Playing with Matches (6 page)

12

“IF WE SHADOWS HAVE OFFENDED…”

M
elody lived in one of the few remaining agricultural belts in our school district. In other words, way out in the sticks. It wasn’t easy trying to read her directions and drive on the narrow two-lane road at the same time.

This was not a date. I was picking up a friend to see a show and maybe grab a bite to eat. Just the same as I’d do with Rob, or Johnny, or Samantha.

Of course, Johnny always said a successful date included the three Fs: film, food, and…

A deer ran across the road and I nearly rolled my car trying to avoid it.

Melody had informed me that her family owned a couple of horses, and therefore I would not be able to drive past the heavy iron gate, which now barred my route to her driveway. “Just honk your horn,” she had advised me. “My dad will open it for you.”

I sounded the horn, the one part of the Buick that didn’t cry out “I’ll fail within the year!” There was a moment of silence, and a figure emerged from the distant house.

Melody’s father was a handsome guy. Rugged, a country boy through and through. He had the leathery skin, the big hands, and the muscular frame of someone who did physical labor for a living. He was dressed in faded jeans and a work shirt that appeared as if he’d actually worked in it. And he was smiling at me.

I wondered why that seemed so odd to me. Probably because I’d never had a girl’s father smile at me before. Sure, they’d shoot me a manly grin, but their eyes always said, “So you’re the punk who’s going to take my princess, my baby girl, my reason for living, and try to feel her up like some common streetwalker.” If you’ve ever dated a teenage girl, then you know the look.

Melody’s father unlatched the gate and waved me through. Keeping a careful eye on the two chestnut horses that warily watched me from near the driveway, I drove up to the house.

After I parked the car, I was struck with one of those moments that don’t seem awkward until you lived it. There I was at the house, but Melody’s father was still coming back up the driveway. Should I go ahead and knock or wait for him? Which way would make me look less like a tool?

Melody’s mother solved my dilemma by opening the front door. “You must be Leon,” she said warmly. “Please, come in.”

I was escorted into a well-lit, rustically decorated living room. Most of the furniture was made from hand-hewn wood. Antique farm implements decorated the hearth of a stone fireplace. A shotgun hung over the mantle. In the corner sat an old, well-used piano.

“Melody’s still getting ready,” said Mrs. Hennon, directing me to a sofa. “May I get you something to drink?”

“Sure.” Melody’s mother was quite attractive, a middle-aged woman who’d taken good care of herself and was still slender and firm. I wondered if maybe Melody would have been that pretty had she not had her accident. Then I felt guilty for thinking it. Why did I always obsess about Melody’s disfigurement? I didn’t find Samantha attractive at all, but I didn’t constantly worry that people thought we were an item.

Melody’s mother smiled. “I’ll be right back. Have you met Melody’s brother? Tony!” she called into the kitchen. “Come in here and keep Leon company.”

Now, obviously, the last thing in the world I wanted to do was meet Melody’s brother, and I knew the feeling was probably mutual. When Tony emerged from the kitchen, I was sure.

Tony was about thirteen years old, spiky-haired and unkempt, with the typical junior high chip on his shoulder. He scowled at me, grunted a hello, and positioned himself in front of a video game system. The customary awkward silence fell.

I felt I should try to start a conversation. “So, Tony…,” I began.

“Yeah?”

“You go to Zummer Junior High?”

“Yeah.”

“Nice.” Tony never looked up from the screen. I drummed my fingers. Where the hell was Melody’s father?

I heard him come in the back door a few seconds later. “Leon,” he said as he entered the living room and grabbed my hand. “It’s nice to meet you.” His grip was crushing.

Mrs. Hennon returned from the kitchen with a glass of soda. As I took a sip, they stood there, grinning at me. Obviously I was the first guy to come pick up their daughter. Melody’s first date.

This would have been a bad time to mention I found their daughter horribly unattractive.

Okay, maybe not
horribly,
but this was still not a date.

Melody’s parents kept smiling at me. I kept taking nervous gulps of my soda in an effort to cover the lack of conversation. If this had been a sitcom, I could have accidentally said something grossly inappropriate or sat on the family Chihuahua or something. Anything to cut this tension!

“Ready to go, Leon?” Melody had appeared from down the hall. She was wearing a blouse and a skirt; apparently, this was a dressier occasion than I had prepared for.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Hennon,” I managed to squeak as I hustled her out the door.

“Be back by eleven,” cautioned her father, the familiar distrust already edging into his voice.

It was not nearly late enough for the campus of the University of Missouri–St. Louis to be deserted. Students still walked the quad, laughing, shouting, holding hands. I looked forward to the not-too-distant future, when I’d join them as a freshman.

We’d just sat through a semiamateur production of
A Midsummer Night’s Dream.
I didn’t get a lot of it and kept having to whisper “What’s that guy doing?” to Melody. There was a funny bit about a guy with a donkey head, though, and some of the actresses wore very low-cut dresses, so the production wasn’t a complete wash. Melody seemed to enjoy herself.

I’d wanted to hurry out to my car right after the curtain call. (Actually, I’d wanted to leave much earlier, until Melody explained it was only the intermission.) Melody asked if we could go for a walk. I didn’t like what that implied, but it was her birthday, and we didn’t have to be back until late.

We didn’t say much as we wandered past darkened classroom buildings, noisy dorms, and silent parks. It was a warm spring night, the first time in months that you could go for a walk and not be miserably cold. When we reached the quad, Melody stopped.

“Leon, thanks for a great birthday.”

I wasn’t sure why she was thanking me; we had paid for our own tickets.

“Sit down, Melody. I’ll give you your present.”

“Oh, Leon, you didn’t have to get me anything!” She sounded so grateful I wondered if I should have gotten her something better. Or nothing at all.

We sat on a concrete bench and I pulled the unwrapped DVD from my inner jacket pocket.

“
The Twilight Zone
? I love this!” She scanned the list of episodes on the back of the case.

“Well, I had a feeling.” More like a random, shot-in-the-dark guess.

“Thank you. This is the best birthday ever.”

“C’mon…”

“I’m serious. This is the first time I’ve ever done anything on my birthday, except have dinner with my family.”

This suddenly felt very dateish. Out to the theater, a long walk, a special gift…If I’d been out here with any other girl, I’d have been plotting how to put my arm around her. It would be a long time before I’d do anything alone again with Melody. It was safer that way.

“So you ready to get back, Melody?”

“In a minute.” She stood there staring at
The Twilight Zone: Season One,
which I’d gotten out of the half-price bin. If you only looked at her eyes, you’d think she was holding a diamond bracelet. A single tear trickled over her shortened nose.

“Hey, none of that.”

She wiped her eye on her sleeve. “I’m sorry. This is all new for me.”

“What is?” I gritted my teeth. Buttercup was right. Melody was going to say “Having a boyfriend,” and I’d be forced to marry her rather than tell her that I could never find her attractive.

“Having a friend, Leon. I know you do stuff like this all the time, but it means a lot to me that you’d have lunch with me and take me out on my birthday. No one’s ever done that.”

I thought about blowing the comment off. Just telling her it was time to go back. But she needed to talk. Plus I was touched. Without much effort, I’d given her a special birthday, which made me feel kind of special.

“Melody, can I ask you a question?”

She turned and straddled the bench and looked at me directly. “You want to know about my face?”

“What face?” I blurted, in an effort to be tactful. Melody grinned at me and I decided to be frank. “Okay. Yes. What happened?”

There was a building light directly behind her, casting her in shadows. All I could really make out was the colorful bandana around her head, and her white teeth as she smiled.

“No one’s ever had the guts to ask me about that.”

Maybe no one had ever been that rude before. “I just—”

“No, I don’t mind; it’s a good question. Actually, I wish people could be more up-front about it. I’d rather just have someone ask than stare at me.”

What could I say? That people didn’t stare? That her scars were hardly noticeable? I couldn’t lie to her.

Melody turned her head and stared into the darkness. In profile, I could see how oddly short her nose was; there was nothing beyond the bone.

“When I was four years old, a kerosene lantern exploded in my face. I don’t remember it happening. But I do remember two years of surgery and hospital stays and skin grafts and being in pain and never understanding why.”

I straddled the bench so I wouldn’t have to twist to look at her. She was staring down again, and I noticed a small damp pool forming on the concrete between us. I hated that she was crying. Not because it made me uncomfortable, but because my friend was hurting. I wanted to make things right. And of course, there was nothing I could do but listen.

“I didn’t start public school until I was eight. I’d seen schools on TV, read about them in books. But my grafts were healing and the doctors thought I’d get infected. All I wanted to do was go to school with other kids. And at the start of third grade, I got my wish. I thought I’d finally have friends. I thought I’d finally be normal.”

Melody took several deep breaths, like someone desperately trying not to vomit. She then continued as if each word caused her physical pain.

“That first day of school…I never suspected. I never knew that it wasn’t my health problems that made me a freak. I never thought…”

The puddle between us grew. Impulsively, I took Melody’s hand. Her flesh was hot and sweaty, and she squeezed hard. I placed my other hand on top of hers. I couldn’t make the hurt go away. I couldn’t erase the painful memories, no more than I could erase my own. But I could let her know, by grasping her hand, that I was there for her. That she could unload on me if it would make her feel better.

“I hated my parents so much, Leon. They never warned me.
They never warned me.
I went into that school thinking it was the greatest day of my life. By first recess I knew I’d never belong.” Racking sobs interrupted her story.

“I begged Mom and Dad not to send me back. But they did. And it was the same the next day. And in fourth grade. And fifth. And tenth.”

A long-suppressed rage began to boil in my gut. What kind of asshole would make fun of a girl like Melody? What kind of jerk wouldn’t see how wonderful she was? And if they didn’t like her, why didn’t they just leave her alone? Who would do that?

The same kind of people who made fun of me, that’s who. And…me. I was no saint; I’d hurt her too. I wondered if she remembered.

Melody looked up at me. The reflections from her tears made her face glow. “You’re my only friend, Leon. Besides my brother, you’re the only guy who doesn’t think I’m disgusting.”

“Melody, nobody—”

Her head shot up, and I could hear an angry intake of breath. “Don’t say it, Leon!” she hissed, cutting off whatever empty denials I was about to make.

“What?”

“I know what you’re going to say!” She pulled her hand away. “You’re going to say—”

There was only one thing I could say.
“On mules we find two legs behind, and two we find before!”
I sang, remembering the old Cub Scout song.
“We stand behind before we find what the two behind be for! When we’re behind the two—”

“What?”

“You didn’t know I was going to say that, did you?”

Melody plunged her face into her hands and laughed. “God, Leon, I guess no one ever knows what you’re going to say.” She took a tissue out of her purse and blew her nose. “I didn’t mean to spill my guts like that.
The Twilight Zone
kind of brought things back.”

“Huh?”

“You know the episode where the pretty woman is in that place where everyone has pig faces and they think she’s the ugly one? That she’d never belong? I could relate.”

“Me too.”

She gave a half laugh, half cough. “You don’t know what it’s like, Leon.”

Melody’s self-pity was wearing thin. Just a little. She wasn’t the only one who knew what it was like to be alone. To have people make fun of you for no reason. Maybe her experiences had been worse, but she wasn’t the queen of pain.