Attn: There is a liar on the plane.

“Lies, lies, lies, ohh lies”
-The Black Keys

Disclaimer: I digress.

She sat in 13E; a graying woman of about 64. I sat in 13D; an anxious and uncertain college graduate of 23. A modest cup of orange juice sat across from my gin and tonic – a slice of lime tangoed with the ice cubes. She briefly glanced over at my shaking hands and concentrated swallows. She worried over discovery, but I only eyed the seatback, twisted and knotted into oblivion. The trembling fingers of my right hand grasped the gold locket hanging my neck while my left hand cupped the cool plastic. She lifted glasses hung on a silver chain to her nose and shuffled a stack of thick paper. I placed my hands on the tray palms down, displaying their ink stains and uneven cuticles. I forced my eyes shut and exhaled; the air filled with the flavors of gin and mint-flavored chewing gum. Exotic skin brushed against mine, the careful and wrinkled touch of discretion. I looked down and identified the aging fingers of 13E exploring the abyss in between each quivering finger. I turned to her with a veil of confusion. She pulled back the lace curtains and met my gaze with forgiveness.

“I know,” a dry murmur drifted from E to D. She seemed to grab strings suspended from my fingers, coiling them around her own. The writings of my false truths wore like rings on her fingers. My hands lay still against the beige square, no longer shaking from the weight of dishonest words. I reached to enclose her hands in gratitude, but she retracted them close to her heart. The hands were of a young woman, the wrinkles flattened, and their complexion painted with youth. She gazed inquisitively at my lips.

“And here,” she traced the outline of my lips with one manicured nail, her voice gathering strength. I lowered my eyelashes in privacy and offered my soiled body for cleaning. She swept the spoken lies from my lips into the palms of her hands where they crawled around her wrists and fastened like bracelets. I removed the cloak of my eyelashes to a head of hair dyed black. She smoothed the shined sides; a smile opened on her ironed face. She looked at me from behind black frames, her hidden eyes rested on my stomach.

She placed the tips of four fingers against my middle, “And here.” The nights with men I did not love, the caress of sheets I did not own, and the unfaithful whispers in the night inched up her thin arm. They stood on her collarbone looking upon me once more before fixing around her neck. She removed the glasses and the color of honey looked on unburdened.

A dark haired woman with olive skin and eyes dipped in amber sat in 13E. She wore the jewelry of my deceit. I rested my tired body against her shoulder, sleep granted to my free form. She patted my thigh and closed her eyes with mine.

Jostled awake by a round faced stewardess, she called, “Miss, we’ve landed.” The plane was empty, filled only with her urgent words and clean face. I cradled my purse and walked down the empty aisle; my lips wet and my fingers clean.