Playing With Matches

by Brian Katcher

  We answered her from the glow of the fire. “Hey, Melody.”

  “Hi, Melody.”

  “Hey.”

  “Grunt.”

  “Grunt.”

  Melody smiled shyly and looked for a seat on the mucky ground.

  “Here you go,” I said, directing her to a place on the log I was sitting on.

  Without looking straight at me, she took a seat.

  We all sat there in silence, staring at the fire, lost in our own thoughts. I kept glancing at Melody out of the corner of my eye. The scarring had caused her skin to become extra-taut over her face. This, combined with the head scarf she was wearing, gave her a skeletal appearance. She looked like the angel of death in a sweater and jeans. It was strange, but there was beauty in that. Eerie, but not hideous.

  Melody turned and faced me. The skull face melted away, revealing her eyes and her smile.

  Suddenly, inexplicably, I wanted to hug her again. I wanted to talk to her. About anything. Stupid TV, school, her fears, my fears. And I couldn’t do it in front of my friends. I’d known them for more than half my life and had never had a deep conversation with any of them. In less than a month, I’d gotten to know Melody on a deeper level than I knew anyone else at the campfire.

  “Let’s take a walk, Melody.”

  Melody stood up so quickly she almost knocked me off the log. Rob looked at me questioningly, but everyone stayed quiet.

  There was a narrow path around the river’s edge. The water was stagnant, and the way was littered with empty beer cans, cigarette butts, and used condoms. I’d never gone very far in that direction.

  Soon we were far enough from the campsite that all we could hear were the twins’ booming laughs. Mosquitoes bit us and once I almost lost a shoe in a mud hole. The river reeked of pond scum and rot. Eventually, our way was blocked by a fallen tree.

  We stood there looking at the water for a bit. It moved at a pretty good pace at this point. During dry spells you could see the top of an ’81 Vega near the far bank.

  Our hands found each other. Not so much a romantic gesture, but just two people taking comfort in each other’s presence. Of course, I never would have tried to hold Rob’s hand when I was feeling alone.

  What was I doing? Melody and I had shared a little too much the night before. And now here we were, alone, in the dark, hand in hand.

  As if sensing my discomfort, Melody let go. She bent down at the water’s edge and skipped a rock. The splash cut through the chorus of hidden frogs. I attempted to follow suit, but my rock just sank.

  It was kind of funny: even with my lack of experience, I knew I was in a perfect romantic situation. The river, the moonlight, the secrets we had shared…All I’d have to do was put my arm around her and we could start working on some serious mosquito bites.

  We continued to toss rocks. Why couldn’t Melody be pretty? Hell, I would have settled for average. But no matter how sweet she was, I couldn’t get over her face.

  Melody bent over to grab a rock and suddenly went rigid.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  “Leon!” I was shocked to hear her voice tinged with panic.

  “What’s wrong?” I squealed.

  “Leon.” Her voice was trembling. “On my ankle.”

  Even in the dim moonlight, I could see the black thing stuck to her leg. I prayed that it wasn’t what it looked like. When it squirmed, I gave up all hope that it wasn’t a leech.

  Melody was starting to hyperventilate. “Get it off!” she gasped. “Leon, please!”

  “Me?” The shiny black leech pulsated. A thin stream of blood ran down into her shoe.

  “Please?” She was begging.

  Once again, I really wished I had a cigarette lighter.

  Melody wasn’t looking at her leg. “Did you get it? Is it gone?”

  The second I touched the little bloodsucker, it began to writhe. My hand shot away in disgust. I forced it forward and gripped the hideous creature. Melody’s blood oozed over my fingers. The thing held on for a second or two, then popped off. I hurled it into the river.

  “It’s gone, Mel.” I soaked my hands in the muddy water.

  She scampered away from the river. “I’m sorry. It’s just that worms and slugs…Sorry.”

  “Leeches aren’t exactly my favorite thing.” We both shuddered, then giggled. I took her hand and squeezed it.

  “We should get back,” I said after a second. “I think there’s some Band-Aids in my car.”

  “Yeah.” We continued to stand there, hand in hand, eye to eye.

  Suddenly, I had the strongest desire to touch Melody’s face. I didn’t know why. The thought used to scare me. Maybe it was because I’d just learned there were much less pleasant things to touch. Maybe I wanted to prove that I didn’t find her scars repulsive. And maybe I just wanted to touch her.

  I wiped my hands on my pants and then placed them on her cheeks. She jolted a little but didn’t make me stop. Her skin was thin, like the flesh of a rotten tomato. I thought if I lightly pinched her, it would slide off her skull. I ran my hands over the ridges and valleys of her scars. I touched her withered forehead. I ran my hands over the nothingness where her ears once were. Finally, gently, I removed her head scarf.

  She was absolutely bald. No, not absolutely. In the dim light I could tell she still had a patch of hair near her neck but kept it shaved.

  My hands moved down her neck. I felt the ridge where the destroyed part of her ended and the rest of her began.

  “No one’s ever touched me there, Leon.”

  We kissed. Her lips were warm and soft and not the slightest bit unpleasant.

  I could tell this was her first time. Our teeth scraped, something you quickly learn to prevent. When I opened my eyes, I realized she’d never closed hers.

  “Leon.”

  “Melody.”

  We kissed again. With my eyes closed, there were no scars. And she had great lips. And a nice tongue. I didn’t think about how I’d spent weeks denying I had even a passing interest in Melody. I didn’t think about what this implied, about what Melody was thinking, about how I might be committing myself to her. All I knew was that I needed to be kissed. I had needed to kiss someone for a long time. I needed Melody. For that moment, nothing else mattered.

  Eventually, Melody withdrew her tongue from my mouth. She placed her chin on my shoulder, rubbing her bare cheek against mine. I still couldn’t feel her scars. I took her hands in mine and we stood there, swaying. It was almost like we were slow dancing in the dark.

  There was a loud bang from the direction of the fire, followed by screaming. Melody jolted away from me.

  “What was that?”

  I could hear Samantha angrily yelling something.

  “I’m guessing one of the nimrods threw that aerosol can of Cheez Whiz into the fire.” It wasn’t the first time that had happened.

  Melody stared at me for a moment, perhaps wondering if we were going to pick up where we left off. When I didn’t make a move, she smiled and started back down the path.

  The explosion hadn’t killed the mood, but it had put it in intensive care. I followed a step or two behind Melody. Good God, what had I just done? I’d invited Melody for a walk, removed a parasite from her leg, and made out with her!

  What now? I should say something. What? I’ll call you. No, too dismissive. I like you, but…Nah, no need for the deadly relationship talk. I think you’re sweet, but your facial disfigurement is a real turnoff. No need to be Thomson-blunt.

  Just before we returned to our friends, Melody took my hand and stopped me.

  “Leon, I won’t ever tell.”

  I won’t ever tell. She just assumed I didn’t want anyone to know what had just happened. Did she realize how right she was?

  14

  CAPÍTULO CATORCE: MI TÍO ESTA ENFERMO, PERO LA CALLE ES VERDE

  Monday morning I sat in the cafeteria, desperately trying to finish the trig homework I’d forgotten about over the
weekend. Samantha sat next to me, reading and occasionally smirking at my efforts.

  All Sunday I had tried not to think about what had happened out at the lock and dam. Not because it had been unpleasant. It had been a little too pleasant. It was the kind of thing a guy could get used to if he wasn’t careful. If I didn’t watch myself, I could wind up in trouble.

  Melody had given me an easy out. She’d said she’d never tell anyone. No one would know I’d kissed Melody. We were just a couple of friends who had gotten caught up in the moment. And that’s all.

  Only that wasn’t all. I was the first guy Melody had ever kissed. And no matter how many times she said it didn’t mean anything, it did mean something. Now every time we sat across from each other at lunch, every time we exchanged jokes at our lockers, every time we saw each other, we’d remember how our tongues had touched.

  I’d kissed the ugliest girl in school on purpose. What if someone found out? Girls weren’t known for their ability to keep secrets.

  But did I want to keep it a secret? I could go back to no dates, no girlfriend, no kisses. I could hang out with Melody and pine over Amy and be just as miserable as before. Melody was mine for the asking. But I wasn’t sure if I was ready to ask just yet.

  I looked down at the unreadable mess that was my homework. With any luck I’d get a D for effort.

  “Hi, Leon,” I heard Melody say as she crept up to our table.

  “Hey.” I rapidly scribbled out the final problem. I didn’t trust myself to look at her. What if, here in the sterile lights of school, I still thought she was gross-looking?

  “What’s black and white and red all over?” Melody asked.

  “Heard it,” I replied, still not looking up. “Two nuns in a chainsaw fight.”

  “I was thinking of a newspaper, actually.”

  “Yeah, but…” I stopped when I got my first look at her. Melody had hair! Real, actual long brown hair! It was a wig, of course, but you really couldn’t tell.

  I didn’t realize I was staring until Samantha kicked me under the table.

  “Melody! You look great!”

  She smiled and for once maintained eye contact. “It was my birthday present from my parents. Second-nicest thing I got. You really like it?”

  “You look great.”

  She fluffed her hair. “I have to go get my stuff. See you at lunch.”

  “You look great.”

  I stared at her departing figure until Samantha kicked me again. She kicked hard, and I wasn’t sure she really had been aiming for my shin.

  “Ow! What the hell?”

  She hadn’t looked up from her novel. “Leon, you need to knock it off.”

  “Pretend I’m as clueless as you always say I am. Knock what off?”

  She carefully marked her place and closed the book. “Flirting with Melody. I know you get a kick out of it when girls pay attention to you, but Melody thinks you really like her.”

  Was I that obvious? “Samantha, we’re just friends. Melody listens to me. And strangely, she doesn’t constantly remind me of how dumb and ugly I am. For some reason, I enjoy that.”

  Samantha eyeballed me. When she was angry, I half expected her to pull out a paddle and tell me to bend over.

  “Did you enjoy running off into the bushes with her Saturday night?”

  I guess it was naive of me to think the gang would assume we’d been on a nature walk.

  “Mind your own business.” Maybe Melody was more than a friend, but I sure didn’t owe any explanations to Samantha.

  “Leon.” Her voice was softer. “It’s not my business. But a girl like Melody isn’t used to guys taking an interest in her. And next time you go drooling over Amy Green or whoever, Melody’s going to feel really ugly. Don’t do that to her.”

  Señor Lopez Lopez, my Spanish teacher, was born in El Salvador. He had fled the country in the early eighties to escape the civil war. With nothing more than the clothes on his back, he had walked all the way to Texas. He had been assaulted by Guatemalan drug runners and mugged by Mexico City cops, and nearly drowned crossing the Rio Grande. He learned English while working illegally on a California farm, whose owner forced him to work fourteen-hour days (the other option being deportation). Sr. Lopez Lopez became a citizen when a general amnesty was declared, and earned his college degree while working as a dishwasher in Los Angeles.

  Every year someone made the mistake of asking him why he gave so much homework. They’d get his life story in return. After that, no one felt inclined to complain about the workload.

  Sr. Lopez Lopez was reviewing the study guide for a test we were apparently having the next day. My thoughts were elsewhere. Hell, it wasn’t like I could understand my teacher anyway; sometimes it was like he was speaking a foreign language.

  I was pretty pissed at Samantha for sticking her gargantuan nose in my affairs, and even more annoyed because she’d been so dead-on right. I did get my rocks off on the way Melody admired me. And unless I was willing to make out with Johnny or Rob, I couldn’t really say we were just friends anymore. I couldn’t even say I really wanted to be just friends.

  But not everything was black and white either. One kiss (or one night of kissing) wasn’t a cause for commitment. I probably had too high of an opinion of myself. Maybe Melody was just as confused and uncertain as I was.

  Of course, I wasn’t exactly un hombre amoroso. For all I knew, Melody might be writing Mrs. Leon Sanders in her notebook. Sr. Lopez Lopez directed us all to do something: either break into study groups or take off our shoes and make duck noises. I was bending down to unlace when someone scooted his desk next to mine.

  I turned to see the acne-free, lantern-jawed, five o’clock–shadowed face of Dylan. The guy who’d humiliated me more than anyone else in my life. The guy whose memory had caused me to cry over the weekend. And here he was, wanting to study.

  On some other plane of existence, God laughed.

  I’d made it a point never to acknowledge him this whole semester. Apparently, he didn’t remember our past. How could you call someone a faggot and spit on him, then expect to review verb tenses a mere five or six years later?

  Dylan read our instructions, his lips moving silently. “Dude, what’s a subjunctive mode?”

  I’d take the high road. “It’s a tense you use when describing something that might possibly happen.” You stupid monkey.

  “Huh?”

  “Look at any Spanish sentence. If it has the word ‘que,’ then you probably should use the subjunctive mode.” Douche bag.

  “If you see what?”

  “If you see the word ‘que.’”

  “If you see what?”

  “If you see ‘que.’”

  “If you see what?”

  “If you see ‘que’! If you see ‘que’! If you see ‘que’!”

  Sr. Lopez Lopez fixed me with a wrathful gaze. “Leon!”

  I suddenly realized what “if you see ‘que’” sounded like when repeated out loud.

  Dylan laughed. “Dude, you totally fell for that.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” I wanted to be even more pissed off, but that actually was pretty funny.

  “How do you say ‘gotcha’ in Spanish?”

  “Pendejo.”

  “Dude, I totally pendejo!” he said, happily calling himself an asshole.

  “I couldn’t agree more. Are we going to study or what?” I had a hard time not smiling.

  “This is gay. When are we ever going to use this?” said Dylan, far too loudly. I was afraid we’d invite another “When I was your age, U.S.-backed guerrillas burned my village” speech from Lopez Lopez.

  “It’s not too bad,” I countered. “I just finished a ballbuster from Mr. Hamburg. Lucky I had a smart partner.” I smiled, remembering the fun Melody and I had had writing our report…and the fun we’d had Saturday night.

  “Who was your partner?” asked Dylan, scratching himself in two places at once.

  The bell buzzed, and we gathered our
things.

  “Melody Hennon.”

  Dylan hefted his backpack. “Scarface? Ugh. You should get an A for just having to look at her all that time.” He then made a gagging noise and left.

  I sat there, quietly shredding the study guide. That dick wasn’t any different! After all this time, he still was the same shallow, bullying son of a bitch. Nothing had changed.

  One thing had changed.

  I ran out of class, just in time to see Dylan enter the men’s room. Bolting in, I found him approaching a urinal.

  Was I really going to do this?

  I grabbed his shoulder. Dylan, who’d been unzipping his fly, turned in shock.

  “Um, hi, Leon?” He didn’t seem sure what to make of my getting touchy-feely in the bathroom.

  I ground my teeth. My stomach was jumping and I had to pee.

  “Dylan,” I said, my voice certainly more confident than I felt. “If you ever call Melody that again…if you ever call her anything again…”

  Dylan was not smiling. He roughly shoved me back. “You’ll what?”

  “I’ll hurt you.”

  And now I would repeat the sixth grade. Now I’d be in for another serious ass beating. Now Dylan would once again prove that he was big and I was small and nothing would change that. All because I didn’t like him calling Melody what everyone else in school called her.

  Only that wasn’t what happened. He just stood there, scowling at me.

  I was aware we were not alone. Other guys had entered the john. I waited for them to start screaming at Dylan to mess me up.

  Nothing but tense breathing. The stench of bleach and crap. A toilet flushing in the adjacent girls’ room.

  Suddenly, Dylan barged past me, knocking me into the wall. But that was it. I wasn’t going to spend the next hour picking my teeth up off the floor or washing toilet water out of my hair.

  The tardy bell rang, and the loiterers left. I just kind of stood there.

  Why had I risked my jaw like that? If Dylan had insulted Rob, or Jimmy, or me, I would have let it go. I might have even joined in. And I was sure Melody had been called worse than Scarface.

  But Melody was my friend. Maybe more, but a friend all the same. And not like Rob or Samantha. She had made me cry. She had opened her soul to me. I’d never connected with anyone like that before. And if Melody trusted me with her most secret hurts, I sure as hell was not going to let anyone talk about her like she was some kind of damn cartoon character that people could laugh at.