Playing With Matches

by Brian Katcher

  “Melody was hard; now she’s harder. She’ll hurt less in the future. You should be proud.”

  “Shut up!” I lunged at him, but he easily dodged. Slowly, slowly, we circled the fire.

  “Amy’s harder too. You should date more women, Sanders. You’re a one-man blast furnace.”

  I tried not to listen. I wanted to deck him, sock him in that stupid leering mouth of his.

  “And you went through the fire too, didn’t you? You hurt a little less now, right? Just a little colder, a little harder?”

  I lunged again and almost caught my jeans on fire.

  “I know what it’s like to lose someone you love. It’s better this way.”

  I feinted left and charged right. Grabbing Dan by the lapels, I smashed him into the gravel.

  “Who have you ever lost, you satanic dick? Who have you ever loved?”

  The strange light in his eyes had gone out. Instead, for the first time since I’d met him, Dan looked hurt and embarrassed. He mumbled something.

  “What?”

  “My father.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  He stood up and brushed himself off. Without looking at me he explained. “You asked me who I’d lost. My father. Left home when I was nine. He sends me a hundred bucks at Christmas, fifty on my birthday, and I haven’t seen him in five years.”

  This was the first time I’d heard Dan express anything like a human emotion. But quite frankly, I was sick of hearing about other people’s parents’ divorces. Before I could think of a reply, his veneer of evil had returned.

  “No matter.” He looked back at me. His eyes were now dark and shiny. “Crying never brought him back. But the fire helped me. It cleansed and hardened me. I don’t feel the pain anymore.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “I want to help you. Surrender to the fire, Leon. It burns away hopeless, useless feelings. It only hurts for a second.”

  “Dan…I don’t want that. That’s cold.”

  “Love hurts, Leon. Let the flames cauterize your feeling for Melody.”

  “I can’t do that. I think I love her.”

  Dan sighed a world-weary sigh.

  “Well, then what can I offer to make you happy? Thirty pieces of silver?”

  “C’mon…”

  “John the Baptist’s head on a platter? Or Dr. Bailey’s?”

  “Let’s go.”

  “If I offered you all you surveyed, would you bow down to me? No? Well then, what is it that you want? What would make you happy? How about…” He paused dramatically. “Melody’s heart?”

  I was horror-struck until I realized he was speaking metaphorically. “She’s done with me.”

  “Yes. And you know why.”

  “Duh, I cheated on her.”

  He waved a chastising finger at me. “Men have been forgiven for worse. That’s not why she left. She left because you told her she was ugly.”

  “I never said that!”

  “Did you not leave her for someone prettier?”

  I winced.

  Dan nodded. “She’s always thought of herself as ugly, but you sealed it. She trusted you and you called her ugly.”

  “If you’re trying to cheer me up, you’re doing a lousy job of it.” For the observations of an insane person, Dan’s were hitting close to home.

  “What I don’t understand is why you’ve given up on her.”

  “She won’t take me back! I just said that.”

  “Not right off the bat, Leon. I’m sure the fire burned away all her feeling for you. But maybe not. Maybe…”

  “Maybe what?”

  “I hear things.”

  “What? What things?”

  “I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard many things in hell.”

  “Dan!”

  “And a friend of mine mentioned that maybe Melody still likes you. Which is not to say she doesn’t hate you too.”

  I was near the point of throwing Dan down again. “Who? Who said that?”

  Dan smiled, and for once it wasn’t a devilish grin. “All I’m saying, Sanders, is don’t give up just yet. If you really…” He seemed reluctant to say the word. “If you really love Melody, don’t count her out.”

  Dan walked to the riverbank and unexpectedly shook his fist at the sky. Maybe he was cursing the universe; maybe he was hating his absent father; maybe he was daring God to strike him dead. Whatever the reason, he was through talking for the night. I sat on my fender and pondered what he had told me.

  38

  POP GOES THE DIHYDROGEN CHLORIDE

  “Now, you’ll have to be a little careful with this bit,” intoned Mr. Jackson from the front of the class. He adjusted his safety glasses and turned his attention to a setup that looked like it had come from Wile E. Coyote’s Acme catalog. Using a Bunsen burner, he lit a wooden splint on fire. He then held the splint to a rubber tube that protruded from the jumble of glass jars on the counter. Without warning, a loud bang ripped through the classroom. Several girls yelped in surprise. Jimmy, who’d been asleep, awoke with a snort.

  Mr. Jackson launched into an explanation of how the combustion of the gases released from the chemical mixture produced the noise. Though the man couldn’t teach for anything, he certainly did know his material.

  Diagonally ahead, Amy and her friends giggled in surprise. Six days had passed since she’d stormed out of the Taco Barn. When I last spoke to her, I wondered how she’d treat me. Would she be snippy, cold, belligerent? No. What she did to me was far crueler.

  She treated me just like she had before that time I’d eaten her cigarette. I no longer existed for her. It wasn’t that she ignored me. If she had made an effort not to notice me, at least that would have proved I was still on her mind. But now I had ceased to be. She made no point of looking away from me, not walking near me, or avoiding me. It felt like it had two months before, when I had been nothing but a piece of furniture to her. It hurt. But had I expected better?

  “Okay, class,” said Mr. Jackson. “Let’s see if you can do it. Groups of two, everyone remember your goggles.”

  For most chemistry labs I worked with the twins. However, after a little disaster with some sulfur compounds had cleared the science hall for two periods, Mr. Jackson insisted they never work together again. Johnny ran off to join a couple of other jocks, while Jimmy managed to wrangle his way onto Cassandra’s team. I looked around to see who’d be my partner for the last chemistry lab of the year. Amy was the only uncoupled student left, and she seemed to realize it at the same time I did.

  I hoped she’d ask someone to trade partners, or tell me to find my own group, or something—anything to show we’d been more than classmates at one time. I was out of luck. Indifferently, she told me to grab the instructions and the goggles and she’d get the equipment. She might have been talking to a stranger.

  Without a word we began to set up. As I linked test tubes and measured chemicals, I wondered if I should say anything. Apologize again? Ask her some generic question to start a conversation? Or just leave well enough alone? What would Bart Axelrod do?

  Of course, I opened my big fat mouth. “The weather’s been nice, hasn’t it?”

  “I guess. Check the seal on that tube there.”

  I couldn’t believe it. I had just made a comment about the weather. Smooth. We worked another fifteen minutes in silence.

  Mr. Jackson began to walk around the room with a cigarette lighter, igniting splints to see whose experiments would bang. A few loud reports echoed through the lab, but mostly there were just a few sad pops. Amy and I hurried to finish.

  Johnny, whose chemicals had produced a weird whistling sound, trotted by the table as he cleaned up. “Hey, Leon,” he said as he paused by our table. “The dollar theater is showing Bloody Monday, Friday night only. You in?”

  “Miss a chance to see Axelrod’s greatest masterpiece? I’m there.” Romantic hell or not, this was an opportunity I couldn’t p
ass up.

  Johnny winked and walked away. When I turned back to the experiment, I was surprised to see that Amy was wearing a rather angry expression.

  “I guess you’ll be taking Melody,” she said with a hiss. Maybe the thought of my going out with friends—friends she had begun to hang out with—set her off.

  “No.”

  Amy wasn’t looking at me. “Why not? Are you seeing someone else behind her back?” Now that Amy was acknowledging me, I longed for her to ignore me again.

  “No.” Someone’s experiment banged and I fumbled with my chemicals.

  Amy was sneering. “So just going out with the guys? Then make out with her later? Or did you dump her too?”

  I slapped my hand on the table. “Melody won’t talk to me, okay?”

  I knew that Amy was mad at me, but I wasn’t prepared for how she responded.

  “Well, I’m sure you’ll find someone new. Just check the burn wards.”

  My head snapped up. The beaker I’d been messing with slipped off the edge of the table and crashed to the floor. Someone—I thought it was Johnny—gave me a sarcastic round of applause.

  For five seconds we stared at each other. Even after I’d dumped her, even after everything, I never thought Amy would make fun of that. There must have been something in my expression that scared Amy. Her look of mocking triumph melted rapidly away.

  I stormed off to grab the oft-used broom and dustpan. I refused to look at her. That was cruel. Really, really cruel.

  When I had dumped the glass shards, I found Amy staring blankly at the experiment. Neither of us spoke as we waited for Mr. Jackson and his fire. After half a minute, Amy broke the silence.

  “Okay, that was a cheap shot.”

  I didn’t answer.

  “Leon?”

  I finally looked at her. Her eyes were downcast; she looked ashamed.

  “Leon, I didn’t mean that.”

  I shrugged.

  “But, Leon, what did you expect…” She was interrupted by our teacher, who was halfheartedly lighting whatever gases we’d managed to produce. There was a noise like an ant farting. Jackson shook his head and moved on.

  I started packing up the equipment. Amy touched my arm. I pulled away.

  A lot of seniors had written on their cars with white shoe polish: GO MZH! BULLDOGS RULE! WHERE OUT OF HERE! (That was Dylan’s.)

  I sat on my hood, waiting for Rob. Just over a week till summer. I should be happy. I wanted to be happy.

  I also wanted to be rich and tall. We didn’t always get what we wanted.

  Except this year, I’d gotten exactly what I wanted. Twice. And somehow, I managed to dump them both for the other one and end up alone.

  Only you, Leon.

  “Hey, Leon!”

  Amy. The first time she’d called to me in the parking lot, I’d gone running like an obedient puppy.

  This time…I went running like a self-assured, macho puppy.

  “Hi, Amy.” Even after her behavior in the lab, I still lacked the spine to ignore her. Amy had tried to apologize earlier. Now wasn’t the time to focus on my own wounded pride.

  Amy was chewing a wad of gum. She pulled out another piece and crammed it into her mouth.

  “Did you quit smoking?”

  She blew a bubble. “It’s better for your health. Plus you can only cough up so much yellow phlegm before you start to think.” She offered me the pack of gum and I took a piece.

  “Leon, about what I said earlier…” Her ponytail whipped in the spring wind. “I didn’t mean it.” Amy sounded truly ashamed.

  I kicked my tire. “No one expects you to like Melody.”

  “And I don’t,” she said severely. “But I shouldn’t have made fun of her like that.”

  “Thanks.” There was a pause. “So any big plans for summer?”

  She sighed. “I’m going to live with my dad in Chesterfield for a while.”

  “Oh, boy.”

  We both stared at each other for a second.

  “Amy? Maybe when you get back, we could—”

  “No! Leon, I told you—”

  “Not like that!” I objected so loudly the gum flew out of my mouth and nearly hit her. “I mean, just to hang out.”

  She smiled at me. “Nope. We’re not friends, Leon. I don’t hate you, but we’re not friends.”

  “Yeah. Well, have fun in Chesterfield.”

  “You men always ask the impossible. Have fun at Taco Barn. And Leon?”

  “Yeah?”

  Amy put her hands on her hips and tilted her head. “Melody’s a lucky girl.”

  “I told you, she’s done with me.” Or was that what Amy meant?

  Amy was already walking to her car. “Are you sure about that, Leon?” she called over her shoulder.

  39

  MONDAY, BLOODY MONDAY

  St. Christopher Cinema, one of the great old movie palaces constructed after the Depression, had been built around 1939. It boasted thirty-foot-high ceilings, elaborate murals, an orchestra pit, and a balcony (for colored patrons). You could picture the ushers helping people to their seats, soldiers on leave feeling up their girlfriends, not a cell phone to be heard. Though most two-screen theaters shut down during the VCR revolution, St. Christopher managed to stay open by showing old movies at a buck a pop.

  “I’m only going to say this once, scumwad,” said Johnny, imitating Bart Axelrod’s raspy voice. “Do you want popcorn?”

  “Sure as a Smith and Wesson beats four aces,” I replied, using Axelrod’s catchphrase. Johnny and I edged into the refreshment line in St. Christopher’s ornate lobby. Surprisingly, no one—not even Jessica—had opted to join us for the screening of what was generally regarded as Axelrod’s only two-star movie, Bloody Monday.

  I was having a good time in spite of myself. True, I kept flashing back to the time I’d taken Melody to see an Axelrod movie, but there was nothing I could do about that now. I would have to move on. The last thing I wanted to do was get all teary-eyed at a bad action flick.

  “Hey, Leon, is that Dan and Buttercup coming out of the theater there?”

  “Damn, you’re right. What’s up with that?” I watched in sick awe as our school’s sweetest girl and most evil guy emerged from the theater hand in hand. Buttercup had mentioned something about meeting a guy. But Dan? This was the prince she’d been waiting for?

  “Were they watching Monday?” asked Johnny.

  I checked the schedule board. “No, some foreign film. The one with that one chick.”

  “Dan went to see that? Holy crap.”

  Buttercup spotted us and waved. For a second, I thought Dan was going to try to make a break for it; clearly he didn’t like being seen coming out of a movie that didn’t feature dismemberments. Realizing he was trapped, he followed his date toward us.

  “John, Leon.” He gave a curt nod.

  “Buttercup, Dan.” Johnny and I were grinning like idiots. “Did you enjoy your movie?”

  “Well,” said Buttercup, “I liked it, but I think Dan was bored.” She pinched his cheek. She was probably the only person who could do that and not risk losing a finger.

  “Next week, we rent the movie I want to,” said Dan, making it clear to us that he hadn’t been whipped.

  “What’re you watching?” I asked. “Steel Magnolias?”

  “No,” answered Buttercup, missing my jab. “Something called Silence of the Lambs. It sounds cute.”

  I opened my mouth to warn her, but changed my mind. If she really was dating Dan, then she’d have to learn some things on her own.

  Buttercup and Dan left the lobby, Dan shooting me the evil eye over his shoulder. Johnny gave his ticket to the ticket taker. I waited for a few other people to pass, then followed. Maybe that made me look like a loser who went to the movies on his own, but it sure beat looking like I was Johnny’s date.

  Even though the film didn’t start for half an hour, the theater was already filling up. Pockets of rowdy movie fans sat in the
plush seats. Down in front, the seventy-year-old house musician pounded away on the old organ. The audience snapped their fingers in time to the theme from The Addams Family. People hollered, threw things, and made out. It was great to be young.

  I plopped down in an aisle seat and threw my feet up on the seat in front of me. Johnny and I inhaled popcorn as the organist played “Monster Mash.” I was about to quote some more Axelrod films when I saw something that made me choke on a kernel.

  Across the wide carpeted aisle, several teenagers wrestled their way into the seats opposite mine. I recognized a few of them from our school. The girl directly on the other side of the aisle was turned away from me, but I could tell she had straight brown hair. A little too straight. I did a double take. It was definitely Melody’s wig. That meant there was a good chance Melody was under it.

  The organist was now playing “Take Me Out to the Ball Game” and Johnny was hollering along.

  “Root, root, root for the Cardinals, if they don’t win it’s a shame…”

  “Johnny, we gotta move.”

  “For it’s one, two, three…huh?”

  “Let’s change seats.”

  “No way, man, the joint’s packed.” He saw Melody over my shoulder and quickly turned his head away.

  “I see. Too late to find another place to sit. Want to change with me?”

  “No, it’s okay. I shouldn’t hide from her.”

  The old organist, who some said started here as an usher in the sixties, bowed to the applause of the audience. The lights dimmed.

  St. Christopher also continued the great old movie tradition of showing a cartoon before the main feature. As Bugs Bunny matched wits with Yosemite Sam, I held my palm to the side of my face and thought. Should I say hi to Melody? She’d certainly acted like she never wanted to talk to me again. But hadn’t both Amy and Dan implied that maybe I still stood a chance?

  I snuck another look in Melody’s direction. Her gaunt features stood out in the flickering glow of the screen. Once again, I got the impression of a skull when I saw her face in low light. The angel of death. Only now I saw more angel than death in her face. She was beautiful. Not that inner-beauty crap either. And not that she had a hot little body. I liked her face. I wanted to see her smile.