Pyromaniac

You pointed to the door, “We need to talk.”

“Fuck.”

 You shut the door behind me.

“You knew this was coming.”

I did. I knew it was coming for two years. But I gave up believing a year ago that you’d ever have the courage to tell me.  That was just like you, to swoop in when I had stopped believing. A hero, some would say, here to save a damsel in distress, just in the nick of time. But I knew you better; you were like Robin Hood. A common criminal with good intentions and as my Daddy always said, “The road to hell is paved with good intentions.”

A gasoline circle surrounded us, and you lit the match.

You were right though, I knew it was coming.

I stared at the ground, not able to look you in the eye, watching the fire blaze, just like the first time.

“I’m sorry.” You caught my attention, light in a room filled with smoke.

I looked up at you.

…

The only time I had ever heard you sincerely apologize was when you cracked a joke about my dead mom and I pretended to be mad at you. We were on a four hour drive, coming back from our hometown. I stared out the passenger window and you repeatedly said my name over and over.  You were serious. You always said my name when you were genuine, or at least needed me to believe you were.

“Shannon.”

It was dark, so you couldn’t see me actually smiling. Your joke was pretty good, but watching you squirm, that created laughter in my belly I was barely able to control.

When you put your hand on my knee, trying to focus on me, and driving at the same time, and said:

“Hey…I would never say anything to hurt you, I’m sorry if I took it too far.” I burst out laughing.

“You bitch.”

You pushed my knee away with your hand. I looked up at you, you stared straight ahead.

Then your eyes peeked at me from the corner. You smiled and I smiled back.

“I seriously felt bad.”

“I know you did. You always say my name when you want me to take you seriously.”

“Do I?”  You laughed.

…

 “I am so sorry, Shannon. “

For a moment I thought about breaking eye contact. The look in your eyes, like smoke from a fire, choked me. I wanted to resort back to the first time you told me how you felt (if we don’t make eye contact, then it won’t be real.)

…

“I have feelings for you. Really strong feelings. That’s why I kissed you. I remember every second. I remember being terrified of what you would do. I remember how it felt. I remember how I wanted to kiss you again. And again. It wasn’t just one night. I’ve felt like this for a really long time.”

“How long?” My eyes stared down at the cream colored carpet.

“Over a year.”

My eyes widened. You had only been divorced a couple of months.

“A year?”

“At least.”

…

But I knew this was coming. I couldn’t stare at the carpet this time.  I knew goodbye was coming, and it needed to be real.

“I’m fucked up.” Your voice quivered.

I knew that.

It was part of what attracted me to do you in the first place. Death surrounded you, the way it did me; You had a fear of abandonment and I could promise not to leave. I needed passion to feel alive, and you put my hand on your chest and asked, “Does yours beat like this when I’m around you?” Death had taken a hatchet to nearly every account of what we first knew as love. So, we turned to each other. We were aimed straight at each other.  We needed each other. The way matches need to be skid across a hard service before they can ignite into a flame.

                                                 

You pulled yourself together; it wasn’t your turn to cry tonight: “I’m more fucked up than I thought I was and you…thank you. Thank you for being there and for…” You paused. You didn’t know what to call it. We never did.

“…giving me what I needed. “­­

“We gave each other what we needed. You gave me what I needed too.” Something in me didn’t want you to feel entirely guilty. You owed me an apology, there was no doubt about that, but we were both at fault.

If you lit the match, I poured the gasoline.

“We fucked up.” I still looked you in the eyes.

“Don’t ever look at it as that. I don’t.”

Pause.

You were waiting for me to speak. You’d spent our whole relationship doing that. My hand gripped together around itself, I rubbed the palms of my hands like I always do when I am nervous, and began tapping my foot.

…

“Are you nervous?” You asked. You sat at the head of the dining room table; I sat to your right. You had just gotten through telling me how I knew you better than anyone you had ever known. You said I was your best friend.

The best friend you kissed a week prior.

“A little.” I answered truthfully.

“Me too.”

You smiled and looked away. You placed a hand on my calf as you stared out the sliding glass doors into the night. My right ankle rested gently across my left knee. My foot shook back and forth, but stopped suddenly with your touch.

“You always do this when you’re nervous.” You said, still staring out the glass doors.

“Do I?” I laughed.

…

You waited. Waited for me to tell you that I didn’t have regrets. Waited for me to tell you that it was OK to set fires and watch them burn. I clenched my jaw. You waited, but you never could wait long enough. My teeth ground the irony, you were the first person to look me in the eyes and tell me my biggest flaw.

…

“You know what your biggest flaw is?” Brown eyes pierced into mine.

“Probably.” You would hate that answer, but I hated you right now. Fuck you, trying to tell me about myself. I told you about you. That’s how this worked. You gave me passion. I knew you better than anyone. You opened up. I let you. Then we kiss. That’s how it worked and you were breaking that. This wasn’t a relationship. We had decided that weeks ago. You weren’t my boyfriend and only men who were man enough to claim that title were allowed to tell me what my biggest flaw was.

“Shannon.” 

I let my disdain for this moment appear on my face and you gripped my hands tighter as if trying to hold me down, controlling the anger that burned within me.

You brought your face closer to mine so I couldn’t avoid eye contact with you.

“You’re biggest flaw is that you’re fucking impatient. You’re second biggest flaw is that you always have to be in control. And right now you hate this moment because you are not controlling it.”

I looked away; and hated you for how well you knew me as glared at the green numbers glowing from my dashboard. Midnight. I’d spent the last four hours with you.  I had to get up in five. I needed to go.

“You don’t need to leave. You’d spend this entire night with me if you could.”

My head snapped back at you and my eyes screamed curse words.

“You always feel uncomfortable and vulnerable when you’re not in control. You don’t control what’s happening between us and its killing you. You don’t know what‘s happening or what’s going to happen and it kills you…Look at me…right? You want to feel in control?”

“Yes, I do. You’re right. Is that what you wanted to hear?” I hissed.

Your voice lowered to a low whisper, “No, I wanted you to hear that I make you feel crazy.”

I took a deep breath, you infuriated me, but you also knew how to calm me down in seconds, “You do drive me crazy and I hate it.”  

“Come here.” You pushed your seat back and pulled me towards you so my head lay down on your chest. Your fingers weaved in and out of my hair, smothering the anger that was blistering within.

“I like that I do this to you.”

“I know. That’s why I hate you.”

“You don’t. And it’s good to not be in control sometimes.”

“Maybe.”

 “I’m not in control of what’s happening between us either. Both of us are out of control. Both of us are uncomfortable. We weren’t prepared for this.”

I smiled, but didn’t move my head from your chest.

“You drive me crazy too, Shannon” you said as you pushed my hair flat under your hand and kissed my forehead as if it was a routine part of your midnight. 

…

You put your hands in your pockets, you were nervous: “I do not regret anything that happened between us. Not at all.” Your voice was soft, low, the same way it was that night in my car, but you were whispering a secret, I already knew.

You rarely regretted anything in your life and that was your biggest flaw. The one I never looked you in the eyes and told you. You were a man of split decisions, a man who found some sort of solace in picking up the things he destroyed, you thrived on drama. We were one of the biggest fires you had set and you got to watch it burn for years and then you walked away from it. Walked away like it had never happened, didn’t bother to say goodbye, didn’t bother to take responsibility for what you had incinerated.

…

You were the one that asked me to come over. But, I could feel everything slipping away from us. The moment the fire got too hot for you, you started to back away. You lit a fire bigger than you thought possible, and now you had no idea how to control it.

“I want to see you more.”

I laughed. What you wanted and what you did had nothing to do with each other. 

“Shannon.”

“I’m going to quit my second job.”

“Because you want to see me more? Sure.”

“I’m serious. I am.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it, Billy.”

“Why are you acting like this?”Arms reached out for me.

I let you hold me, but remained unconvinced.

“You mean a lot to me.” Your chin pressed down on the top of my head as you talked. I breathed in, sighing, you squeezed a little tighter.

I pulled away and looked at you. You were you, here right now, in this moment with me, but tomorrow, this conversation would hardly exist in your mind and I was tired of remembering for you.

“It is what it is.”

Shocked. Your hands gripped around my arms tighter, “What? Don’t say that.”

“It’s true though isn’t it? Maybe you will quit your job, maybe you will try to see me more, but maybe you won’t. Maybe tomorrow I’ll text you, but you won’t respond. That’s kind of how it goes now.”

“It’s not like that.”

I pulled away from you, “Like I said, I’ll believe it when I see it.” And I walked away. This time, I didn’t give you a chance to kiss me goodbye, partly because I was infuriated with you, but partly because I wasn’t ready to make goodbye real.

A month went by without hearing from you. You were supposed to help me move in June, so I texted you the day before, “You coming over tomorrow?”

“What time are you starting?” I was surprised you responded.

“7, but I can use your help whenever.”

“I’ll be there.”

You never showed up; this time I wasn’t even disappointed. 

And that was it. That’s how you left me. Without a word. Without an apology. Without a goodbye. Without regret.

                                                                        ...

But I had regrets. So would anyone who handed the match to the pyromaniac.

You separated yourself from me at this point, walked to the other side of the room. I watched you from the corner of my eye. You watched the circle of flames you had left surrounding me. For a moment I pictured you walking out the door; leaving me here so people could point and say I started the fire. It’s hard to maintain innocence when you’re the one left in a room full of flames. But I knew you better than that,   you wouldn’t save me, but I wasn’t going to burn alone.

…

I sat with you in the car parked in front of your house. It was six in the morning and I asked: “What do we do now?”

“I guess we could tell people we’ve been seeing each other.”

“You’re totally going to make me deal with all this aren’t you?”

“No. I’ll be here. What did I tell you? I told you that if you this blew up in our faces, which it did, that I would go down with you.”

“Right. Because you’re so fucking reliable.”

“Fuck you- I wouldn’t do that to you. You know that don’t you?”

I looked at you- I wasn’t so sure anymore.

“Shannon. Come on. Don’t be like that.”

“Guess we’ll find out.”

“I promise you- you won’t do this alone. OK? Promise.”

…

Here we were at the grand finale and you were right here. Maybe you do keep your promises.

 You were staring, watching the flames, mesmerized by them. Then, you took a few steps closer back into our ring of fire, like a moth flying to light, “This is going to be inappropriate.”

My lips parted in protest, but you stopped me.

“Not that inappropriate.” Smirk.

They closed again. Smile.

“I need to tell you this.”

You stepped closer and took my hands in yours. The same move from years before, arguably what started all of this. The first match. The first flick.

…

We were in the parking lot, leaving. I was walking to my car with my then, boyfriend. You, with your wife

“Hold on. I need to talk to Shannon.”

You ran to me, “Come over here.”

My boyfriend walked back to your wife and some of our other friends. I watched them over your shoulder. You grabbed my hands. I looked down and then up at you, laughing, ready for some sort of joke, but your eyes were so serious.

“I love you.”

I laughed, “I love you too, Billy.”

We had developed a strong friendship over that year. We were one in the same. I had heard those three words from you a few times. Especially, when I made you laugh.

“You don’t understand; I love you.” Your voice was almost a protest. You were smiling. I thought you were joking.

“I do understand. I love you too. What is it that you wanted to tell me?”

At the time, I thought you were smiling at me. But, you were smiling at my innocence.

“Billy?”

“Nevermind. Don’t worry about it.  I fucking love you.”

You hugged me tight. I hugged you back and together we returned to our friends and significant others leaving the match you struck lying on the ground. The embers burned as we walked away together.

…

I could feel the heat from the flames as your hands held mine, that burn against my skin, the same one I got from standing just a little too close to the bonfires in high school. The same feeling I got when I pressed my feet against the space heater in the living room on cold winter nights, watching TV with my dad. That place between warmth and hurt.

“You are so beautiful.”

My eyes darted to the ground.

“Look at me.”

I did- sparks of fire danced in your eyes.

“You are an amazing girl, Shannon. You’re smart. You’re talented. You’re hilarious…In fact, you’re the funniest girl I have ever met and you deserve…you deserve everything. It amazes me how incredibly logical you are. You are the only girl I have ever met in my life who can remove herself from a situation emotionally to think logically. It amazes me.  I…It—“

“Thank you.” I interrupted. My face was hot. I was never good at taking compliments.

“I need to tell you this. Let me finish.” Your thumbs caressed my thumbs as you thought of how to put your words together.

“You. You amaze me. You are so incredible. I honestly mean that and beautiful, in every way. Really, you are. You are a beautiful woman.”

You paused, but you weren’t done.  I looked up at you. Fire blazing in your eyes and I remembered just how intense that look could be. I searched for words, but my brain felt foggy from the smoke.  

“I’m sorry if that was inappropriate for me to say. Well, I’m not sorry.”

You weren’t. Not for that.

“ I needed to tell you that. That is everything I never told you and you needed to hear that. You deserved to hear it.  You deserve…”

You trailed off.

You let go of my hands and stepped back.  You felt the pain of the warmth too.

We both knew what I deserved.

“He adores you, Shannon.”

“I know he does.”

“Fuck. He loves you so much. I’ve never seen him like that…can you promise me something?” You lit another match.

Your eyes were clouded with regret and they begged me to say yes.

It was coming. Goodbyes always begin with promises. A promise to keep in touch, a promise to never change, a promise to never forget.

You waited. The muscle in your jaw was firm and your eyes locked on mine now loaded and ready.

“Promise me you won’t tell him what I’m about to say”

“I promise.” I bit the inside of my cheek. It was the first time I lied to you. You skidded the match across the box and threw it. You put your hand out; we shook on it, a symbol our small town souls still respected. There was a banging on the door like firefighters trying to save civilians. A roaring fire, they were bound to come. We ignored it.

“Do you love him?”

Banging on the door.

“Hold the fuck on!” You yelled.

“I do.” I maintained eye contact.

Banging. Pounding. The firefighters were here.

“Do you love her?” I asked. You weren’t getting out of this unscathed.  If one of us burned, so did the other. That’s how this works.

“I do.” You hammered the door with your fist. “I SAID TO HOLD THE FUCK ON.”

You looked back at me, dropping your volume to just above a whisper, “Do you love him more than me?”

The fire blazed and scorched.

“I do.”

All sounds stopped with the next look in your eyes. Maybe there was more pounding. Maybe the fire still roared. But I couldn’t hear anything over the long blink you took and the breath you inhaled. I poured water over your fire, and it was as though it cut right into your heart. A piece of me hated what I was doing to you, but, it was true; I do love him more.

 “Look me in the eyes and tell me you love him more than me.”

I looked you in the eyes. You were going to make me say goodbye for you. Death had taught you how to be left, but never how to say goodbye.

“Tell me.”

“I love him more than you.”

That long blink. A nod. You looked away. Down at the ground, watched your flames lose power.

The pounding. Like ten axes to a door. Firefighters ready to put an end to these fires once and for all. But the only way to stop a pyromaniac is not to put the fires out; you have to take the love of fire from his soul.

You opened the door, “I’m having a conversation; she can wait.” You shut the door and locked it. Pressing your back against it, “Fuck.” Containing a fire was exhausting.

I looked at you, realizing our predicament. No one wants to leave a pyromaniac alone with matches. I sighed, this conversation had to end, it was time for goodbye, “We can’t even have a conversation, Billy…the whole fucking place explodes the minute you and I are behind closed doors.”

“Well…” You started the joke, but didn’t finish it, you didn’t need to. I knew what you were going to say. Smirk. Spark. Flick. Your last match.

I laughed.

You laughed.

And then we were just laughing. Hunched over laughing. We weren’t laughing at each other though, we weren’t even laughing at the inappropriate joke you could have made in that moment. We laughed at them.  At how no one got it. No one understood the heat of the fire, no one knew how it started, and no one knew how to put it out.

Except us.

…

“Billy, this is Shannon. Shannon, Billy. I think you both know Rachel.” Dean, my boyfriend at the time, said.

“I hate that bitch.” I said.

“Me too!” You exclaimed. “First time I met her I offered her a beer and she’s all, ‘oh sorry, hun,  you don’t get this body drinking beer.”

“You don’t get an orange tan, fried bleach blonde hair, and no ass by drinking beer? Guess I should keep drinking it.”

You howled with laughter, “Well, shit” Your eyes squinted at me, “I like you. Where’d you find this one, Dean?” Chuckle. “ I think we’re going to be friends. Shannon, right? Nice to meet you. ”

“Right. Nice to meet you too. Want to get it beer?”

“As a matter of fact, I do. Let’s go.”

                                                                            …        

I looked up the fire roared as it did the very first time. With every laugh the flames grew taller, the hottest spots became bluer. The smoke that blurred our vision only caused us to reach out for each other. Your hands found mine for the last time.

The laughter slowed and you smiled down at me.

“You loved me didn’t you?”  I asked.

You laughed once more, not at first registering my question and then sighed.

“I do love you; that’s the problem.”

“That is a problem.”

You smirked.

“I miss you.” I did:  The laughing. The honesty. The knowing. The friendship.

“I miss you too, but we can’t ever have this back.”

Pounding on the door again.

I rested my forehead against your chest and laughed.

You laughed too and gently rubbed my back.

Roar. Blaze. Burn.

“So, now what?” I asked. Where do you go when you’re locked in a room that’s on fire and have no intention of being saved?

“I’ve said what I needed to say. Did you?”

You were really going to make me say goodbye for you. My foot started tapping. I stopped it hoping you wouldn’t notice. Too late. Your eyes left my foot and met my eyes; you took one step back, bracing yourself to take flaming words right to the chest.

“You’re a shitty friend.”

You nodded, “I am.”

“You’re never on time, sometimes you don’t even show up to things you say you’re going to be at, you’re impossible to get a hold of, you ignore people, you’re selfish, and you’re completely unreliable.”

My words burned you. I could almost see your skin blister from their contact. You stared at the floor. Slowly nodding your head in agreement, hands in your pockets.

“But you were never like that with me.” Your head turned towards me. Smoke clouded my vision of you, but I could still see the fire in your eyes.

“I could always count on you. If I called, you answered. If I texted you, you texted back. I never questioned whether or not you were going to be somewhere for me. I knew if it was for me- you would be there. Fucking, Andre, Billy-“ I was about to support my argument with the perfect example, but you didn’t need that because you knew what I would say, you always did.

“I know.” You interrupted trying to brace yourself for the balls of fire being thrown at you.  “I know.”

…

“Hey, Shannon. This is Andre. Do you know where Billy is?” I steadied my cell phone between my shoulder and ear as I finished polishing the wood on the T.V. stand.

“Hey. No, I have no idea. Why?”

“Well, I haven’t talked to him a few days. He hasn’t even come into work.” I stopped polishing, surprised.

“Wait. What? He’s not at work?”

“No. I thought you might know where he is. Or at least…have heard from him. I’m just worried that’s all. He won’t answer any calls or texts.”

“Well, why would I know where he is?”  

“Uh- because you are the only person he’s talking to about this divorce. You’re the only person who knows anything that’s going on.”

“What? Me?”

“Come on, girl. You know he tells you everything. You really haven’t talked to him?”

“…I mean earlier this week, but not today, no.”

“Could you do me a favor and just call him?”

“Well if he’s not answering his phone that’s not going to be any help.”

“If you call him. He’ll answer. Trust me and just…just text me and tell me you talked to him.  Seriously, I’m just worried. Don’t even tell him I called. Just talk to him and send me a text. OK?”

“And if he doesn’t answer me either?”

“He’ll answer you. I know he will.”

“Andre…I’m serious.” I set down the cloth on the T.V. stand not ready for this responsibility. Ready to argue.

“Me too. Text me later.”

I stared at your name on my cell phone screen, standing in the middle of the living room.  I pressed your name on my cell phone.

Ring.

I paced my living room…what if something really was wrong with you?

Ring.

There were a thousand things wrong with you.

Ring.

I shouldn’t joke like that. What if this was serious?

“Hello?”

“Billy?”

“Yeah…what’s up?”

“Could you call Andre back? He’s fucking worried about you.”

Laughter.

“Yeah. Is that why you called?”

“Yeah. Don’t tell him I told you.”

“Got it. What’s for dinner later?”

“What do you want?”

“Whatever you’re making.”

“Is this how divorce works? You just bum dinner off a different friend every night?”

“And a couch. It’s a pretty sweet deal. Except you have a guest room so your place is like a 4 star hotel instead of a 2 star.”

I laughed, “You doin’ alright?”

“Yeah, we’ll talk later. I’m pulling up to work, gotta calm my girlfriend down. He’s cute, all worried about me.”

…

“You were never like that to me. Never. I counted on you. I was sure of you. If there was anything I wasn’t sure of, you were what I was sure of, and I know you fucking sucked to everyone else. But not me. It wasn’t like that with me.” Tears welled up in my eyes. This one almost hurt to throw. But, there were parts of me that hated you for ruining my best friend. I stared at the matches in my hand; I hated myself for letting you.  

You rubbed your hands on your face. Maybe wiping away tears, definitely trying to wipe away guilt.

“Fuck. “ You choked on the smoke.

“And then we happened and all of a sudden I was just like everyone else to you.”

“You weren’t.”

“You treated me that way.” One last scald to your skin.

“I did.” You winced in pain, “I did. Fuck. You’re right. I know. You’re right.”

You rubbed your face again. A tear fell from my eye. Smoke filled the room. It was hard to breathe, but I had to get it all out, “And all of that fucking hurts, but not because we’re not dating or some fucking bullshit like that. It’s because you were my best friend and I miss you.”

“I know. I know. I miss you too.”  You tried to console me with words. I was too ablaze with anger to touch.

“It was me, Billy. Me.”

Sadness overcame the fire in your eyes. Their corners turned downwards a look of complete regret across your face. Even though my biggest flaw was impatience there were times when I knew I had to wait. Maybe, you did regret some things.  

“I know. Shannon. I’m sorry.  I--”

Pounding at the door. There was no more avoiding. They would break down the door. They have to. That’s what firefighters do. They save the victims of fire… I looked around. Smoke. Fire.  Ash.

You looked towards the door, “Come here.”

You wrapped your arms around me and pressed your lips against the top of my head. For a moment we watched the embers around us burn, silently. Regret, pain, and anger melted as we held each other. What had been a blistering anger within me and lessened to a glow. I kept my eyes shut and thought about us. In a way, our friendship had become this burning room. The structure was still here; you could see it, touch it, but it was useless, nearly burned to the ground. I breathed in one more time. Remembering what it was like to feel you squeeze tighter when I sighed.

Your lips moved from my forehead to my ear, “I love you.” I knew how you meant it this time.

 “I love you too, Billy.” You knew how I meant it this time.

I felt you smile, but not at my innocence. This time you smiled because I slipped one last match into your hand. You took it willingly; pyromaniacs can’t resist. A love for fire consumes them.

“Ready?” You asked.

“Ready.”

One last squeeze, one last forehead kiss, one last flick. Scratch. Blaze.

I pulled away engulfed in flames and let you watch me walk away.