Free Playing with Matches by Brian Katcher Page A

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