Playing With Matches

by Brian Katcher

  I could still back out. I could grab her and kiss her and tell her she was wonderful, and she’d think she’d been imagining things.

  But then I’d never be able to see Amy again.

  “Melody…there’s someone else.”

  I waited for the tears. The begging. Slaps, screams, sobs. There was just silence. Agonizing, long silence.

  “Melody, say something.”

  She still didn’t look at me. “You’ve said it all, Leon. It’s that Amy girl, right?”

  “Yes.”

  Melody smoothed her wig but didn’t face me. “I thought so. That time at the bowling alley. I knew she liked you. I remember thinking it was a good thing you didn’t feel the same way, or I wouldn’t stand a chance.”

  I hated myself. I wanted to ram my fist through the windshield, to feel my knuckles break, to feel glass under my skin, to punish myself for being so weak, for hurting her like this. I wanted to stick my finger into the cigarette lighter. To crush my foot in the door.

  But that wouldn’t make things right.

  “Melody, I’m sorry.”

  She didn’t look at me. “Don’t make this worse.” She opened the door.

  “Let me walk you up!”

  “Don’t!” she croaked. She was crying. But she didn’t run. Dressed in her beautiful gown and heels, she opened and closed the gate and walked slowly up to her house. She didn’t look back. I didn’t drive off until I saw her front door open.

  24

  SUNDAY MORNING COMING DOWN

  When I woke up the next morning, I didn’t remember the previous night’s disaster until I saw my tuxedo crumpled on the floor of my bedroom. Then the images assaulted my brain like music from a radio unexpectedly being turned on at full volume: Dancing with Melody. Dancing with Amy. Amy telling me she wished she was my date. Melody walking silently to her house.

  Shit. What now?

  I pulled on some old clothes and stumbled to the bathroom. I felt sick to my stomach and I doubted that it was from that swig of Dylan’s whiskey.

  Mom met me in the kitchen, smiling at me as she cooked some pancakes at the stove.

  “Well,” she said, with a wink. “You got home awfully late.”

  I grunted and sat at the table. Mom scooped two pancakes onto a plate and set it in front of me.

  “So how was the dance?”

  “Fine.”

  She fixed herself a plate and sat opposite me.

  “Did you get your picture taken?”

  “Yeah.” I picked at my food.

  “Did Melody have a good time? Who all was there?” Jesus, not now. Not the third degree. Mom wanted to hear all about her son’s romantic evening, his first dance, his first girlfriend. She had no idea how I’d screwed everything up, ruined Melody’s first and probably only dance, and proved myself to be a shallow asshole.

  “It was fine, Mom.”

  She wouldn’t let it drop. “But what did you—”

  “I said it was fine, okay! It was great! Why don’t you leave me alone!”

  The smile collapsed from my mother’s face as she realized it wasn’t shyness that was keeping me from talking. I felt like a first-class SOB. Mom watched me as I dumped my breakfast down the garbage disposal. I wanted to say something, tell her my problems, ask her for advice. But I couldn’t. This wasn’t her problem. Only I could solve it.

  She didn’t say anything as I stormed back to my bedroom. She seemed to know she couldn’t help me. And that probably hurt her worse than my rudeness.

  What was Melody doing now? Had she crept in and spent the night crying on her pillow? Had she stayed up all night talking to her mom as her dad and Tony loaded their shotguns? Maybe she was out on one of the horses, forcing it to run as fast as it could. Maybe she was talking to my yearbook picture, asking me why I’d been so cruel. Maybe she was still in bed.

  I had to call her. It couldn’t end like this. Even if it meant blowing everything with Amy, I could not lose the friendship of that strange, wonderful girl who had made me so happy.

  That was the plan. But after an hour, I was still staring at my phone, like it was my opponent on some bizarre game show.

  All I had to do was call her. And beg and apologize. Tell Melody I was dirt, scum, weak, horrible. She wouldn’t forgive me. Not at first. But maybe after a week or so, she’d let it pass. And we’d go back to the way things were before.

  There was only one problem. I wasn’t sure I wanted things the way they were before.

  I found myself regretting that kiss. Not with Amy, but with Melody. Back at the lock and dam. We’d been such good friends. Why hadn’t I left it like that? Good friends, nothing more, not one bit of shame about kissing Amy. I could have dated Amy and still been pals with Melody.

  But instead, I kissed her. Instead, I got all emotional and started telling her how I felt. I told Melody I liked her when the girl I really liked was there waiting for me.

  If I called Melody now, we’d end up dating until the end of high school. Maybe longer.

  Is that what I really want?

  The school year would be over in a month and a half. Then Melody would go off to her scholars camp. She’d forget about me. She’d survive. When she graduated, she could take comfort in knowing she’d had a boyfriend once.

  I drummed my fingers on my desk, then picked up the phone.

  “Hello? Amy?”

  25

  NO REGRETS. REALLY.

  Now, when I phoned Amy, I had told myself that this was just a friendly call. Just calling a pal. A buddy. A buddy who I’d kissed. A buddy who I would desperately like to take a shower with, but a buddy nonetheless.

  “Leon! I was wondering if you were going to call me!” I could almost see her smile over the phone.

  “Well, just wanted to say hi.” What are you wearing?

  “I had fun at the dance.”

  What did she mean by that? Was I reading too much into things?

  “Me too. Hey, you busy? Want to grab something to eat?”

  Totally innocent.

  Over the phone line I heard water running. Dear God, she wasn’t just getting out of the shower, was she? I was so distracted I almost didn’t hear her answer.

  “—just stepping out the door. But there’s this party next Friday. Want to come with me?”

  The last time I’d gone to a party, we’d played pin the tail on the donkey.

  “Okay!”

  “Great. See you at school.”

  “Yeah…”

  Okay, so Amy had just invited me to a party. Okay, we’d kissed. Okay, I’d told Amy that Melody was just a friend. Okay, Melody’s heart was broken, and I really should be calling her, apologizing, swearing that I still liked her, that she was getting upset over nothing.

  Only she wasn’t getting upset over nothing. I had a date with Amy Green the next weekend. That was something. And if I went to that party, then it would be over forever with Melody.

  That Monday at school there was a note taped to my locker. I recognized Melody’s handwriting.

  Dear Leon,

  We need to talk. I don’t want it to end this way. Leon, I love you. Not because you’re nice to me, but because you’re my best friend. I know you feel that way about me too. Amy doesn’t care about you like I do. I think we can work this out.

  Can we talk after school? I want to talk in private. Maybe you could drive me out to the lock and dam and we could talk again. Leon, I want to make you happy. Amy can’t say that.

  Melody

  Ouch. The first time a girl said she loved me and it was in a note begging me not to leave her. She said she wanted to make me happy. That was what I’d always secretly fantasized about. I didn’t need anything else. I didn’t need—

  “Hey, Leon. Whatcha reading?” It was Amy. She was wearing the same halter top she’d had on at the mall. She’d tied it at the bottom, revealing her flat belly. I hadn’t noticed in the dim lights at the dance, but she had an overall tan. She’d probably been to a
tanning booth. I didn’t see any pale spots, so she must not have been wearing anything.

  I quickly crumpled the note. I don’t need you, Amy, but, Jesus H. Christ, I want you.

  “C’mon, let me see,” she teased. “Is it something dirty?”

  I held it behind my back. “Maybe.”

  She playfully lunged for it. “Don’t make me get rough with you, Leon.”

  “Hey, you wouldn’t want me to have to eat this, would you? You know I can!”

  We both laughed as the first bell rang. Amy gently shoved me. For half a decade we’d never touched; now it seemed she couldn’t keep her hands off me.

  “Watch it. We still on for Friday?”

  “You bet.” She mussed my hair, then took off down the hall. I leaned against my locker, dreamily watching her bare brown back.

  As I stopped to retrieve my chemistry notes, I caught sight of a lone figure halfway down the hall. Bald, wide-eyed, and earless. Melody had seen the whole thing. She quickly turned away.

  “Melody! Wait!”

  She started to run and collided with Bill, causing the binder she was carrying to spill its contents all over the floor. She disappeared in a whirlwind of loose-leaf paper.

  I leaned against the side of the Thomsons’ van and surveyed the acres of rusted-out heaps in the salvage yard. “Every one of those cars used to be someone’s baby,” my father had once told me. “Every one of those cars is someone’s broken heart.”

  Right after school I had gone home to crash, only to be immediately interrupted by a frantic call from Johnny. His van had shot craps again and he needed me to pick him up at the garage.

  I hadn’t been in the mood to play chauffeur. Melody had vanished; I hadn’t been able to find her anywhere in school. Maybe she’d gone home. But Johnny was stranded, and despite the years of insults, he wouldn’t have left me stuck somewhere.

  Johnny was pacing around the van like a father in a maternity ward. “I’m sure it’s nothing,” he kept saying. “Probably just the battery or something.”

  I looked at the pool—black oil, green antifreeze, red transmission fluid, and a bluish liquid I couldn’t place—that had formed under the vehicle. “Maybe your carburetor just became disconnected from the fuel injector.”

  Johnny looked hopeful. “You think so?”

  “No.”

  Mr. Garzi, the Pakistani man who ran the salvage yard, garage, and towing service, finished looking at the engine. “Okay, John. Fifty dollars.”

  Johnny smiled. “Really? Only fifty bucks to fix this?”

  Mr. Garzi laughed. “No. I’ll give you fifty bucks for the tires and radio.”

  Johnny whimpered. “Don’t be like that. C’mon, what needs to be done?”

  “Let me see. New engine, new transmission, new brakes, new U-joint, new muffler, new—”

  “How much will it cost to get it running for another two weeks?”

  “Two hundred.”

  As I drove Johnny home, he stared morosely at the estimate in his hand. “Do me a favor, Leon, and tell Jimmy the repairs are going to cost three hundred.”

  Normally, I would have mentioned that two hundred was pretty cheap for fixing a van with an exhaust system made of duct tape, but my brain was elsewhere.

  “Damn it!” Johnny continued. “I needed the van this weekend too. I’m taking Jessica out this Friday.”

  Jessica was a cheerleader for Francis Howell High. Johnny had been dating her for a few weeks.

  “Yeah, and you don’t want to miss two-for-one tacos at the Barn.”

  “Don’t be a goober, Leon. I was taking her to the party at Jamal’s house. I want to impress her, and now I have to ask her to drive.”

  That was the party Amy had invited me to. “Guess I’ll see you there,” I commented.

  Johnny looked surprised. “Who the hell invited…I mean, Leon, good buddy, what say you and I double-date?”

  “Sure, whatever.”

  I could see the little thoughts forming in his head. “Yeah, double-date. Jessica’s pretty smart, so you and Melody can impress her with your smart talk and stuff. And you got this big old backseat here….”

  There was no use putting it off any longer. Melody, of course, hadn’t sat with us at lunch, but everyone had believed me when I’d said she was volunteering in the library.

  “Hang on, Johnny. Melody’s not coming with me.” Melody wouldn’t be coming with me anywhere, ever again. Not bowling, or mini golfing, or to the movies, or to her barn.

  “You ought to convince her to quit wasting time studying,” said Johnny, misunderstanding me. “Then she’d have more time to hang out with you. Not that being with you would be any more exciting…”

  We had arrived at Johnny’s house. “It’s not that. We, um…we’re kind of on the outs.”

  For the first time that day, Johnny looked at me seriously. “Since when?”

  “After the dance. It wasn’t working out.”

  “Wasn’t working out” in the sense that Melody and I were best friends, enjoyed hanging out, and liked all the same things.

  Johnny stared at me like a cow chewing its cud. I had to say something.

  “So then Amy asked me if I wanted to go to the party with her.”

  I had stopped the car, but Johnny wasn’t getting out. He just sat there blinking at me for a few seconds. “Oh. Okay. Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.” He left.

  I had expected him to be sarcastic or to blow off any news that didn’t concern him and Jessica. Instead, he seemed rather shocked.

  That was something else: I was going to have to tell everyone about what had happened. Samantha, Jimmy, Rob, my parents…and if I told them the truth, I would be the bad guy. There was no way I could make it look like the breakup was nobody’s fault. I had dumped the only girl who’d ever thought I was special.

  The worst thing was I could have Melody back with one phone call. All I had to do was pick up the phone and I could start to make things right.

  But I wasn’t going to. No matter how badly I hurt Melody, no matter how much of a jerk that made me, it was easier to hurt her than to go through life knowing I’d passed up a chance to be with Amy Green. Maybe she’d dump me in a week. Maybe we’d end up hating each other. But right now, I held a winning lottery ticket, and all I had to do was cash it.

  26

  THE FIRE

  The next day was Tuesday. Friday I would be taking Amy to a party. I would go to a party—a cool party, not like the all-night Dungeons & Dragons, Monty Python, video game marathons I usually attended. And I’d be going with the prettiest girl in school. This was what I’d always dreamed of. So when I glanced in the bathroom mirror that morning, why did I look like I’d just sat on a toilet plunger?

  It was just guilt, I thought as I showered. Just guilt. Melody was a good person and I’d made her sad. Just a little guilt. Not regret. Guilt.

  As I lathered, rinsed, and repeated, I resolved to talk to her. Not right away. After she’d had a chance to calm down. She could spend a couple of weeks cursing me, hating me, tearing up my love letters (well, I’d actually never written her any), and realizing what an ass I really was. Maybe then she’d be willing to talk. Other guys stayed friends with their exes; why couldn’t I?

  The more I thought about it, the more confident I felt. Melody’s locker was right next to mine. I’d talk to her every day. Maybe she wouldn’t listen. Maybe she’d beg me to take her back. Maybe I’d spend the rest of the school year in the doghouse. But after the summer, after she’d gone off to her scholars thing, she might hate me a little less. And lack of hate would be just like the close bond we’d enjoyed that spring.

  That decided, I let my thoughts drift to Amy. Her full-body tan. The way she kept grabbing and poking at me. Her smile, her laugh, her legs. I began to think about what it would be like to take her to the party Friday night. Then, after, maybe I’d drive her out to the lock and dam….

  Downstairs, the washing machine kicked on, causing
my shower to turn ice-cold. All thoughts of Amy shrank away.

  When I arrived at school later that morning, I was determined to begin patching things up with Melody. The first thing I’d do was go straight to her locker and wait for her. Let her know I still cared about her, still wanted to be friends. She’d probably turn and walk away, but I wouldn’t give up.

  When I arrived at our locker bank, I had expected to see a girl with a burned but oddly pretty face. Instead, I found Dan, who was busy admiring the framed picture of Jeffrey Dahmer that was now hanging in Melody’s locker. I hadn’t felt so disappointed since King Kong vs. Godzilla had been preempted for the presidential debates.

  Dan smiled his Norman Bates smile at me and flashed the devil sign with two fingers. “Leon,” he whispered.

  “Dan. Um, what are you doing in Melody’s locker?” Please, please, let him just be storing stuff there for a little bit.

  “Melody asked me to swap yesterday.”

  “Did she say why?” I was feeling ill, and not just because of Dan.

  “Something about hating you and never wanting to see you again.” He shut his locker and made a bizarre series of hand gestures over the lock. “Oh, and she told me to give you this.”

  He passed me a DVD.

  “The Care Bears Movie?”

  Dan did a double take. “Whoops, that’s mine. Here.”

  He passed me the Twilight Zone DVD, the one I’d given Melody for her birthday.

  “You didn’t take my advice, did you?” he said, sounding disappointed. “You blurted everything out the second you saw her.”

  I shrugged. Dan shook his head in reproach.

  I stared at the movie in my hand. I’d have to search Melody out now, instead of casually meeting on neutral turf. This was going to be hard.

  “You know,” mused Dan, “I always kind of liked Melody.”

  For a second, I had the horrifying thought that Dan was going to ask Melody out and I’d have to let him. But I immediately realized she’d never agree to a date with him.

  “Melody’s nice,” I muttered, trying to get out of the conversation.