Matches

I strike another match on the outside of the red, rectangular box. The tip flares to life as I hold it over a glass filled with water. I watch as the head of the match turns from red to black, consumed by the fire. There is little smoke from such a small, innocent fire. Until it nears the end of it's life.
The fire ends with the bulbous point and fizzles out before it can reach the shaft. A dud. Ssssst. A tiny hiss issues forth from the cup as the match touches the surface of water.
Another match. Another fire brought to life. This one lasts longer than the first. It sends up more feisty smoke as it creeps onto the shaft of wood between my fingers. A green tinge surrounds the flame that leaves everything in it's path blackened and shriveled. The tip is too heavy for the charred neck and it contorts the once solid wood. I once lived in a tree house. Made from solid wood that kept me dry, if not safe from insects. That is where Aaron found me. That is when he introduced me to my mother. My family. That is when my brother rescued me. Ssssst. I drop the match in the cup before it reaches half way to my fingers.
The next match takes two strikes before igniting. I need to get tutoring for Spanish class. I have missed two weeks. I don't know how I will catch up. A slight stream of smoke. Another dud. Ssssst.
I begin to unpack the clothes in my green dufflebag. I found it in a free box my first semester of college. It has been my luggage on almost every trip since then. Most of it goes into the dirty clothes bucket. The rest get tossed on my bed. My books are everywhere. There are papers and shoes and chords everywhere. I sit on my bed and light another one.
The flame viciously uses the wood until it is worthless. That is why it must continue moving and finding new healthy wood to devour. But just before it moves on the blackened wood gives one more energetic red glow before giving up from exhaustion. Pain can only be endured so long. Six months ago I was walking home from work and the August sun was warming my face. My phone began to vibrate in my pocket. When I answered the strange number I heard Aaron's voice for the first time in two years. So much laughter and love. The conversation lasted two hours. The smile lasted two weeks. Until he stopped answering me. Ssssst.
I stare at the tinged tips of my fingers before I lick them. I fold the clothes on my bed. Most of them have been there for two weeks. I washed all of my clothes on February 7th. There was only one load left to fold when my mother called me. I carefully put away my clothes. I burn another match.
There is a picture of me next to a bonfire that I want to add to the dating site I joined a week ago. I don't know why I joined. I don't really want someone. I don't have any matches. Ssssst. Another dud.
There are too many duds in this box. Maybe it is old. Or maybe there is something wrong with me. Maybe I don't actually know how to use matches.
Another match. This one is brighter than the previous matches. Rapidly crossing the distance to my skin it gives off more light and heat than any other match yet. It singes my skin. Ssssst. It is gone. Burnt out. Extinguished. That fire will never shine again. I don't lick my fingers.
Instead I pile my books on the shelf. I pick up papers one by one and throw away the useless ones. Receipt. Useless. Junk mail. Useless. Old homework. Recipes. Poems. Letters. Notes. Useless. I set aside my W2 and a half written song. Nothing else matters.
The air is thick with thoughts. Another match. This one burns slowly. Inside the flame, small bubbles of water rise to the surface of the match before disappearing forever. I am awake, but I hear her voice in my head again. Are you at home? Are you sitting down? Aaron is dead. In my mind I feel my knees go weak as I slip off my bed onto the floor. The fire crawls on. My left hand is gripping the carpet. My right hand is clenching the phone to my ear. Aaron killed himself. I struggle to breath with my face inches from my knees. I cry so loudly that my roommate comes from the kitchen. The twisted, useless, wood droops towards the water seeking relief from the pain and shame of what it has become. I gain the strength to walk to the living room where my entire body collapses in wracking sobs. A friend holds me as each tear drains my energy. After I reach exhaustion I cry for another ten minutes. I have nothing left to give. Ssssst.