Torch Red: Color Me Torn with Bonus Content

by Melody Carlson

  He shrugs. “Well, they say what you don’t know can’t hurt you.”

  I firmly shake my head. “Like if you didn’t know that a two-ton boulder is about to fall on your head, maybe it will just bounce off?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Or maybe you’ll just be dead before you know what hit you?”

  “Emily isn’t going to be hit by a boulder, Zoë.”

  I huff and cross my arms. “I thought Shawna was my friend. And I warned her not to get involved with Todd.”

  “It’s not like you could’ve stopped them, Zoë.” He turns down my street now.

  “But she should’ve respected that he was going with someone else.”

  “People go together. People break up.” He exhales loudly almost as if he’s exasperated at this whole conversation now. “I mean that’s just the way it is.”

  Now I feel totally deflated, like maybe he’s talking about us. “So is that what I should expect, Justin? Are you saying that we’ll go together and then just break up?”

  We’re at my house now and he pulls next to the curb then turns to look at me. His expression is a mixture of sadness and confusion, and I suddenly feel guilty for dragging him through all this Todd-and-Shawna crud with me.

  “Look,” he begins. “I can’t predict the future. I mean I think you’re totally cool. And I love being with you and everything. But how do we know what’s ahead?”

  I sigh. I mean it’s not like I’m trying to get some big commitment out of this guy. I know we’ve only been together for a week. Still, I just like him so much. And I feel really confused right now.

  “I’m sorry,” I finally tell him. “I didn’t mean to dump on you, and I shouldn’t take it out on you. I guess I’m just really frustrated at Shawna right now. And I feel like I need to be loyal to Emily, you know. It’s confusing.”

  He nods. “Yeah, and just for the record, I think Todd is a stupid jerk for cheating on Emily like that. I mean Emily is a totally cool girl. Todd’s just being a real moron.”

  Well, at least that was reassuring. “But you really don’t think I should tell Emily?”

  He shrugs now. “I think it’s complicated, Zoë. But I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

  I sigh again and shake my head. “Yeah, sure.”

  “You free tomorrow night?” he asks hopefully. “Or do you still plan on being totally bummed over your best friend’s cheating boyfriend?”

  “That sounds like the title of a really bad song.” I smile. “But I think I should be over this by then. Why?”

  “Because there’s a party I thought you might like to go to with me.”

  “Sure. Where at?”

  He tells me a name that I don’t recognize and then explains that the guy is older, and for some reason I suspect it’s going to be a party where alcohol is flowing freely, but I agree to go anyway. Okay, I admit to feeling a little uncomfortable about this since my parents usually want to know where I’m going, and so far I haven’t felt the need to lie to them. But giving them a name that I don’t even recognize is going to raise their suspicions.

  Justin walks me to the door with his arm securely around me, pausing to kiss me just long enough to get my heart beating faster.

  “Pick you up around seven thirty then?”

  “Sure,” I tell him. “Can’t wait.”

  Later that night I get a phone call from Casey, of all people. “What’s up?” I ask.

  “I just thought I should tell you that I saw it too.”

  “Saw what?” I ask, but I think I know. I can tell by the tone of her voice.

  “You know.” She continues with hesitation, as if it makes her uncomfortable to even talk about it. “What was going on in the wardrobe room . . . with Shawna and Todd . . . I saw it too, and I could tell that you were pretty upset about the whole thing, and I just thought, well, if you need to talk or anything, I’m willing, you know.”

  I sigh, relieved that someone (even if it is Casey Renwick) understands how I’m feeling. “Thanks,” I tell her. “Yeah, I was pretty weirded out by that. I mean crud, it was totally disgusting!”

  “I know,” she says. “Despite what everyone thinks about me, I do realize stuff like that happens. But even so, it’s pretty shocking to walk in and actually see it with your own eyes.”

  “Tell me about it. And if it wasn’t bad enough in itself, now I have to figure out what I should do about Emily.”

  “You mean because she and Todd are supposed to be going together?”

  “Yeah, and because she is my best friend. Man, I am so furious at Shawna.”

  Casey clears her throat now. “Well, as I recall there were two of them in there, Zoë.”

  “Maybe so, but even you should know how guys can be such jerks about this kind of stuff. I mean if they can get it they will.”

  “And that makes them innocent?”

  “No, not innocent.” I’m feeling irritated now. Like what am I doing talking to Casey Renwick about this stuff?

  “Maybe you’re suggesting there should be a different moral standard for guys?”

  “Well, everyone knows that most guys are just users when it comes to sex and stuff. Not all of them, of course.” And I’m thinking that my guy is different. Otherwise he wouldn’t have backed off on our first date. “It’s just a fact that most guys are looking for some action.”

  “And that makes it okay for the guys?”

  “I’m not saying that,” I tell her. “I just mean that Shawna crossed a line today.”

  “So what are you going to do about it?” she asks. “I mean about Emily?”

  “I don’t know. Justin said that I shouldn’t tell her, that it would only hurt her.”

  “And what do you think?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe he’s right. I mean it’s not really any of my business. Maybe I should just try to forget the whole skanky thing.”

  “Maybe . . .”

  But the way she says “maybe” makes me wonder if she actually thinks otherwise. “Okay, Casey.” I feel myself giving in now. “What would you do?”

  There’s a long pause, and I start to wonder if she’s hung up on me (like maybe I’ve been too rude) but then she speaks. “I guess I’d have to ask myself how I’d want to be treated if it were me.”

  “Huh?”

  “You know,” she continues. “Put yourself in Emily’s shoes. What would you want your best friend to do?”

  I consider this. “I guess I’d rather know. Yeah, if my boyfriend were cheating on me, I feel pretty certain that I’d want to know.”

  “That’s how I’d feel.” Then she laughs. “Well, if I had a boyfriend, which thankfully is not the case. See, Zoë,” she says in a somewhat self-satisfied tone, “this is exactly why I think we’re all better off not dating at all.”

  “Hey, thanks for calling,” I quickly tell her, worried that she’s going to start preaching at me again. Like it’s my personal fault that Shawna and Todd can’t control themselves.

  “I just felt like maybe I should,” she says. “Like maybe we both needed to talk about it, you know, to kind of process it.”

  “Yeah,” I tell her. “It was sweet of you.”

  “I guess it was just a God thing,” she says. “I’m glad I was listening.”

  “Yeah,” I say, hoping that she won’t get going on that now. “I appreciate it.”

  “Well, you seem like a nice girl and I could tell by the look on your face that you weren’t used to that kind of thing.”

  “Yeah, you could say that.”

  “But you and Justin are dating now.”

  “Yeah?” Now I wonder where she’s going with this.

  “Aren’t you a little worried about that, Zoë?”

  “Huh?”

  “I mean he’s kind of got a reputation if you know what I mean. Do you really think—”

  “Look, Casey, it was nice of you to call and everything. But I don’t think it’s right for you to suggest that Justin ha
s a reputation. You don’t even know him. And I should think that you, being a Christian and all, wouldn’t want to be gossiping about something that you couldn’t possibly understand.”

  Now there is a silence and I’m sure I’ve offended her. But maybe I don’t care.

  “Sorry,” she finally says. “I didn’t mean to be gossiping. I guess I just feel concerned about—”

  “I’m a big girl, Casey. I can take care of myself.”

  “All right. No hard feelings then?”

  “Of course not.”

  Then we both hang up. But now I’m feeling seriously aggravated. What right does she have to make accusations against Justin? It’s not like she’s ever dated him. Or anyone else for that matter. Maybe she’s just jealous. Maybe this whole I-don’t-believe-in-dating thing is just a big camouflage for the fact that no guy has ever asked her out.

  I try to focus my thoughts on poor Emily. I suppose Casey might be right that Emily needs to know about this. I mean that’s how I’d feel if I were in her shoes, which thankfully I am not.

  I start to call Emily but then remember she’s at an away game tonight. I would’ve gone myself, but play practice ran late and it would’ve been impossible to get there in time to see much more than the last few minutes. Besides that, I’m totally exhausted. Doing these rehearsals every weeknight can be draining. But I know it’ll pay off. So I decide to email Emily, but I don’t tell her anything specific, just that we need to talk ASAP. Then I go to bed, hoping that I won’t dream about Oklahoma! tonight or, worse yet, those two nasty rats in the wardrobe room.

  seven

  I WAKE UP TO MY MOM’S VOICE. SHE IS REMINDING ME THAT TODAY IS MY day to help out at the soup kitchen.

  “Yeah, yeah.” I turn back over in my bed.

  “Come on.” She pulls back my warm comforter. “You made a commitment, and they’re expecting you to be there.”

  I make a face and groan.

  “It’s already late, Zoë,” she says in her I-mean-business voice. “People are counting on you.”

  Now, I am not what you would call a religious person—not at all. I mean I only go to church when my parents force me, which is usually only on holidays or when they’re feeling particularly bossy or religious themselves. But I do think it’s right to help out our fellow man, especially those who are struggling just to survive. And my parents’ church, which is this old one that’s right downtown, has a soup kitchen on Saturday afternoons. It only runs during the winter months, but somehow my parents talked me into volunteering this year. And so, even though I’d much rather sleep in until noon, I force my weary body out of bed, take a quick shower, pull on my clothes, and stumble downstairs.

  “You better hurry,” says Mom as she hands me a bagel with cream cheese. “It’s almost ten, Zoë.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” I mumble as I head for the back door.

  “Don’t forget the car keys,” she reminds me as she drops them in my other hand.

  “Thanks a lot,” I mutter as I go out to the freezing cold garage.

  “Drive carefully, honey,” she calls.

  “Yeah, yeah . . .”

  I get into Mom’s car and carefully back out, reminding myself that one of the perks of working at the soup kitchen on Saturdays is that I get to use Mom’s car and she doesn’t even mind if I stop by the mall on my way home. And that’s exactly what I plan to do, since I still have that gift certificate my grandma in Iowa sent me for Christmas. I’m thinking I’ll find something new to wear to the party tonight. To be honest, it’s about the only thing that gets me going this morning.

  “Hey, Zoë,” calls out Pastor Leon as he carries a box of food into the church.

  “Hey,” I answer with a smile.

  “Good to see you.”

  “Yeah,” I say as I hold the door for him. “You too.” Okay, it’s not totally honest, but polite. I hang up my jacket and reach for an apron.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” he says as he puts the box on the counter. “Mavis said we’re going to be really busy because we’re a little shorthanded.”

  “Guess I better get to work then.”

  “Want to help me unload the van for starters?”

  “Sure,” I tell him, but the truth is, I’m not that excited about working with Pastor Leon today. Not that he isn’t nice. He totally is. But I always feel kind of guilty around him since I so seldom go to church. I’m afraid he might think I don’t like him or something.

  I follow him back to the parking lot and wait as he pulls a box of canned corn from the back of his van and hands it to me. To be polite, I wait for him to get a box for himself then we walk back toward the church.

  “Not much of a churchgoer, are you?” he says.

  What did I tell you? “Well . . . uh . . .”

  He laughs and that’s when I notice he has this really cool laugh, kind of deep and hearty and warm. Just like you’d expect from a big African-American guy like him. “Don’t worry,” he tells me, “I’m not going to lay some big guilt trip on you. I just thought I’d mention it in case you were feeling uncomfortable.”

  “Actually, I do feel kind of bad about that.”

  “So why don’t you come then?”

  “I don’t know.” I glance over at him to discover he’s smiling. “I guess I’m just lazy,” I confess.

  He laughs again. “Well, at least you’re honest.”

  If he only knew.

  “Does it bother you that I don’t come on Sundays?” I ask as we go inside. “But that I’m willing to come work at the soup kitchen, I mean?”

  “No, not at all. In fact, it just makes me really curious about you.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Well, most folks would rather come to church than work at the soup kitchen.”

  “Really?” I wait as he opens the door to the hallway that leads to the kitchen.

  “You bet. So I guess I’m wondering what makes you do the opposite.” He pauses now to really study me.

  “I’m not sure. I guess I just feel more comfortable actually doing something that helps someone, you know? It feels better than getting dressed up to go sit on a pew and listen to someone just preach.” I feel my eyes open wide now like I can’t believe I just said that to a preacher. “Not that you don’t do a good job up there, Pastor Leon, I don’t mean—”

  “Hey, it’s okay, Zoë. I think I understand what you’re saying.” He nods as we reach the kitchen. “In fact, I think I’m in total agreement with you.”

  “You mean that I don’t need to come to church?” I feel hopeful now. Like maybe I’m about to get his blessing to keep skipping out on church. Maybe I can even get him to call my parents or maybe send an excuse note home.

  “Oh, no, I’m not saying you don’t need to come to church,” he says. “I’m just saying maybe you’ve got your priorities straight.”

  We’re in the kitchen now and the other workers have stopped their usual chatter, like they want to hear what we’re talking about. “What do you mean?” I ask in a quiet voice.

  “Well,” he says in a not-so-quiet voice. “God’s Word says that true religion is to go out to visit poor widows and orphans without getting yourself defiled.”

  “But what does that mean?”

  Now he smiles this really coy kind of smile, like he knows this really good secret, but he’s not going to tell me. “I guess you’d have to come to Sunday worship service to find that out.”

  This makes the kitchen crew laugh, as if they get the joke and it’s on me. But I don’t really mind since I probably deserve it. And what he said is almost intriguing enough to make me want to come to church. Well, almost. Sleeping in on Sunday mornings still sounds pretty tempting to me.

  “Here you go, Zoë,” says Mavis Malheur, queen of the soup kitchen, as she hands me a potato peeler and nods to a mountain of potatoes over by the sink. “You know what to do, girl.”

  “Is this my punishment for not coming to church?” I ask over my shoulder, but Mav
is just laughs.

  “No, child, it’s just that your young fingers can do it much faster than the rest of ours.”

  And so we all joke and laugh as I stand over the sink peeling potato after potato. And I think that if this was what church was like, it might not be so bad. Pastor Leon did get me to thinking a little. I do wonder what he meant about that visiting widows and orphans thing. It just sounds pretty weird to me. I mean I sort of get the widow and orphan part because I think a really good person would want to help people who are down and out. And isn’t that kind of like the soup kitchen? But I don’t get the “without getting defiled part.” I mean what’s up with that? I know that being defiled is like being really dirty, or worse. But besides getting all grungy and smelling like onions, how could helping in the soup kitchen possibly defile me? Very mysterious.

  Soon it’s time to serve the meal, and as usual, I am asked to go out to help. Now you’d think I would like this part of the job since putting food on plates is lots easier than peeling potatoes or washing dishes, but it always makes me a little uneasy. In fact, I usually try to get out of it.

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather have me start cleaning up back here?” I offer.

  But Mavis just shakes her head. “No, Zoë,” she says. “I think these hungry people would enjoy seeing your pretty, smiling face.”

  “You say that every time,” I remind her.

  “That’s exactly right.” She smiles. “So why do you even bother to ask me?”

  I roll my eyes at her. “I just think you want to get rid of me so that you ladies can sneak back into the kitchen and put your feet up while I’m out there working,” I tease.

  “That’s right. And we’ll probably sample some of that apple cobbler while we’re at it.” Then she gives me a little push.

  I go out and stand behind the big table that’s full of big pots and aluminum trays of food. Even though they call it a soup kitchen, they rarely serve soup here. Today it’s meat loaf, potatoes and gravy, and other things. I see the line of people and it looks longer than usual. They’re waiting for Pastor Leon to welcome them in and then bless the food. I try not to look at them too closely. Their clothes are always pretty old and worn and often unwashed, but it’s their eyes that tend to haunt me. They can’t hide their sadness or hopelessness, and I can tell they’re embarrassed by their poverty and wish they could be anywhere but here. It usually gets better after they get their food and sit down and begin eating. People begin to visit and lighten up, and Pastor Leon goes out of his way to make everyone feel comfortable. He often has someone perform music or some special kind of entertainment.