance?”
“Why should I?”
“Because it’s a right thing to do.”
“Who really cares about what is right or wrong anymore? Do you care that it’s not right when you don’t tip your waiter, or when you eat the last piece of pizza, or when you turn off your phone when you know that your parents will call?”
“I always tip my waiters.”
“And who can really determine what is right anymore? Thousands of people were killed thanks to the Spanish inquisition and that was ordered by the Pope. And I’m sure the Nazis thought they were doing the right thing when they shoved their neighbours into concentrations camps.”
“That’s different. It’s not right to kill people.”
“But it’s right to have wars or have abortions? What about the Donner Party? In Such situations is it right to kill your fellow man in order to eat him? Is it right to kill someone who is just going to die anyway in order so that they don’t feel any pain?”
“You have a point there.”
“So, Isaac, give me one good reason why I should have dinner with you at six on Friday night.”
“Huh?”
“I said give me one good reason why--”
“I know what you said. Are you saying ‘yes’?”
“Did I say that?”
“How would I know? I’m the one asking you. And like you said, I can’t trust any answer you give me because you’re a habitual liar.”
“And not to mention a flaming bitch.”
“That has yet to be determined.”
“Oh really?”
“Well, we could find out over dinner on Friday.”
“Touché.”
“Six o’clock was it?”
“No, it was five.”
“Really? I could have sworn it was six.”
“Does it really matter?”
“I guess not. I’ll be waiting at five then.”
“Then you’ll be waiting for an hour then, because I did say six.”
“What?”
“I’m a habitual liar. Don’t you remember?”
“Will you do this with everything?”
“Possibly. Any kind of answer I give you now you couldn’t trust anyway.”
“True. True.”
“But I will tell you something that is true.”
“Oh really, what’s that?”
“My name really is Teresa.”
“I figured.”
“And you could probably already tell that I am in your Political Science class.”
“Obviously. Also you are a religious pacifist who’s against abortion.”
“Now you have me at a disadvantage. I know absolutely nothing about you.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“You’re good.”
“That has yet to be said. We’ll find out just how lame I am on Friday night.”
“Yes, and I will probably tactlessly point it all out to you, but mean it as a joke.”
“Now are you lying or telling the truth?”
“Who knows?”