Melanie Hutchinson is a Girl

         When we were young, Melanie Hutchinson and I would dress in my grandmother’s old evening wear amongst the dust and cobwebs. I say “when we were young” as though we aren’t anymore. It was a different time, then—another era, really. The two of us girls danced the Charleston not knowing our decades, and Melanie always had to have the best hats. She picked the one with the most frills to cover her curly red locks, and in her over-the-top manner she turned to me and batted her eyelashes.

         I thought nothing about her lips, and I didn’t wonder about the smoothness of her skin. I just felt a stirring, like someone was kneading my insides. I thought all best friends felt it. I would’ve asked her if she knew that feeling, only we were seven.

         “Are you done with the lipstick?” It was all I could muster. I asked for it without a thought of its closeness to her. When my hand brushed hers I didn’t catch my breath at contact.

         “I bet everyone loves ruby red lips, Becca,” Mel said. Without fail she thought of everyone thinking of her. Some might have called it conceited, but I felt as though it was truly honest of her. She’s conscious, simple as that. Besides, as a seven-year-old, I didn’t have a grasp on this idea of conceit. All I knew was that everyone thought it because Melanie thought it.

         Now we’re all grown up, and I sometimes wonder if it’s silly of me to hold on to the past. There should be bigger concerns for a seventeen-year-old girl than what she was like as a child. Like why am I out here in the freezing cold of a November night smoking on this abandoned house’s porch? I’ve been expecting the overhang to hang over a bit too much and fall to pieces on the three of us sitting on these steps. The roof’s sagging, and I can’t even say that the paint is chipping on the side of the house because it’s so not even there anymore.

         We sit in our small town silence and wait. We sit and smoke, and sit and think. Midnight came and went twenty-three minutes ago, and the town curfew an hour before that. I know this because I just checked my cell to see if she called, and I found in its blue iridescent glow that Melanie is both late and unapologetic. The tapping of Vincent’s black Converse on the porch breaks the silence, and I almost want to cringe, anticipating this movement as being the straw which knocks this house down. He exhales quickly and coughs.

         “Careful, Vince. It’s your first pack and you’ve already got a smoker’s lungs,” I say. Vincent has always been opposed to smoking. I talked about starting once, and he went into a tirade about how if I let that habit take root in me he’d sever all contact. He’s got good reasons, seeing as half his family tree has been set ablaze by one too many stray cigarettes left laying about. That’s why this makes no sense.

         Keagan is elbowing me in the ribs. He’s not doing it all that hard, but it’s the kind of thing he does that really gets beneath the skin. An immediate reaction is what he always needs. Not exactly gifted with patience, but Keagan’s a good guy, I guess.

         “What?” I flick the cigarette with my thumb, the half an inch of ash that was forming scatters and disappears between the cracks of the porch.

         “He’s smoking like he’s already got lung cancer,” Keagan whispers, and I smile back at him. He inhales for a second, and exhales the smoke a bit too quickly for Vince’s taste. At least that’s how I interpret the face Vince has. He’s in a perpetual state of disappointment in the two of us when it comes to anything radical he wants us to do. For instance, our current adventure of front porches and Camel cigarettes that he’s dragged us out for. Well, the Camels were something he insisted on doing by himself. He swears he has bigger plans for the three of us; it’s just that Melanie has yet to arrive and Vince can’t find motivation until our group is complete. We just go along with what he says for the experience.

         Melanie spoke about experience a lot when she first got a boyfriend. I didn’t tell her that I could never see her with a boy—that the thought of it tensed up my insides. Instead I listened, or she thought I did but I drifted off. She had a boyfriend, and I had a best friend who had a boyfriend. It felt like a loss to me, like boys were this enigma to me that Mel had unlocked at the tender age of thirteen.

         She always had secrets. That time she took the class hamster for the weekend in fourth grade felt like it was going to be her biggest secret ever. Mel told Mrs. Peters that the hamster had escaped, but Mel told me she had forgotten to feed it. I thought a secret like that meant we were bonded for life. Boys weren’t anything like that. She never forgot to feed them, but she still lied about them escaping. It seemed so simple to me, but then again I would wear my Beatles t-shirt to school while she wore a low-cut blouse.

         “You’re doing it again!” Keagan says, snapping his fingers in front of my face.

         Vincent throws his cigarette onto the front lawn. “There’s no escape in there,” he mutters. “Why’re you always running like you are?” This time he’s clearer and directing it at me.

         “You boys aren’t being good company.” I glance down the street and away from them.

         “Christ!” I can hear Vincent angrily work his lighter, so I choose to believe he’s cursing at it and not me. “Where the fuck is she?”

         “I’m wherever I choose to be. Can we just not focus on me? I’m here, O.K.?” I cross my arms and decide that looks too stern of me, and so I quickly uncross them again. I don’t look back at the boys.

         “She’s late.” I feel a bit self-centered, realizing Vincent is talking about Mel. She has been doing this a lot lately—being late. She never used to.

         “Does she have to be here? Is she necessary?” Keagan replies, pushing himself to his feet. He walks over to a dust encrusted window and peers in. “I mean, seriously…” he says a bit quieter, as though he’s really just mouthing the words for the cockroaches and crickets who are the house’s only inhabitants. It’s no secret that he doesn’t like her, though it’s never been spoken aloud. That’s the way Keagan’s emotions work. He’s kept them in for so long that he sweats his disdain, to the point that I wonder if it’s stained any of his shirts.

         I had a stain once that I needed Melanie’s help with. There was a boy who liked me, and I thought I should like him back. It’s the kind of thing I had to do since Melanie was my best friend. I wore my favorite dress, the one my father bought for me and I had never worn. It was white with little red flowers growing up the hem. I felt like I was being devoured by a garden. Melanie felt like I looked cute. So I put it on and I even let him pick me up at my house, even though I told him I was just fine walking to the restaurant downtown.

         I ordered cranberry juice. That’s where I went wrong; I should’ve just stuck with water. He had taken off his shoes. I realized this when I felt his foot on my calf, and I panicked. After I knocked over my glass onto my lap I thanked him for the night and got up and left. I felt a bit silly about that, since it was only evening at the time, but he didn’t seem the sort of boy to know the difference between it and night.

         Melanie knew how to get the stain out, and she talked to me. She had this way of turning everything into something else, and Mel made me believe that he wouldn’t tell anyone about what a ditz I was. Of course, the next day half the school knew about it, but it felt like they knew nothing because she told me they wouldn’t beforehand.

         “Fine!” Vince yells. I guess I missed part of the conversation. “I’ll be right back. Just wait here for me, alright?” he says as he walks around back of the house. Keagan and I just sit in silence, listening as the sounds of Vince walking evaporate into the night.

         “She’s not good for us.” Keagan’s finished smoking and now he’s unwrapping a piece of gum. He’s always unwrapping a piece. It feels like he does that more than he actually chews gum. “Can you even say anything? Vince just cusses me out and you just… I don’t know. It’s like Mel’s this cabinet full of cleaning supplies the two of you keep sticking your hands in, you know?”

         I don’t speak right away. I just shake my head and bend over a bit as I laugh at him. Eventually I get out the words, “Mel’s a cabinet?” before cracking up again.

         “Fuck you!” he yells. It hangs in the air. The words escaped louder than they should have. I see a light turn on in the house next door, up on the second floor. There’s a shadow in front of the curtain, and I would wave but I think those words are still hanging there, hiding me from sight.

         “You know, Keagan, you should just lay off it.” I’m still bent over a bit from laughing, but now it’s because I don’t feel like I can sit up. A streetlight flickers off a block down. “How much electricity do you think they use in a night?” I can hear him breathing behind me, taking deep breaths like he’s got something on his chest.

         “I don’t know how they measure it. Like sugar? I’d say at least five pounds,” Keagan replies, sitting down next to me. “What’d you think he’s doing back there?”

         “Vincent? Who knows with him. Maybe a meth lab, the way he is with this smoking business. He’s got to support his new addiction with some sort of an income.”

         “You don’t think—“

         “I was joking, Keagan.” I push him, and as we’re both laughing thinking about Vince becoming the drug lord of our small town, he comes out from around the corner with his arms full.

         “Maybe I should’ve asked for your guys’ help carrying this shit.” Vincent drops the box of what looks like painting supplies onto the sidewalk in front of the steps, and let’s the monstrous roll of paper he has tucked under his arm slip down as well.

         “All part of our grand scheme for the town?” Keagan asks.

         I don’t know what it is we’re doing; what this plan is that we devised for the town. We want to make something beautiful, but we don’t have a clue what beauty is. We just decided to do it, really. First, it was flagging the football field. Keagan got the idea from some artist he saw on television who put orange flags all over a park in New York City. It didn’t matter what kind of flags we had, we just took them from people’s porches and front lawns at two in the morning, and the next night we planted them behind the school at the football field. It looked odd. Melanie said it was magical, and so I kissed her on the cheek. I hoped she couldn’t feel my heart beating fast up against her arm when I leaned in.

         Vincent picks up the roll of paper and sets it on the porch. He unrolls it like it’s a red carpet with just a kick from his foot, saying, “This is just a small step, right? Nowhere near the size of a football field, but I gotta say this house is more of an eyesore.” He walks to the box and pulls out three brushes, handing two of them to Keagan and I. Fumbling in his pocket with his free hand for his smokes, he says, “Keagan, we’re going to wrap this house in your work.”

         “Uh, let’s see,” Keagan says as he appraises the supplies. Keagan’s the true artist of the group. Vince and I just wish we were talented like him when it came to painting. Melanie always tried to compliment him, but he thought it was insincere. “If you’d have given me some time to prepare I probably could come up with something better.” He’s already grabbed some black paint and began an outline of sorts, motioning as he finishes shapes to different colors for us to fill it in with.

         “Melanie would’ve loved this,” I tell Vince. He just mumbles back at me, not bothering to take the cigarette from his mouth. “Don’t tell me you’ve got issues, too.” I really don’t want to hear any of it. My hands are flecked with red. I imagine the color could affect my temper.

         “I don’t got issues, I’ve got ideas. I’ve got things to figure out and she’s just one of many on the list,” Vince snaps. Keagan’s face is almost one with the paper. He’s lost in our project, paying no mind to Vince and I.

         “Is this because she’s smoking?” I ask. I’ve stopped painting.

         “You knew?” His head snaps up and his paint has crossed a line. “You knew and you didn’t say a word to us?”

         “I knew,” Keagan mutters, not lifting his head. Maybe he is paying attention, but it’s not helping any.

         “That’s what this is all about?” I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. There’s this odd feeling in my chest now that I think about it.

         “Why’s she fucking doing it?” Vince’s eyes bulge when he’s angry. “Why should it…” He takes a drag and holds it in for what seems like a minute.

         I sit with my question, but he doesn’t speak again. “Are you in love with her?” I finally ask after a few minutes of silence pass. Once I say it that odd feeling changes. I think it devoured itself, because now I can’t even feel my heart beating.

         “I’m not you!” That’s his answer. He forced those words out. It’s so cold out it’s like his breath clouded those letters into the space between us. I never told them or her what I felt.

         “You?” I want to clutch at my head to keep it in place but my hand is clutching the paintbrush.

         “I knew,” Keagan mutters, again unhelpful from the other side of his canvas.

         “And you?!” I say it accusingly this time. I don’t know why. I feel betrayed. “Is this what the two of you sit around and talk about? I don’t!”

         “You do,” Keagan mutters again. He sighs and stops painting. “She’s a virus.”

         “Fuck you!” I can feel how warm the blood is in my cheeks. “Why do you suck at this? You! Both of you!”

         For a moment they just look at each other, and I have to look away. I look down at my feet. I don’t remember standing, but I’m at the edge of the painting. There’s this town stretched out on the porch, just a barebones skeletal outline. It makes me want to cry because it’s so empty.

         “I don’t want to hear another word!” I try to say it without my voice cracking, but it does and I’m physically holding myself back from sniffling. Behind me I hear a car door close, and Vince and Keagan gasp in unison. I don’t care enough to turn around, but they grab me by the arms and tell me to run. I drop my cigarette, and Vince doesn’t seem to be holding his anymore. I don’t know why that’s my first concern, but I catch a glimpse of the cop and know we shouldn’t be here anymore. It’s past curfew and he can fine us for underage consumption of tobacco on top of it.

         We run between the houses, beneath the window where the light is still on. There are clotheslines and bushes and small picket fences to dodge. We’re breathing in unison. I wonder if this is what beauty is, but I only wonder for a moment. There’s a taller chain fence in front of us that we have to scale. The boys do it in only a few quick motions. I struggle, and it shakes so loud. I think I can hear someone sprinting up behind me. I throw myself from the top. Vince helps me stand, or maybe it was Keagan.

         There wasn’t anyone chasing us, but there’s smoke drifting to the stars. “Did it catch on fire?” Keagan whispers.

         “Better it than us,” Vince answers. He sticks his fingers through the links of the fence, and we follow suit.

         “We dropped our cigarettes onto the paper. It’s our fault.” I feel guilty because we wanted to make it better and ended up burning it down. I can see the glow from the flames already. That house must’ve been an accident waiting to happen. “Were we all just sitting there thinking about her?”

         “I was trying not to, but the two of you wouldn’t quit bringing her up.” Keagen leans back, letting the fence hold him up.

         “I’m not sorry, you know,” Vince tells me.

         “I’d be shocked if you were.” I let go of the fence and walk away from the scene. I feel too much like a criminal, like every belonging on me has been laid bare on the counter just before I’m stripped and told to dress in bright orange.

         “I’m not holding your bad taste against you,” Keagan says. I think I hear his feet kicking at the dirt.

         “We’ll see you in school tomorrow, then!” Vince shouts after me. I half hope the town cop heard that and gives the boys a real scare. I raise my hand in goodbye to them. I think about how I need to get the paint washed off my hands the second I get home; how maybe I should tell them to do the same so they don’t look suspicious. Vince is probably going to stand there all night and then look through the ashes in the morning. Keagan’s going to be following me soon enough, running up behind me like he didn’t just tear open a secret of mine. He forgets things fast.

         And somewhere, Melanie sleeps. That's all I can think of that'd she'd be doing, rather than being here.