Pieces of You

MATCHBOX (Winter, 1998)

Six.

The father was napping on the sofa with his ailing hand on his bare stomach. The boy swiped a cigarette from the pack lying on the coffee table, picked up the rusty metal lighter, and tiptoed out on the balcony. He carefully closed the glass door behind him and squatted, not sure of what to do but sure of what he had seen done. He held the cigarette at the corner of his mouth and lit a flame, watching it for a moment before actually lighting the cigarette. The tip picked up the burn and he turned and checked that his father was still sleeping. The first puff felt like a cotton strip slithering down his throat, and the boy coughed it out quickly. After a few more puffs he felt comfortable, so he leaned into the rails of the balcony with his back against the evening. He watched through the glass as his father's hand rocked gently against each swell of his belly, like a slow ferry at sea.

Eleven.

When the boy opened up his packed lunch, Mike spotted him from across the cafeteria, slapped a high-five to his friend and walked over. He snatched the sandwich from the boy's hand and snapped a bite out of it. Then, he dropped the rest of it back in the boy's Tupperware container, spat on it, and walked away. The boy watched as Mike returned to his friends, who welcomed his gallant approach with rowdy approval. A girl sitting near them giggled, but the boy saw that it was actually just a smile. He got up, threw the torn sandwich in the trash can and walked out of the cafeteria.

Later, Mike caught the boy squatting and smoking under the tall grass at the edge of the school ground.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

Mike tipped the boy over with his foot and the cigarette dropped to the dirt. He saw the tip flicker as it fell, and wondered if it would cause a fire and burn everything up.

"Where'd you get that?"

"I swiped it from the old man."

Mike spat near the cigarette and considered the boy's answer. The smoke bled threads into the wind, and the boy felt that Mike didn't know what to do.

"I won't tell if you gimme a couple."

Fourteen.

The boy hadn't yet lit his cigarette when his father walked into the livingroom and spotted him squatting behind the glass.

"Shit, you said he was gone," Mike said, quickly throwing his cigarette into the yard. He began to rise but stopped and sat still.

The cupped his cigarette inside of his palm as his father walked over and opened the glass door. He wasn't sure if he had actually seen him with it, but the smoke from Mike's first drag hung in the air and stung.

Mike got up, nodded a goodbye and walked into the livingroom and out of sight. The boy heard the door shut.

The father stepped onto the balcony and closed the door behind him. The boy imagined that he was going to get a beating.

"You smell guilty."

The father squatted next to him and fetched out a ruffled pack from his breast pocket. He slipped out a cigarette, placed it in his mouth, and all the while, the boy had no idea what was happening. The father turned to face him with the cigarette clinging to the bottom of his lip. "This look good?"

The boy felt the cigarette in his palm break. The tobacco bits soaked into sweat and made the skin of his hand feel like a wet sock. He shook his head.

The father tossed him the unlit cigarette and coughed, then walked back inside, leaving the boy on the balcony.

At dinner, the boy's mother said that thieves beget thieves.

Seventeen.

The boy was buzzed as hell and admired the way Sandra looked in this condition. She was sitting next to Mike and listening to Mike talk about something.

Mike noticed that his friend was watching Sandra and brought her over to him. The girl was a bit tipsy, but her face wasn't red and she didn't look all that drunk. Mike set her down next to him n the couch and introduced them, but the boy didn't really say hi.

After Mike walked away it was very awkward because Sandra kept staring into her beer can as if she had dropped something in it. The boy stared at her chest. She was wearing a tank top and he saw that she was quite big for her age. But she kept looking into her beer can and he wondered if he should do something or say something.

"What you got in there?" he said.

She smiled but didn't look at him. He watched as one of her fingers skated around the rim of the can.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm sorry but I haven't ever been drunk before and I think you're cool."

This time, the girl turned and faced him and smiled. The boy suddenly remembered a girl that had smiled at him a long time ago and wondered if it had been Sandra all along. But he wasn't sure, and really, it didn't matter because she was a beautiful girl and he was feeling like something was happening. "You're cute," she said.

Later, they went up to Mike's bedroom and made out for a while on the floor next to a pile of clothes. By then, the boy was feeling more and more sober and wondered if he should drink more. He held her awkwardly in his arms because she was slightly taller than him.

"You know, I thought you were going with Mike."

She rolled her eyes, "Mike's an asshole."

He didn't know what to say to that, so he, for no reason at all, told her that his father was sick with something bad. She said sorry but didn't really mean it, just like the boy, who didn't really mean to be felt sorry for.

Afterwards, they sat outside and shared a cigarette. The boy felt that it tasted better than usual.

Twenty-five.

With the phone against his ear, he took sips of water while looking out at the bay. A small boat was carving its way to coast. He told his mother that he never intended on quitting, but he never intended on starting either so it just sort of happened. She congratulated him and he could hear her relaying the news in a quieter voice. He closed hi eyes and imagined his father lying on the couch at her side slowly nodding his approval. But his father's belly was now shriveled like a prune, popping instead of swelling, his hand struggling to stay afloat.

After hanging up, he considered going for a jog. The boy was glad he had quit, but he had never wanted a cigarette more in his entire life.