Struck

What good were matches that couldn’t stay lit in the breeze as I tried to light the two candles under the tree. The two candles that tried, unsuccessfully to light a celebration.

I struck the matches against a rock under the tree. The first one sparked to life, burning their light into my eyes, so that I still saw the flame in the darkness, even after the breeze swirled in to put it out. Why did I keep trying? The wind did not want those matches to be lit. The wind did not want me to see your face, looking at me and the tiny cake with embarrassment, then contempt. Or was it the other way around? The wind would not let me light the candles and tried hard to stun the matches the moment they were struck.

One match, the last one, I sheltered in my hands, guarded it from the meddling wind, when I looked over the light, smiling in triumph, at your face, not looking at me, but at your shoes, your mouth twisted into something. Something ugly and not looking at me. I knew that you wouldn’t eat the cake. I knew that you wouldn’t look at me again the way you had looked at me before.

The flame scorched my fingertip, and with a reflex, I shook out the light. Smelling the smoke of the burnt wood, but not trying to strike another, not wanting to see the emptiness in your eyes or the twist of your mouth as you stood there, leaning against the tree, your hands deep in your pockets against the cold wind, not trying to help me, not offering to hold the cake, not interested in a celebration of anything between us.

Coward.

That’s the word that came to me. You stood there. A coward. A spineless jerk who couldn’t even afford me the respect of saving me this humiliation. I came here with this romantic plan. With this cake. With these matches. Against the wind. Against the rain. I smiled and laughed as match after match went out and into my pocket, one of them singeing the lining because its ember still burned.

Coward.

In that instant—in my embarrassment—I hated you completely. Just like that.

“I guess it’s too windy,” I said. All the laughter and the joy was blown out of my voice by the wind.

“I guess so,” you said. Even in the dark I knew you weren’t looking at me.