Heat - 4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

That day school is awful. I don’t see Asher, not that I ever saw him around before. People keep shooting me glances when they think I can’t see them. I’ve heard more than one person say the word “suicide” today, I assume because of the massive red handprint on the side of my neck. Not really sure how I would kill myself with neck burns. In my third hour I am called to the counselor's office.

“Keenan! Welcome. How are you?” The diminutive woman behind the desk smiles up at me, standing and reaching out as if to take my hand. I don’t give it to her.

“Not so great, Mrs. Simple. Though I’m sure you know that judging by the fact that you called me in here today.” My burn itches but I don’t reach up to scratch it because I know that will only make it worse.

“I’m sorry to hear that! Please, have a seat.” She gestures to a single chair across from her desk and I begrudgingly sit. It’s annoyingly comfortable. She scrunches up her nose and says “That’s a nasty looking burn you have there, how did it happen?” I’m suddenly overtaken by an image of her in a fisherman’s cap tossing a hook into the sea of feelings and I laugh out loud. She jumps, startled and gives me a nervous smile. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing. You. I don’t know. I didn’t try and kill myself.” I think about telling her how I really got the burn and then I laugh again, this time for a little too long.

“I… uh… didn’t say you did Kenan. Why, have you been having suicidal thoughts? You can talk to me.” She looks like she is just about ready to hit the big red button that brings in the big men with the nets and at this point I wouldn’t even blame her. I must seem crazy. I certainly feel crazy.

“Sure I can, Ms Simple. You know what, you want to talk we’ll talk. All the family I had left died last week. My father got day drunk and picked my sister up from her band practice and then crashed into a family of four going sixty five on the goddamn highway. I’m so, so angry at him and he doesn’t even have the courage to be alive enough for me to tell him to go fuck himself. My mother died when I was thirteen. I am alone. And yesterday I met this weird, infuriating boy who made it worse but also somehow better and then he set me on fire. Twice. I don’t have time for you or your sympathy because, frankly, I have my own shit going on. So please. If you don’t mind, Ms Simple, I am going to go back to American History.”

I stand up and turn on my heel, marching out of the room without looking back. It isn’t until I’ve made it back to class that I start feeling bad. She’s a nice woman who was just trying to help and I probably made her feel like shit there. Great, now I’m an orphan and an asshole. Who do I think I am, Batman?

I eat lunch at the park across the street, sitting on the swing set by myself and watching a few of the freshmen boys play on the merry go round. They were taking turns spinning it as fast as they could and trying to knock each other off. One boy tried to stand up and slipped, smacking his chin into one of the bars that were supposed to be there to protect him. The other boys skidded to a stop to check on him. His chin is bleeding but he is otherwise fine. I don’t intervene.

This is how the week passes. I go to school, I eat lunch alone and nobody bothers me. My neck gets better, fading to just a reddish patch of rough skin, like a healing sunburn. I don’t see Asher on my morning runs. I don’t see anyone. My aunt leaves food for me in my house and pretends to clean but I never see her. I think she is trying to give me space. Everybody is trying to give me space, so much space. I’m drowning in space, there’s too much air around me and it’s crushing me.

On Saturday I decide to go grocery shopping. My dad’s money, including a life insurance payment that is apparently so large that nobody is willing to tell me exactly how much it is, all went to my aunt in trust until the day I graduate college. She set up an automatic bank transfer of 200$ a week for “incidentals” for me, and if I were a cynic I would say it’s just so that she doesn’t forget to feed me. She’s a good woman, my mother’s sister, but she is also the most flakey and forgetful person I have ever met. It seems like a lot of money for just me, especially since she is handling the bills for the house from that same fund and insists on sending me semi-edible casseroles every other day so I don’t really have to buy food if I don’t want to. It’s better than another day sitting on the couch watching cartoons all day alone with just me and my space though. You never notice how quiet a house can be until it stops being a home.

I have no idea how to grocery shop. I’m not sure why this surprises me so much, it’s not like I’ve ever done it before. I’m just kinda shocked that it’s a skill I guess. I thought it was just something you knew instinctively. That’s how mom always made it look. Dad on the other hand was more of a “canned soup and spaghetti-o’s” kinda cook. Hey, I thought about dad without bursting into tears. Yay me.

“Hey. Are you alright?”

I jump almost high enough to grab the hanging light fixture above my head. “Shit!” I spin around. A guy, maybe two years younger than me, wearing a blue apron emblazoned with the name of the grocery store (United Supermarket) is standing behind me looking confused. “I… I’m fine.”

“You sure? You’ve been staring at the frozen waffles for like, an hour.”

I check my watch. Huh. “Well. I have to make an informed decision. And uh… I have decided I want blueberry.” I open the case to pull out some blueberry frozen waffles only to find they aren’t even in this freezer. “Never mind I want chocolate chip.” I take a box of chocolate chip waffles and place them carefully into my empty cart. I then turn and push the cart away from the confused teen and towards the self checkout. Seems like a successful grocery store trip to me. I even manage to make it all the way back to my car before I start crying again.

Sitting in the parking lot of a United, bawling my eyes out. This is what it’s come to huh? Suddenly my passenger side door swings open and a skinny boy with brown hair climbs in. It’s Asher.

“What the fuck?” I wipe snot off my upper lip. God I must look insane. Wait, why do I care how I look? I’m still mad at him. “What the hell Asher. You can’t just run away from me like that and then show up almost a week later out of nowhere.” I want to hit him for showing up out of nowhere like this. Mostly I want to hit him for seeing me in this state, again.

“Yeah. I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have done that.” He looks over at me. “If I’m honest I wasn’t going to ever talk to you again. But then I saw you here and you just looked so sad and it hurt me that you were sad and maybe it was my fault.” When he says this his nose scrunches up like it did back when I was showing him proper form during our run, like he’s trying to figure out a math problem and the answer is just out of his grasp.

I don’t really know how to respond to this. I’ve never had somebody come so clean so quick and then say something really nice after to boot. I guess I should… forgive him? What does that even look like I wonder. “Uh… ok? Apology accepted I guess.”

His grin immediately flicks on like a light “Really? So we are friends now?”

“Well. I wouldn’t go that far.”

“Oh.” his face falls and he slumps back into his seat. “I was really looking forward to having a friend.”

I laugh at him. He’s so… I don’t even know. Naive? Close but no cigar. So honest I guess. Like a little kid who hasn’t yet learned to lie with his face and body. “I’m just kidding. We can be friends. You aren’t allowed to burn me anymore though.”

He shrinks into himself. “I’m so sorry. I just. I can’t control it sometimes.” he looks at his palms.

“Can’t control what?” I look at his palms too. “Are you saying you did this-” I reach up and touch the still visible red mark on my neck “-with this?” I reach out as if to touch his hands but he jerks them away from me.

“Yes. But not exactly. And I’m really not supposed to tell anybody. And I’m really really not supposed to touch anybody. I could have killed you. Here, I’ll show you.” he holds his right hand up at my eye level. “Wait. If I do this you have to promise you won’t ever tell another soul.”

“Uh. Fine. I won’t tell anybody about your magic heat vision. I guess.” I shrug, not really sure what the hell is happening anymore.

“It’s not heat vision. And you have to promise.” his grey eyes are dark with intensity and I suddenly realize that whatever is going on he is taking it deadly seriously.

“Ok, ok I promise. Cross my heart and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye, yadda yadda”

“What? A needle? Why would I do that?”

“Oh my god just do it!”

He jumps when I shout and suddenly his hand turns into flame. And I don’t mean it catches fire. It turns into flame. The whole thing. One second there is a hand there, the next there is a tiny bonfire in the shape of hand.

“Oh fuck.” I say. And that’s when I pass out.