Playing with Matches (11 page)

20

LEON TO THE RESCUE

W
e often make offers when we never intend to follow through. How many times have we said,
If there’s anything I can do for you, just ask
? A couple of weeks earlier, when I’d told Amy she could call me if she ever wanted to talk, I never really expected her to take me up on that.

It was the Saturday before the dance. Jimmy and Johnny were grounded; Rob was out hurling pizza dough at his part-time job; and Samantha was off visiting her boyfriend. Melody was at Tony’s softball game. I’d politely declined when she’d invited me.

Of course, that meant I’d sentenced myself to
a quiet evening with my parents.
Dad and I relaxed on our living room couch, watching a rented movie. Dad had picked it out, so it featured a lot of car chases and explosions (though not near as many as a Bart Axelrod feature). Mom sat nearby, working on her unending scrapbook.

The semimilitary movie made Dad remember his years serving Uncle Sam and he was well into another story.

“So then the DI—that’s drill instructor—gets right in my face and calls me a worthless piece of”—Dad glanced over at my mom—“
poop.
Then he made me do fifty push-ups.”

“That’ll teach you to sneeze in formation,” I replied. I’d heard the story a dozen times. Though my father never had anything good to say about his time in the air force, he sure talked about it a lot. Maybe after twenty years of pushing pencils in an office, he looked back on his military time as the wild and crazy days.

I wondered if I’d ever have any wild and crazy days, or if someday I’d be boring my son with stories of Pioneer Lanes and nights at the lock and dam.

The phone rang and my mom answered it. “Yes, he’s here; hold on.” She passed the cordless phone to me.

I pressed the receiver to my ear and was shocked to hear someone noisily blowing their nose.

“Johnny?” I asked.

I heard a hiccup on the other end, then a voice.

“Leon, this is Amy.”

I sprinted to my room so fast I almost stepped in the bowl of popcorn.
Amy? Calling me?

“Um, hi.” I attempted to straighten my hair in the reflection of my computer monitor until I remembered she couldn’t see me.

“I wasn’t sure if this was your number. Do you have any idea how many Sanderses there are in the phone book?”

“Uh…” How should I respond? Laugh? Try to make small talk?

“So…,” said Amy after a pause. “What are you up to?” Her voice was flat, like she was talking just to talk.

“Just watching a movie with my folks.”
On Saturday night. Real cool, Leon.

“Oh.” There was more silence. What did she want? Amy wasn’t the type of girl who had to chat with classmates on the weekend for something to do.

“Leon,” she eventually said hoarsely. “Can we talk? Do you have time?”

I pulled up my desk chair. “Of course. What’s on your mind?”

“No, I mean, can you come over for a little bit? I understand if you’re busy.”

I was already pulling on my jacket. “Where do you live?”

I was driving nearly twice the legal speed limit. My parents hadn’t even looked up when I’d babbled about having to go see a friend. Amy lived about ten miles away, and I planned to be there in five minutes.

Steering with one hand, I pulled some gum out of my glove box and pondered what was happening. Amy wanted to talk. What the hell did that mean? She had friends she could talk to, but instead she’d called me.

I was at a loss. Guys never needed to talk, and Samantha didn’t exactly confide her thoughts and fears to me. And yet Amy had asked me to come over.

I remembered an episode of
Tales from the Crypt
I’d seen with Melody. A cute girl asked out her nerdish coworker, seduced him, and then sacrificed him to an alien god. It was an outlandish idea, but better than any theory I could come up with.

Amy’s house was in one of those ritzy St. Christopher subdivisions that literally sprang up out of nowhere in a matter of weeks. Every house had two stories and a two-car garage. I was very aware that I was driving the skuzziest car in the neighborhood.

I pulled into her driveway and paused for one second. What would Melody think of my running off to Amy’s house late at night? Amy hadn’t exactly been nice to her at the bowling alley.

I swatted at the dummy hand grenade hanging from my rearview mirror. There was only one way to find out. Melody didn’t have to know that I’d been here. Besides, I somehow doubted that Amy planned to meet me at the door in a skimpy negligee.

Taking a deep breath, I rang the doorbell and waited. And waited. I was sure I’d gotten the address right. Was Amy even there? I remembered the other time we were supposed to do something together.
Jesus, maybe she stood me up again.

I jabbed the bell a second time, right when Amy opened the door. She was dressed in sweatpants and an old sweater. Her hair hung in unkempt strands down the back of her head. She was puffing on a cigarette. And yet she was still just as gorgeous as ever (after I mentally added the bikini and the suntan lotion).

“C’mon in,” she mumbled.

Amy’s house was at an almost German level of order. All the chairs were exactly three inches from the table. All the blinds were pulled to precisely the same level. It looked like someone had placed the doormat with a T square. Still, something was odd. There was a large blank spot along one wall, as if there’d been a second couch there recently. The walls were covered with photos, but there were weird gaps, like some were missing.

I remembered her mentioning her parents’ divorce. Her father must have taken some stuff with him when he left.

Amy sat on the couch and patted the cushion next to her. I flopped down beside her, perhaps just a little too eagerly.

She exhaled a huge cloud of smoke. “Thanks for coming out. I’m sorry to call you this late. You want a soda or something?”

“No, thanks.” I was aware that my leg was jiggling, and I forced myself to stop it.

Amy crushed out her cigarette and stared at the ashtray for a while. I stared at the blank TV, desperately trying to think of something clever to say to end the silence.

“Leon, are your parents still together?” Amy asked out of nowhere.

I began to see what was bothering her. “Yes.”

“Do they ever fight?”

I thought about my goofy mom and dad: how they constantly bickered, finished each other’s sentences, and spent a weekend alone in Branson every summer.

“Sometimes.” I didn’t think spats about who didn’t pick up the dry cleaning were what Amy had in mind.

“Mine do. Did.” She ran her fingers through her tangled hair. “I mean, all the time. Every week they’d have a big damn blowout. When I was little, they’d try to hide it. But for the past few years, it was screaming, cussing, breaking things. And they’d try to get me to take sides.” Amy snorted long and loud. “And even after all that, I hate that they’re divorced.”

I opened my mouth to say something stupid, but she plowed on. “The bitch of it is, they still fight! It’s like even though Dad lives way out in Chesterfield now, they have to make a point of calling each other up to yell at each other. That’s what happened tonight. Mom called Dad up, and I could hear her telling him to go to hell from the bedroom. She doesn’t even care how that makes me feel.” Amy massaged her temples.

“Did you ever tell her that?”

Amy turned to me and I was surprised at how bloodshot her eyes were. “Yes. Tonight, actually. So she started yelling at me instead. Said I didn’t appreciate her, said I always took Dad’s side, said…said I didn’t love her. And then she left. Drove off. I don’t know where she is.”

Amy’s lower lip began to quiver and her face grew red. “How…how could she say that? I love my mom! How could she…” And then she was crying. It wasn’t like when Melody cried, with silent tears and internal pain. Amy went from zero to bawling in two seconds.

“Let it all out,” I said unnecessarily. She was already sobbing. When I put my arm around her, she didn’t pull away. She snuggled in closer.

After a few minutes she sat up, blew her nose, and reached for her cigarettes.

I laid my hand on her wrist. “Don’t.”

She smiled through her tears. “You can have one, if you’re hungry.” She leaned back and rested her head on my shoulder. I didn’t move an inch. Well, I actually moved several inches, but that was strictly involuntary. I had to remind myself that Amy just wanted to talk, and if I was going to face Melody on Monday, I should remember that. So I attempted to channel the spirit of Yoda and give some advice.

“Your mom didn’t mean what she said. She’s just in a bad place right now, and took it out on you.”

“I know that. She probably went to my aunt’s house. In a couple of hours she’ll come back and we’ll make up. But it really hurt me, what she said. I…I didn’t want to sit here alone. That’s why I called you. I was scared and angry, and didn’t want any of my friends to see me like that.”

“Yeah.” There was a tinge of bitterness in my voice. Apparently, she still didn’t even consider me a friend. I scooted away.

Amy grabbed my arm and pulled me back toward her. Her eyes were wide. “Oh, God, Leon, I didn’t mean it like that. Of course you’re my friend. I just…I dunno. Sometimes when I try to talk to Cassie or Jennifer, it’s like they don’t even hear me. They just interrupt me and talk about their own problems. And you…” She shrugged. “Well, you did say to call you if I wanted to talk.”

She still hadn’t let go of my arm. “I meant it.”

“Good,” she said, rather dismissively.

I gave her a grin, but her explanation rang hollow. She only ever came to me when she needed someone to talk to or to eat her cigarettes. She said she’d go out with me, but then ditched me without calling and never rescheduled. She told me she didn’t want to date anyone, then showed up at the bowling alley with a guy. She’d been nice to me, but she didn’t think of me as a friend.

“I need to go, Amy,” I said, standing.

“Wait!” Amy got to her feet so fast she upset the ashtray onto the carpet. “Don’t go just yet,” she said, in a somewhat urgent tone. “I don’t want to sit around here alone. Would you keep me company until my mom gets back?”

Now, a couple of weeks earlier, I would have gladly kept her company. I would have been a good buddy and a good listener, and I would have gotten a good slap when I tried to kiss her. But things had changed. Melody existed.

I looked at my watch. “I dunno…”

Amy smiled at me and patted a spot next to her on the sofa. I obeyed. It was okay. It wasn’t like the attraction was mutual; she just wanted some company.

She habitually reached for her cigarettes, then looked at me and stopped. Suddenly, she giggled.

“Leon, can I ask you a question?”

“Okay.”

“Why did it take you so long to ask me out?”

“Huh?” The question blindsided me.

“You’ve been following me around like a puppy since like seventh grade. Why did it take you until now to ask me out?”

I couldn’t face her accusing smile, so I bent down and began picking up the butts from the ashtray. Apparently, the Thomsons were right. I wasn’t subtle. Amy had me pegged from day one.

I set the ashtray back on the table. It was time to say something. “I dunno, Amy. You’re kind of hard to approach.”

To my surprise, she laughed. “Me? Look who’s talking!”

That threw me. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Amy stretched, and her top rode up, revealing her perfectly flat belly. She didn’t pull it back down, and I had a hard time not looking her in the navel. “It means, Leon, that most of the time you act—I dunno—like you’re not really there. You always have your nose in some book, you never talk to anyone, and you always hang out with the same couple of people. It’s like you don’t want to have any friends.”

“I have friends!” I almost bellowed.

Amy wasn’t impressed. “Who? Besides the twins and that Rob guy.”

“There’s Samantha, and Melody, and…”
Who? Dan?

“See? When was the last time you tried to get to know anyone else?”

Amy was starting to irritate me. I got up and began to pace. “Amy, it’s not like people really want to get to know me, okay? It’s not like I’m Mr. Popular!”

She rolled her eyes. “Come off it. For some reason you got it in your head that no one likes you. Get over yourself already.”

“Thank you, Sigmund. I’m sure everyone’s just dying to hang out with me.”

Amy stood up and faced me. For the first time, I looked her right in the eyes. I’d always assumed they were blue, but they were actually kind of a dark gray. She smiled at me for a moment, then spoke to me almost in a whisper.

“Why wouldn’t people want to hang out with you?” She stepped closer to me. “Because you’re smart?” And still closer. “Because you can be funny?” She backed me into the wall. “Because you’re
cute
?” She lowered her eyes, looking a little embarrassed.

I should’ve complimented her back, but I had to get confirmation. “You really think I’m cute?”

She adjusted my collar and eyed me critically. “Well, you could use a haircut and some new clothes. But yeah, I think you’re pretty cute.” Her hands moved down my arms and gently took my fingers. “Maybe I’m not easy to talk to either. But I kind of wish you’d asked me out earlier. I might have said yes. I could use someone like you right now.”

Both of us were looking at the floor. The only sound was our breathing. We were close; I could feel the top fringes of Amy’s hair touching my head. And closer still.

What was going on? Amy had called me cute. She was holding my hands. With each breath, we moved a little closer. Our noses passed each other.

But we weren’t going to…

We were.

All the years of fantasy did not measure up to the real thing. Her lips were just as smooth and welcoming as I’d dreamed, her tongue just as probing. I could feel the sweat on her cheeks; I could taste the chalky residue of nicotine. How could this really be happening?

Something was pushing me back. The universe wouldn’t allow it. Leon Sanders should not be kissing Amy Green. I tried to hold on, but the mysterious force shoved me farther and farther away….