“AS I MENTIONED YESTERDAY, 1960 USHERED IN A NEW ERA IN THE POLITICAL ARENA,” lectured Mr. Hamburg, as quietly as the bombing of Dresden. “MR. SANDERS? MISS HENNON? I THINK YOU DID SOME RESEARCH ON THAT EARLIER THIS SEMESTER. COULD YOU EXPLAIN?”
“Yes….” I started to answer, but for the first time since Columbus’ voyage, Melody volunteered to answer a history question.
“In 1960, Richard Nixon and John F. Kennedy had the first televised presidential debate. People who heard it on the radio thought Nixon did better; those who saw it on TV thought Kennedy had won. A lot of people think that was because Kennedy was handsome.”
Melody turned and looked directly at me. “It goes to show, people will always choose a pretty face. Looks count for everything.”
The whole class must have known that Melody was mocking me. People were staring. I had to say something.
“Kennedy was a lot more than a face. He was a great president.” I glared at Melody.
“No one knew that at the time, Leon. All they knew was they had a choice between someone who was ugly and someone who wasn’t, and they made their decision. I just hope the voters ended up happy.”
Hamburg grimaced, the closest he could come to a smile. “WELL, I THINK MR. KENNEDY PROVED HIMSELF IN OFFICE….”
I refused to look at Melody again. I didn’t need this crap. I wasn’t going to let it annoy me.
“And then she said everyone voted for Kennedy because he was good-looking,” I whined, very annoyed.
I sat on a table in the gym, talking to Rob, who was busy pressing a cotton ball to the hole in his arm. The gym was filled with about a dozen cots for the annual Honor Society blood drive I was spending study hall passing out pretzels and juice to the donors. A few cots away Jimmy and Johnny raced to see who could bleed a pint first. Dan was harassing one of the Red Cross workers, apparently trying to buy a plasma bag. Buttercup made the rounds, snapping photos of people with needles in their arms. At the far end of the gym, Honor Society president Dave Scaff lay moaning in a most pathetic way, his face a strange shade of green.
Rob took a swig of juice and pondered. “You really think Nixon was better looking? I mean, Kennedy slept with Marilyn Monroe.”
“That’s not the point! Melody was talking about me!”
Rob flipped his bloody cotton ball into the biohazard bin. “So what’s it matter to you?”
“I don’t want her to think I’m a jerk.”
“I don’t see how you have much of a choice. You dumped her. She’s history. Of course she’s not going to like you.”
I stood and began pacing. “Melody’s so nice. I wish we could still, you know, be friends like before.”
“Dude, no chance. You dumped her for someone hotter. But she’ll live. We’ve all been dissed; it happens. You’ve got Amy, and Melody will find someone else.”
I snorted at the thought of Melody on the dating scene. “Right.”
Rob shot me a funny look. “Was Melody just a pity date, then?”
“Of course not!”
Rob helped himself to more pretzels. “So why do you think you’re the only guy who’ll ever ask her out? Melody’s no hottie, but she’s not gross or anything.”
I felt angry, and I wished I could blame Rob. He was right. I’d been guilty of thinking of Melody as a charity case. Her life wasn’t over. I’d moved on; so would she.
I peeled off a BE NICE TO ME, I GAVE BLOOD sticker and slapped it onto Rob’s chest.
“Hey,” he complained. “Be gentle. I’m a quart low.”
“Well, thanks for giving. Remind me to mark your bottle so it doesn’t turn anyone black.”
Rob waited till he was halfway across the gym before shouting “Yeah, Leon, I wouldn’t donate if I were you. At least until those sores heal.” For the second time that day, everyone turned and looked at me.
Luckily, I was spared further embarrassment. Dave Scaff finally finished squeezing out his pint. He stood up, stumbled, and knocked his bag to the floor, where it burst in a bloody mess. Dan howled. Then he laughed.
31
SHUT UP! NO, YOU SHUT UP!
The next night I sat with Rob and Samantha at Pioneer Lanes, enjoying the sight of Amy bending over to put on her shoes. I doubted she’d like bowling all that much, but she had said it was my turn to pick what we did.
It wasn’t league night, so the only other customers were a young couple with several unruly kids. I began to search the rack for the perfect ball.
“So how come we didn’t see you two at the party?” Amy asked Rob and Samantha.
Rob was entering everyone’s names into the scoring machine. “I had a family thing.” Those of us who knew Rob realized that this probably meant he had been grounded.
“I had better things to do,” answered Samantha in her holier-than-thou tone. I doubted she’d even known about the party.
Amy was first in the bowling lineup. She looked regretfully at her long nails, then attempted a between-the-legs shot. It rolled four feet before bouncing into the gutter.
“Here,” I said, “let me help you.” I placed Amy’s hands correctly around the ball. Putting one hand on her hip and another on her arm, I showed her the proper stance, only lingering for a few seconds. Amy tried again and this time managed to knock down the ten pin. I didn’t realize I still had my hand on her upper arm until she broke free and kissed me. The moment was somewhat ruined by Rob shouting “Hands where I can see them!”
As Rob took his turn, I noticed that Samantha was looking a little down. “What’s your problem?” I asked, in an attempt to be sensitive.
Samantha gave me her usual contemptuous look before explaining. “I had a fight with Ben.”
Obviously, she expected us to want to know what had happened. Out of Samantha’s line of sight, Rob and I did a quick rock, paper, scissors. His rock crushed my scissors, so I had to be the one who asked.
“About what, Samantha?” My voice oozed with false sincerity.
“Oh, my cousin’s getting married. When I told Ben she’s keeping her own last name, he made some joke. Then it got blown all out of proportion.”
Amy was drying her hands with the fan thing. “You’re really not going to change your name when you get married?”
Samantha had been stooping to get a ball, but froze. “If I choose to get married, I certainly will keep my own name, Amy.”
With the exception of Buttercup, everyone had issues that they were overly sensitive about, that made them fly off the handle. With Samantha, it was feminism and women’s rights. Even Johnny knew better than to go there. Amy, however, wouldn’t let it drop.
“What about when you have kids? You’re not going to do that dumb hyphenation thing, are you?”
For a second I thought Samantha and Amy would have a knockdown, drag-out chick fight right there in the alley. (Hey, a guy could dream, couldn’t he?) Samantha kept her composure, however, by grabbing her ball and smashing eight pins. Too bad they weren’t in her lane.
Rob stepped up and crooked his thumb at our lane, indicating that it was my turn. I ended up with a spare. When I returned, Samantha and Amy were having an animated discussion about women in the workplace.
“Do you mean to say,” snapped Samantha, “that there’s no such thing as sex discrimination?”
Amy shrugged. “I’m sure it happens sometimes. But instead of crying about it, people should just work harder.”
Samantha was doing a good impression of her bowling ball, her eyes and mouth perfectly round. “How can you say that?”
“It’s like with black people. They didn’t start off having equal rights, but now they do.”
Rob stood up. “I’m getting a soda. Anyone want anything?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I’ll have a…”
Rob was already walking to the snack bar. He looked angry, but then, he always looked angry.
I told Amy it was her turn. Samantha was so riled she wouldn’t even talk to me. This went on most of the game
. Amy and Samantha would argue politics; I’d be ignored; and Rob would laugh at us behind his hand. By the tenth frame everyone was so wound up we declined to play another game.
I helped Amy with her coat and we walked off into the warm April night.
“I don’t see what the big deal is,” Amy was saying. “When I get a job, I’m going to succeed on my own. And if people don’t think I’m good at what I do, I’ll just work harder and prove them wrong.”
As we drove home, I turned the conversation to teacher bashing, a nice, neutral subject. Amy’s opinions were making me uneasy somehow.
But as I kissed her that night, I tried to tell myself it wasn’t important. We were only seventeen, after all. Who cared about the politics of gender discrimination? Was it really such an issue?
Amy got out and made the “call me” sign with her thumb and pinkie. I didn’t drive home; I just cruised. I swung by the twins’ house, but I saw Jessica’s car out front. The Taco Barn was packed, and the lock and dam was empty.
I didn’t mean for it to happen, but I was hardly surprised when I found myself on the outskirts of town, in front of the familiar gate. I let the engine idle and looked across the dark yard and the silhouettes of the horses, toward the dim outline of a battered pickup. A light was burning in the living room. The front door opened and a vague figure stood in the door. Gunning my engine, I sped off.
32
BRIGHT COLLEGE DAYS
Every year, there were three signs that summer was approaching. The first was that east Missouri would experience three weeks of nice weather before it became unbearably humid. The second was that my dad would start to badger me about getting a summer job. The third sign was the recruiters.
Various colleges would set up little propaganda booths in the commons area. Any upperclassman who walked too close would be subjected to a barrage of adjectives describing the paradise that was their campus. You quickly learned not to make eye contact. Except Johnny. He’d always asked the recruiters how often he could expect to get laid at their campus. They’d never bother him after that.
One morning, about two weeks after Amy and I had started dating, I ran the academia obstacle course.
I zigged past the Washington U booth. “Sorry, I’m not a millionaire.”
I zagged past the Rolla College of Engineering table. “I hear there’s tons of women at Rolla, but they’re both lesbians.”
I scoffed at the Lindenwood recruiter. “Is it true you can still pay your tuition with pigs and cows?”
Dan was blocking the Central Christian College of the Bible station. I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but the recruiter looked upset.
The Marine Corps sergeant ignored me.
I had just about run the gauntlet and was looking for Samantha when I saw Melody.
I almost missed her. Not because of the other students, or because of my usual distraction, or because her wig was obscuring her face. It was because of what she was doing.
She was leaning against the University of Missouri–St. Louis booth, talking to the recruiter, and smiling.
She wasn’t alone. Buttercup, for once not taking pictures, had joined the conversation.
I’d never seen Melody go out of her way to talk to people. Even at lunch, when she sat at her new table, she didn’t say a word. Not that I’d glance over at her, fifteen or twenty times, while I ate.
After the history class incident the other day, I knew better than to try to talk to her again. She obviously didn’t have any use for Leon anymore.
Of course I went over and tried to talk to her anyway. If there was one thing I’d learned from Mr. Hamburg, it was that men seldom followed the sensible course of action. Granted, that usually led to wars and televised debate, but still.
Buttercup was yapping at the recruiter about how she was going to decorate her dorm. From what I heard, she was going for a rainbow theme. I wondered how she would react the first time some college guy came over and tried to take off his pants.
Melody stiffened when I approached her, but she didn’t move away. And then she smiled. Just a little. We walked a few paces from Buttercup.
“Thinking about going to UMSL?” Damn, my icebreakers were forced.
“Maybe. It’s close to home.” Melody held my eyes. She wasn’t friendly, but she wasn’t too terribly hostile. That was an improvement.
“So did you catch the Twilight Zone marathon the other day?”
She allowed herself a laugh. “That Talking Tina episode still freaks me out.”
We were having a conversation again!
“How about the one with that kid who could control people?”
Melody affected an evil voice. “I wish you into the cornfield.” She really was smiling now. Should I try to make peace?
“Melody, um, you didn’t have to give back that DVD.”
Her smile faded. “That’s what you do when…That’s what you do.”
“Listen, Mel, maybe we could get together sometime. Watch movies like before.”
She took a quick breath. “I guess I’d kind of like that, Leon.”
My God, is it working? Does she want to be friends again? “Great!”
“How about tomorrow night?” she asked. I noticed that her hand rose to take mine, then fell quickly to her side.
“Sure…Oh, I can’t. Amy wants to take me clothes shopping.”
Dan had once told me that during the Spanish Inquisition, they’d rip out your tongue for making foolish remarks. Good thing I didn’t live in medieval Europe.
Melody’s face scrunched up like an old kiwifruit. “On second thought, Leon, you can watch it with Amy.” She pronounced Amy’s name like it was a curse that could make crops die.
“C’mon, Melody. How about Thursday?”
“No! Don’t you get it? I’m not going to share you! I’m not going to hang out with you when it’s convenient for her. I’m not going to sit there, remembering the dance, while you dress up for her! I hope she’s everything you want, Leon.”
Melody stomped away. I let her. Why couldn’t I just let it end? Most of Zummer High wanted nothing to do with me. Why couldn’t I let Melody join them?
I wanted to throttle someone. Where was that guy from Rolla?
“You broke her heart, you know.”
Buttercup was standing next to me. Though the girl was incapable of not smiling, her grin was less broad than usual.
“I didn’t mean to.” Why did I have to explain this to everyone? What business was this of theirs?
“Of course you didn’t. And she knows that.”
“What did she tell you about me?”
“That you were sweet and paranoid, and the biggest dork in school. She liked that. You weren’t afraid of what people thought.”
Which was one of the reasons I dumped her. I was worried about what people would think.
“I didn’t know you guys were friends,” I said, trying to change the subject.
Buttercup shrugged, her smile growing broader. “We went mini golfing the other day. She’s awfully nice.”
“Yeah, I know. She—” I cut myself short. Never unburden yourself to a reporter, even one who writes for the Bulldog Bugle.
“Leon, why did you break up with her?”
It was almost time to go to class. I’d missed breakfast with Samantha and I didn’t feel like talking anymore.
“Off the record?”
“Of course.”
“Because I like Amy better. I know that makes me a son of a bitch. I know that I hurt Melody and I know that makes me scum, but that’s how it is. Life isn’t a fairy tale, Buttercup. People do not live happily ever after.” Right?
Buttercup’s smile didn’t waver. “I don’t believe that for a second. There’s someone out there for everyone. I might spend my whole life waiting for Prince Charming.” Her eyes narrowed and she almost frowned. “But I know if I find him, I won’t let him go.”
33
EVERY GIRL’S CRAZY ’BOUT A SHARP-DRESS
ED MAN
If it was up to guys, human beings would still be wearing animal hides. In the winter. In the summer we’d go around naked.
In the cramped dressing room, I pulled on a shirt that cost more than a month’s allowance. Ever since elementary school, I’d regarded clothes as something to keep my butt from hanging out. So why had I allowed Amy to drag me clothes shopping?
“How you doing in there?” came Amy’s lilting, beautiful voice.
Well, her voice was beautiful to me. I did notice she was developing a smoker’s rasp and perpetual cough.
“Just a second.” The shirt actually looked kind of nice. Button-down, expensive, and no funny sayings. I modeled for the mirror.
I exited the booth to get Amy’s approval. She didn’t whistle or compliment me like I’d hoped; she was too busy looking at some jeans in the women’s section.
“What do you think?” I called.
She glanced at me. “Nice. You should get that.”
I removed the shirt and added it to the pile. This was probably the most expensive shopping trip I’d ever been on. I’d had to go to the bank and withdraw most of the money I’d been saving for a camping trip with the guys that summer.
The clerk wrapped up my purchases as I handed her the small pile of twenties. I had no idea how I was going to pay for gas that week, or that Weird Al CD I wanted. If this kept up, I might have to overcome my laziness and get a job with Rob at the pizza joint.
Why had I just spent $155.79 on a bunch of shirts and stuff I didn’t care about? I used to laugh at guys like Ben, who wasted time dressing up. So what the hell was I doing in the Gap?
One look at Amy reminded me. A sales guy, about my age, was lurking around her, quick to show her this item or that item. He’d completely ignored me.
Amy was a girl who could have any guy she wanted and she knew it. And for some reason she wanted to be with me. We’d been together for over two weeks. I’d kissed her. She seemed to like me. So of course, she’d want me to dress a little nicer. And eat at places besides the Barn. And maybe not hang out with my friends as much.
Playing With Matches Page 17
