out of context

Practice your countermeasures. Learn how to identify the test. Is it Control Question, Direct Lie, or Guilty Knowledge? Quickly recognize the difference between irrelevant, relevant, and control questions. Change your breathing patterns, 15 to 30 per minute, then when a control question is presented, hold your breath for 15 seconds, returning to normal breathing when an irrelevant question comes up again. Stick a tack in your shoe and pray the proctor won't ask you to do the test barefoot, the pain response is gold, baby, gold. Contract your anal sphincter muscle on control questions, bite the side of your tongue, do long division in your head, imagine instances either frightening or exciting, ponder on moments that made you ecstatic or fearful or frustrated. Answer “yes” or “no” whenever possible. Do all of your research on polygraphy in a library three towns over with someone else's card. Handle the post interview like a pro, even if they say they know you are “lying”. They don't know shit. A polygrapher is not your friend, no matter how much they claim to be on your side. Manage your mental state. Know you are being watched, analyzed. Relax. Remain unintimidated, subtle, unconscious.
And breathe.

“yes, hello? Yeah, some asshole just stole my car!”

He is short, but carries a weight to him. He wants to be my friend, lull me into confessing with handshakes and watery, understanding eyes and cigarettes and awkward silences. He takes a seat at the cracked Formica table, facing me, the crumbling folding chair groaning, whining rustily under his bulk.
“so, you passed the polygraph.”
i keep my gaze on him, meeting his eyes, unsurprised, but not arrogant. The fluorescent bulbs above us hiss, harmonizing with sound of him shuffling papers around in a folder he carries with him like it is attached to his arm. I can see the dirt underneath his fingernails as he tilts his head to the side, scratches his sparse scalp, furrowing his brow. He smacks his lips like he has just taken a long sip of too tart homemade lemonade and rubs his chins.
“you don't mind if we just go over this one more time, do you?”
I look past him into the hallway just in time to see ryan and john being escorted to the door by three exhausted looking plainclothes officers. Ryan finds my eyes and simply nods, and they are gone.
“tell me one more time what happened that night, would you?”
i extract a cigarette from the pack and cover the flame with my steady hand as i light it.
“okay.”
“whenever you are ready.”
i exhale and begin.
“i had just gotten off of work, i work second shift down at certified, and i stopped at sheetz for some cigarettes and gas. It was 1130, i know this because i still have the receipt from paying with my debit card, and when i came back outside, poof, my car was gone. Idiot that i am, i left it running, you see, the old clunker is a son of a gun to warm up, with all the stalling and whatnot, so i thought i could pop into the store, pay, and be on my way. No such luck. I called 911 on my cell phone and waited for the police. I filled out a report and my buddy ryan picked me up. We went back to he and john's apartment and drank some beers, i slept on their couch.”
he shuffles the papers some more and nods, lighting a cigarette of his own.
“okay, and what, uh, what was the conversation abut that night? You know, between you and your buddies?”
I put the cigarette out and sigh, not too deeply, just a tired, worn out sigh.
“we were talking about closed captioning. We were wondering if, when you are deaf, and are reading closed captioning, you understand sarcasm. Just being deaf in general. Do deaf people understand when something is taken out of context? Is there a symbol in sign language that identifies a statement as sarcastic? Like some kind of hand flourish or eye roll? Granted, we were drunk by this point, and i do not pretend to be knowledgeable of sign language, it just seemed like an interesting conversation topic.”
He looked right at me.
“my niece is deaf. There is a facial expression for sarcasm.”
hadn't counted on that.
I put my hands on the table, tilting my head.
“so, how long was it between that night and the time you received a call from our department.”
“three days.”
he shuffled some more papers, taking out a photo.
“who is this person to you?”
i take the photo and examine it for 3 seconds.
“that is my ex-fiance elizabeth.”
he takes another photo out of the folder and hands it to me.
“and this?”
stay calm. Breathe.
“her again.”
look sad. Look heartbroken. Don't smile.
“the car that hit her, YOUR car, drug her for 150 yards before she was dislodged from the undercarriage. The coroner seems to think that she was still alive at this point, but then, whoever it was driving YOUR car put it in reverse and backed over her, crushing her skull.”
he takes another photo from the folder and slides it across the table at me. Pretty elizabeth, pretty, venomous elizabeth with her brains squeezed out a huge crack in her skull, face ground to hamburger by the rocky blacktop on spruce street, staring up at me. Pretty elizabeth, the most gorgeous piece of roadkill.
I push the photo back to him.
“how many times must i look at this? I've answered your questions, passed your tests, been patient. If you don't mind, if you are going to charge me, please put me in a cell because i am seriously sick and tired of pouring over these photos of a girl i once loved, dead, never to speak to anyone again. Charge me or leave me to my ghosts, officer.”
he considers this.
“do you want to know what i think?”
I shrug.
“like you aren't going to tell me anyway?”
he leans in closer. I smell stale cigarette smoke and cole slaw.
“i think you did this. I think you and your degenerate buddies ended this poor girl's life. I plan to prove it. And when i do, you will understand what being sorry is about. You will spend your remaining days in a cell wishing you had kissed every girl you have ever seen like you loved her, wishing you had gone to college and made something of yourself, got a good job, died peacefully in a rocking chair on a crisp autumn night 50 years from now. I will leave you to your ghosts, friend, soon they will be the only ones you have left.”
I light another cigarette.
“so i am free to go?”
He opens the door for me and whispers as i pass, “enjoy your freedom, friend.”

“yes, hello, this is planned parenthood. Elizabeth, we were just calling to check in. give us a call back at the office please.”

The cops round the corner and ryan slams on the gas.
I change in the backseat.
I don't wait for the car to stop, simply tumble out running already, and look around. I open the door and get in the driver's seat of the idling beast. I ease out onto the highway and flick the lights on.
Two exits later, i gun it up the ramp.
Two lefts, and i am on spruce.
I put on the high beams and stomp on the gas.
And i breathe.