to.”
“I really want you to,” she said, taking my hand and leading me up the shore to our camp.
The thick bushes and branches offered some protection against the chilly wind that blew in off the lake. Taking a box of matches from her apron, Melody bunched together a small pile of dry leaves and twigs and lit a small fire. Huddled together, we warmed ourselves in front of it. I crossed my arms over my chest to hide those scars. As the smoke circled up from the fire in a thin stream, I told Melody about my adventure. It felt kinda magical to be sitting beside her in front of the fire because at last I was telling a story and that’s something I’d always wanted to do. Just like all good storytellers, I made up my own ending. I didn’t tell Melody what I had seen through the window of Ray’s house. I didn’t think it would be right or fair. Not because I owed Ray any favours, but because I wasn’t meant to have seen that. That was Ray’s secret.
“So you got into all that trouble because you went to get me a book?” she said, pushing a loose piece of hair back under her bonnet.
“Yes,” I said, watching her light a cigarette.
“Why?” she asked, looking confused.
“Because you said that your mum threw your other book into the fire,” I explained.
“What was the book about?” she asked me, blowing smoke from the corner of her mouth.
“It had a rose on the front.”
“Okay,” she said with a curious frown. “So what was it called?”
“I don’t know,” I told her and looked into the fire – anything so I didn’t have to stare into her eyes. “I just got it because it had a rose on the front – just like your name.”
“So you don’t know what the book was about or what it was called,” she giggled.
“Are you laughing at me?” I whispered, not taking my eyes off the flames.
“Well, it’s kind of a dumb thing to do, don’t you think?” she giggled again. “Who would choose a book if they didn’t know what it was called or what it...”
“You’re just like the rest of them,” I moaned.
“Sorry?” she said, her smile fading.
“You think I’m stupid, just like the others do – my friends back home. Yet they’re not really my friends.” Then, turning to face her, I added, “Real friends don’t call you stupid because you can’t read or write.”
As if realising the mistake she had made, Melody’s mouth dropped open, and she said, “Oh my God, Isidor, I didn’t realise. You didn’t know what the book was about because you couldn’t read the title, could you?”
“No,” I whispered, looking back into the fire. “So now you know, I’m thick, stupid, a joke.”
Melody threw her cigarette into the fire and gently placed her hand on my shoulder. “I don’t think you’re stupid,” she whispered.
“No?” I snapped. “So what do you think?”
“I think you are the sweetest guy that I’ve ever met,” she said, gently placing her hand against my cheek and turning my face towards her. “You are the only person in this town who doesn’t avoid me because of the way my mother makes me dress. Even the people in church keep away from us. No one dresses the way we do. You didn’t judge me, Isidor, and I’m not judging you. You helped me mend my necklace, you went and chose a book for me – it had a rose on it just like my name. No one has ever done anything like that for me.”
“Why did you laugh then?” I asked, looking into her eyes.
“Because I wanted to cry, but I just couldn’t let it show,” she whispered and looked away.
“Why did you want to cry?” I asked softly.
“Because I just can’t stop hurting....that is...” she trailed off.
“What?” I pushed gently. “What stops you hurting, Melody?”
“You do, Isidor,” she said. “When I’m with you, I stop thinking.”
“Thinking about what?”
Then, taking my hand in hers, she stood up and said, “Come with me and I’ll show you.”
Melody led me through the
“I really want you to,” she said, taking my hand and leading me up the shore to our camp.
The thick bushes and branches offered some protection against the chilly wind that blew in off the lake. Taking a box of matches from her apron, Melody bunched together a small pile of dry leaves and twigs and lit a small fire. Huddled together, we warmed ourselves in front of it. I crossed my arms over my chest to hide those scars. As the smoke circled up from the fire in a thin stream, I told Melody about my adventure. It felt kinda magical to be sitting beside her in front of the fire because at last I was telling a story and that’s something I’d always wanted to do. Just like all good storytellers, I made up my own ending. I didn’t tell Melody what I had seen through the window of Ray’s house. I didn’t think it would be right or fair. Not because I owed Ray any favours, but because I wasn’t meant to have seen that. That was Ray’s secret.
“So you got into all that trouble because you went to get me a book?” she said, pushing a loose piece of hair back under her bonnet.
“Yes,” I said, watching her light a cigarette.
“Why?” she asked, looking confused.
“Because you said that your mum threw your other book into the fire,” I explained.
“What was the book about?” she asked me, blowing smoke from the corner of her mouth.
“It had a rose on the front.”
“Okay,” she said with a curious frown. “So what was it called?”
“I don’t know,” I told her and looked into the fire – anything so I didn’t have to stare into her eyes. “I just got it because it had a rose on the front – just like your name.”
“So you don’t know what the book was about or what it was called,” she giggled.
“Are you laughing at me?” I whispered, not taking my eyes off the flames.
“Well, it’s kind of a dumb thing to do, don’t you think?” she giggled again. “Who would choose a book if they didn’t know what it was called or what it...”
“You’re just like the rest of them,” I moaned.
“Sorry?” she said, her smile fading.
“You think I’m stupid, just like the others do – my friends back home. Yet they’re not really my friends.” Then, turning to face her, I added, “Real friends don’t call you stupid because you can’t read or write.”
As if realising the mistake she had made, Melody’s mouth dropped open, and she said, “Oh my God, Isidor, I didn’t realise. You didn’t know what the book was about because you couldn’t read the title, could you?”
“No,” I whispered, looking back into the fire. “So now you know, I’m thick, stupid, a joke.”
Melody threw her cigarette into the fire and gently placed her hand on my shoulder. “I don’t think you’re stupid,” she whispered.
“No?” I snapped. “So what do you think?”
“I think you are the sweetest guy that I’ve ever met,” she said, gently placing her hand against my cheek and turning my face towards her. “You are the only person in this town who doesn’t avoid me because of the way my mother makes me dress. Even the people in church keep away from us. No one dresses the way we do. You didn’t judge me, Isidor, and I’m not judging you. You helped me mend my necklace, you went and chose a book for me – it had a rose on it just like my name. No one has ever done anything like that for me.”
“Why did you laugh then?” I asked, looking into her eyes.
“Because I wanted to cry, but I just couldn’t let it show,” she whispered and looked away.
“Why did you want to cry?” I asked softly.
“Because I just can’t stop hurting....that is...” she trailed off.
“What?” I pushed gently. “What stops you hurting, Melody?”
“You do, Isidor,” she said. “When I’m with you, I stop thinking.”
“Thinking about what?”
Then, taking my hand in hers, she stood up and said, “Come with me and I’ll show you.”
Melody led me through the
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