Playing with Matches (9 page)

16

A PAINFUL BOWL CONDITION

W
hen you first start dating a girl, you do the traditional things: movies, dinner, long walks, and long conversations. After she lets you kiss her, things get less formal: hanging out with friends, going to the mall, cheap stuff like that. Once you realize that the sight of your nacho-stained shirt and mismatched socks won’t send her screaming for the exit, you can pull off the ultimate slacker date: bowling.

Pioneer Lanes dated from the days when St. Christopher was its own city. Everything was decades old: the lanes, the tables, the snack counter, the shoes, the gum under the scoring machines.

On Thursdays the place was usually empty (also Mondays, Tuesdays, Fridays, and Saturdays. Wednesday was league night). Rob, Johnny, Samantha, Melody, and I were able to get a lane right away. Bowling was the one sport I didn’t profoundly suck at, so I was happy Melody agreed to join us.

“It’s all in the wrist,” said Rob, demonstrating. “Right down the middle, but twist at the last minute.”

“Like this?” I asked.

“Better, but not quite. And more to your left.”

“It’s still not working.”

“Put more of your arm behind it. Power is important here. Watch how I do it.” Deftly picking up his soda can, he effortlessly crushed it on his forehead. I attempted to follow suit but could never quite get it as flat. My lesson ended when an overweight middle-aged woman roughly grabbed the can from me. At first I thought she was going to show us how it was done, but she just threw it into the trash. I guess she didn’t want me to concuss myself.

“Who’s the man?” bellowed Johnny. “Tell me, who’s the man?” He had just thrown a strike on the first frame (after two “practice” shots).

“Who’s up next?” The scoring machine told me nothing. Johnny had entered our names:
POO, BUT, ASS, DIK,
and
MEL
.

“Samantha,” replied Rob. “Is she still in the john with Melody?”

“Yeah. What do you think they’re doing in there?”

“Easy,” answered Johnny. “Melody’s talking about Leon.”

Rob laughed. I rolled my eyes but secretly wondered if it was true. Melody and I hadn’t formally announced that we were dating. But after the awkward encounter with her father the other night, I kind of figured we’d become a lot more than study buddies.

“Hey, Leon,” whispered Johnny. “Here comes your girlfriend.”

I turned, expecting to see Melody silently returning from the bathroom. Apparently, Johnny had been speaking ironically. At the shoe-rental counter stood Amy.

Seeing Amy at Pioneer Lanes was like, um…well, seeing a really pretty girl at a sleazy bowling alley. She was wearing a sleeveless sweater and tight, tight jeans. Even from across the smoky room, I could see the top of her bright blue panties poking up from the back of her pants.

She wasn’t there alone. The guy who was clearly her date was grabbing a pair of size fourteens from the shoe rack.

Oh, Leon, I’m not really dating anyone right now.

The dude was wearing a jacket from Charleston West High. He was bigger than me and had a face like an angry gorilla. I began to imagine scenarios in which I could drop a bowling ball into his lap and make it look like an honest accident.

What was I getting jealous about? Guys like me never wound up with the leading lady. We were the sidekicks, the extras, the ones with few speaking parts. We didn’t walk off hand in hand with the heroine as the credits started to roll. Besides, I had someone. I wasn’t lonely anymore; I didn’t need to dwell on Amy.

I drummed my fingers on the console, pointedly ignoring the ex–girl of my dreams.

“Leon!
Hey, Leon!
” Amy was walking over to me at a good clip.

Johnny and Rob were staring at me, impressed. It took a lot of willpower not to rush to meet Amy halfway.

She sat in the console seat next to me. “Thought that was you.”

“Hey, Amy.” I pondered introducing her to my friends, but that would only end in embarrassment. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Tom wanted to take me.” She gestured at her date several lanes down. He was looking at the scoring machine with deep concentration. Every so often he’d randomly hit a button, then scratch his head.

Amy reached over and tucked the tag in my collar down. “Just wanted to say hi.” Her hand continued to rest on my shoulder. I felt like I was getting a mild electrical shock. I wanted to say something to prolong the conversation.

“Hello, there.” The voice behind me interrupted the first lengthy physical contact I’d ever had with Amy.

“Melody!” I jumped up, causing Amy’s hand to fall away. “Melody, have you met Amy?”

For the first time, I introduced Melody to someone and she didn’t look at the floor. She was staring Amy down. I’d never seen her look so hostile. Amy, on the other hand, didn’t seem fazed.

“Hello. Are you having a good time?” Amy spoke slowly, as if Melody was profoundly retarded.

Rob and Johnny were gaping like a couple of yokels at an accident scene. Even Samantha paused, ball in hand, to stare.

“
We
are having a fine time,” Melody replied pointedly.

Amy yawned. “That’s nice. I don’t care for bowling, myself.” She examined her perfectly manicured nails.

“Then don’t let us keep you here.”

Amy bent over to get her purse, and stayed in that position for several seconds. Johnny got up for a better view. By the time I realized I was staring down Amy’s shirt, Melody had noticed. She tensed.

Amy trotted off in the direction of her date. “Nice to see you, Leon. Oh, Melody, I like your wig. You can’t really tell it’s not your real hair.”

No one can out-cruel a girl.

Melody deflated. Her shoulders slumped; her head tilted down.

“Who wants nachos?” barked Johnny, and he and Rob ran for the snack bar. Samantha attempted to pick up a spare.

“Melody?” I took her hand. It was limp; she didn’t squeeze back. Her other hand carefully adjusted her wig. Two lanes down, someone was screaming profanity at the ten pin.

“Mel, look at me.”

She lifted her head. She was biting her puffy lower lip, and her eyes still faced the ground.

Once again, everything I could think of to say would sound trite. Just because I was nice to her, it didn’t mean anyone else would be.

“Mel?”

“What?”

“It’s your turn.”

Melody straightened up. Amy wasn’t the worst person she’d faced in her life. Hell, Amy probably was just trying to be friendly in her own clueless way.

I watched as Melody threw two gutter balls. When she sat down next to me, she was smiling. I draped my arm around her.

“Leon?”

“Yeah?”

“You might want to tell your little friend over there she’s not supposed to bowl in street shoes.”

I kissed Melody’s cheek. She smelled like peaches and body lotion.

“Get a room!” bellowed Johnny as he returned with a tray of junk food.

17

PARENTAL ADVISORY

“S
o when do we get to meet her?” asked my Mom the next day.

“Who?” I asked, knowing full well who she meant.

“Melody. The one you’re always talking to on the phone. I was wondering when you were planning on inviting her over.”

“You never seemed anxious to meet my friends before,” I replied. Meet my parents? Introduce her to my family?

“Well, Melody probably won’t leave toilet paper in our trees,” my dad said, laughing.

“You have no proof that was anyone I know!”

“Yes, I’m sure it was one of your mother’s friends. Listen, invite the girl over. We’d really like to get to know her.”

“Why?” I was defensive.

“Well,” said Mom soothingly, “if you two are dating, I think we have a right.”

So Mom and Dad knew we were more than just a couple of friends. I could put this off only so long. The thing was I’d never told them about Melody’s accident. They’d probably pictured her looking more like Amy.

“Listen,” I said, “Melody and I are going to the basketball game this Tuesday. She’s picking me up; you can meet her then. And, Dad?”

“Yes?”

“Wear a shirt, would you?”

So now I was stuck. My parents were going to meet Melody. Quite frankly, the whole idea made me uncomfortable as hell. It wasn’t like I was ashamed, but, well, I’d kind of grown accustomed to the way things were. When you cared about someone, you overlooked their imperfections. It was easy to forget that to an outsider, they might not be so perfect. They might even appear weird, strange, or freakish.

Then again, maybe everyone felt that way about their parents. In the meantime, I wondered if I should mention Melody’s scars before she came over.

On one hand, I never brought that up. I wanted Melody to feel that her burns didn’t matter to me at all. If that was the case, why would I go out of my way to tell people? I wouldn’t say to my parents “Oh, by the way, she’s blond,” or “I want you to know ahead of time, she’s a little tall for a girl.”

On the other hand, meeting Melody could be shocking for people, even the most open-minded, well-intentioned people. Ever since I started hanging out with her, I’d noticed people staring at her in a sneaky sort of way. Or staring at her in an obvious, rude sort of way. More and more I understood why she disliked going out in public.

In the end, I decided to say something beforehand, just to avoid any awkwardness. If she had been blind or in a wheelchair, I would have mentioned it. The last thing I wanted was for my folks to look startled, even for a second, when they met Melody.

“Mom, Dad,” I began the next night, “there’s something you need to know about Melody. Something kind of bad.”

Mom and Dad exchanged a brief look. They seemed strangely nervous.

“Go on,” said my dad.

“Well, she…listen…”

“Yes?” asked my mom. She looked upset for some reason.

“She was in a fire when she was little. Her face…well, she has some bad scars. I just wanted to give you a heads-up.”

Now, was I imagining things, or did my parents look a little relieved? Why would they be relieved to know that my date had been injured as a child? What, did they think I was going to say that she had two noses or something? Or bit the heads off puppies? Or…or was pregnant. That was it. They thought I was going to say I had gotten her pregnant.
Parents, sheesh.

That Tuesday, I paced nervously. Melody would be there any second. Mom and Dad had promised me they’d be on their best behavior, but I had my doubts.

“So what time is your girlfriend getting here?” asked my mom.

“Soon.” I let the girlfriend comment pass. It was more or less true.

“Okay, okay.” My parents were grinning at me. What horrible thing did they have planned? I had already made sure the family albums were hidden and made them swear they wouldn’t bring up any childhood stories about me.

“Did I mention the basketball game starts in half an hour?” I repeated. “She won’t have time to stay long.”

The horn on Melody’s truck blasted like an air-raid siren. “Whoops, there she is. Gotta run.”

“Go invite her in.” My mom was smiling, but it wasn’t a request. Glumly, I obeyed.

“Hey, Leon.” Melody leaned out of the cab of her truck. She was wearing makeup. Unfortunately, makeup could only accentuate or hide. It could not create features that were not there. Melody wasn’t wearing her wig; her baldness was covered by a baseball cap.

“Hey, Melody. Want to come in for a minute?”

She frowned. “We really need to get going.” This was obviously an excuse; the game didn’t start for quite some time. I remembered when Melody had come over to work on the history project, and how she’d darted off when Mom was about to show up.

“My parents really want to meet you.”

Melody took a deep breath. “Okay, Leon. Let’s do it.”

My parents to their credit, didn’t bat an eye when they saw Melody. Who knows, maybe they’d been expecting worse.

“Won’t you come in?” asked my mother sweetly. “Leon’s told us so much about you.”

“Mom…,” I warned.

Melody, though nervous, seemed more at ease than I was. She took a seat and glanced around the room.

“Lovely place you have here,” she commented.

“Thanks,” said my dad. “We really like it. You wouldn’t believe the work we had to do on it.”

“Dad, Melody didn’t come here to hear your remodeling stories.”

Mom, without my noticing, had disappeared into the kitchen. She returned with a tray of snacks.
Good Lord, just shoot me now.

“So,” said my mother, obviously secretly enjoying my torment, “Leon tells us you’re going to the Missouri Scholars Academy.”

“Yes. Leon thinks I’m crazy, all those weeks of work in the summer.”

“That takes me back,” said my dad.

“Were you in the program?” asked Melody, taking the bait.

“No, I was in the military. The air force. I signed up in June and was in basic training all summer.”

I buried my face in my hands. As an ex–enlisted man who never came within a thousand miles of a battle, Dad managed to bring up his military record on every occasion.

“Were you a pilot?” asked Melody, opening us up to three hours of stories.

“I was more in what you’d call intelligence.”

“He was a file clerk,” I groaned.

“That can be stressful work,” countered Dad.

“It’s true. He still wakes up some nights screaming ‘Paper jam!’”

“You know,” said Melody, “my father was in the army. Worked in the motor pool.”

“Really?” said my dad with interest. “Where was he stationed?”

“Whoa, look at the time! We’re going to be late as it is.” I grabbed Melody by the arm.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Sanders,” called Melody as I hustled her out the door.

As soon as we were out of my subdivision, I began hammering my head on the dashboard. Melody’s eyes didn’t leave the road.

“Leon? Why are you doing that?”

“My parents. They swore they wouldn’t embarrass me.”

We stopped at a red light. “Knock it off, Leon. Embarrass you? I thought they were sweet.”

“Nice of you to say. But, um, you’re the first girl I’ve ever really brought home. I just thought they’d tone things down.”

Melody laid her hand on my knee. “They didn’t embarrass me. And that counts for a lot.”

I smiled. “Green light, Mel.”