I've Never Lit a Match

Layla.

The first time Alex ever held my hand, I didn’t actually want him to.

The thing is, the first time Alex ever actually reached out and tried to take my hand also happened to be the first time that I had ever been angry with him. It wasn’t hand-holding, per se. Not in the romantic sense. It was his wimpy attempt at trying to cool down the situation, taking my hand to stop me from walking off in anger.

He was trying to puppy-dog his way out of it. The gesture really was just an insecure, unspoken: Aw, c’mon Layla Belle, you’re not really that mad. Are ya?

And what he got in response – when I jerked my hand away and kept walking – was a solid, unspoken: Kindly, fuck off.

Alex reached out for my hand like a life-preserver assurance that I wasn’t totally pissed off at how badly he had screwed up that night. I cooled down quickly after but, yeah, in that moment, I really was pissed.

So no, okay, it wasn’t really hand-holding. It was Alex’s desperate attempt at pulling me back and trying to rewind the previous few minutes. And – sucks to be him – it didn’t work.

Alex.

The tour was already winding down by July 15th. We had long-since fallen into a routine and everything about living out of a bus for another summer – even with somebody new this time – was only mundane and familiar by then. At that point, we were even starting to think about the fall. Layla and I had already begun planning out what to do next with her music.

Things were comfortable – easy, even. We were chilling out for the remainder of the summer: playing shows and goofing off and starting to deal with the honestly pretty puzzling question of what should be Layla’s next move.

A week or two earlier, after our set in Chicago, the whole group of us went and we all watched fireworks on Lake Michigan in a Romantic post-Independence-Day celebration of beautiful friendships – that’s what I called it anyways; the grand, capital-R-Romantic wording seemed fun and appropriate.

It was one of my favorite nights of the whole summer, spreading blankets and towels out on the beach as we laid down to watch. Layla went wading into the black water, beneath the fireworks popping overhead, and convinced me to come in.

There was a game of “chicken” – Layla and me, versus Jack and Zack – and she and I lost valiantly. Later, we came out of the water to rest on the towels and watch the firework show. Layla rested her head in my lap.

If I needed an example – a single moment to hold up and use as representation for the summer as a whole – it would be that night. How did our summer play out? Slowly, carelessly, comfortably, fireworks and night-swimming, lazy arms thrown around friendly shoulders.

Everything was a dream, an absolute dream, with July 15th as the nightmarish exception, abrupt and uncomfortable as it was.

If every other day was careless in a relaxed, feel-good sort of way, then this one day was careless in the more traditional sense of the word, which is to say that we took something totally fool-proof and just royally screwed it up.

It was supposed to be a good day. We were playing in Boston – Layla’s home-city – and her friend was coming to watch. She and I even had plans to do an open mic together at a coffeehouse she likes.

Unfortunately, some things got fucked up. And then, I fucked them up some more. And the high hopes I had had in the morning fizzled out by nightfall…

July 15th 2008
Boston, Massachusetts

Truth be told, Jenna Garret was not having the summer she had expected. She was kind of having a shit summer honestly.

Until leaving for college in August, Jenna was working morning shifts at Dunkin’ Donuts and hanging around with this kid from high school who hadn’t matured out of that typical-teenage-boy Blink-182-obsessed phase. (This phase is usually followed up with a Catcher in the Rye obsession – occasionally, these two stages of straight-white-male adolescence overlap. Trust.)

Anyways, when the summer started, Jenna’s routine had been made up of these two activities: working and hanging out in Blink-182 Kid’s basement. She would get out of work at noon and head over to his house, where they would watch some Dexter and probably eat day-old pizza and drink Monster and almost definitely engage in some sort of sloppy teenage sex act. She had been kind of interested in him then.

But summer was well on its way now and Jenna was bored and bitter over the fact that she had only been to the beach once so far. Dunks had her scheduled like 33 hours a week – the absolute maximum you could make a part-time employee work – so now, when she wasn’t working, she was probably just napping. A few days ago, her mom made her a chicken quesadilla after work and she ate half of it before falling asleep on the living room couch, with a muted court TV show on in the background. It was her favorite day out of the past three weeks – hands down.

The Dunkin’-Donuts-related exhaustion was, at least, a decent excuse for getting out of plans with Blink-182 Kid, whose appeal had long-since worn off. But even that was just sad.

All of it was just sad. It really wasn’t the big, last-hurrah before college that she had wanted or expected. Layla was away and everybody else was working the same shitty summer jobs as Jenna.

All of that made today all the more exciting.

Since before Layla left, Jenna had had today’s date – the date of Layla’s Boston show – marked on her calendar. She took it off from work something like three weeks early. Not only was Jenna finally going to get to see her friend for a day, she also finally had something worthwhile to do.

That morning she took the Purple Line into South Station, switched to the Red Line, and got off a few blocks from Fenway Park and the Boston House of Blues. Around twelve-thirty, Jenna met up with Layla at that coffee shop where she used to tag along and watch Layla and Kris do open-mic sets together.

Layla was already there, sitting at a high-top table with a group of guys, when Jenna walked in. She had her back to the door, so Jenna was able to walk up unnoticed and wrap her arms around Layla from behind.

“Ayeee, pretty lady!” She squealed into Layla’s ear.

“Hi!” Layla squealed right back, her surprised green eyes wide and round like full moons.

After turning around for a proper hug, Layla introduced Jenna to the boys around the table. There was:
Jack, the tall childish-looking one who was really friendly;
Rian, the handsome one;
Matt, the tour manager with the lip-ring and little to say;
Vinny, who Jenna had apparently passed on her way in – Layla said he was outside smoking;
and then there was Alex, who – Jenna noticed – had a habit of casually touching Layla.

They settled into friendly conversation, the boys making room around the table for Jenna to sit beside her friend. Nobody seemed alarmed by it – or even seemed to notice in the first place – but within twenty minutes, Jenna had caught onto that habit Alex had picked up over the past few weeks.
It was subtle, the way that Alex repeatedly reached out to Layla. He would put his hand on her back, or nudge her forearm, or touch her wrist – so briefly that it barely happened at all – while he watched her talk. Jenna noticed, however subtle it was.

She also saw that Layla didn’t seem to notice at all, which clearly meant that by now this was an old, familiar habit.

Jenna rolled her eyes internally, thinking about all the times Layla had denied over the phone that there was anything romantic happening this summer. Bullshit, Jenna laughed to herself, watching the way that Alex watched Layla.

When another one of Layla’s tour friends walked in and pulled up a chair, she introduced him as Zack. Jenna recognized that name from her phone calls with Layla, Zack was the running buddy. From her first look at him, Jenna immediately understood why Layla would do something as god-awful as go running with this guy. He was, Jenna thought, something impressive to look at.

“Hi Jenna,” Zack greeted her before sitting down, even holding out a hand for her to lightly shake. “Nice to meet you.”

Jenna nodded in reply, looking up at him from her seat.

The group of them stayed in the shop for about two hours, hanging out around the table and drinking iced coffees for quite a while before Alex and Layla got up on the mini stage in the corner and did a few songs. It was honestly the most fun Jenna had had so far that summer – and they hadn’t even started the real show yet…

Still July 15th
Still Boston

Possibly the most selfish thing about Kristopher Wallace – as far as his role in Layla’s story is concerned – is how he never obeys anyone’s schedule but his own. He left when he wanted, without proper warning; and he came back around when he wanted, without any warning at all.

He was rude and inconsiderate with his timing, allowing his messy comings and goings to cut into and disrupt other people’s lives.

Still, he does keep things interesting.

When Kris showed up again that night in Boston, for example, the little shake-up he caused is what made Layla’s story start to really get somewhere…

By that time, Kris was back home from California, sharing a small apartment with his band mates and entertaining a rotating list of casual bedmates. There was Katie, Carly, Kim, Jess – repeat, rearrange, replace, whatever. After finishing up their new album, which was due to be released late September, he and his friends had some down-time at home until their fall tour picked up. It was a lot of just hanging out in Boston – a lot of the same stuff he used to do with Layla, only now he was doing it with a short list of interchangeable dates.

There was never any big, evil plan to crash and burn Layla’s one night at home. It was truly a very casual decision-making process. Kris had known for a few days that Layla was going to be coming back to Mass for a show. For at least a week, it was all that Jenna could talk about. So word got around. Kris was – after all – close friends, band mates, and roommates with Jenna’s older brother.

That night, just a little before eleven o’clock, Kris and a group of friends walked into Katie’s, a little hole-in-the-wall that had always been Layla’s favorite. Truthfully, there wasn’t as much scheming involved here as you’d think – Kris’s charm always had been the fashionably-casual routine he put on. He and some friends were going out that night anyways so, he figured, they might as well go to the one place where they’d be sure to run into Layla.

And they did.

After Layla’s set with All Time Low was over and after the guys had wrapped up signing a few autographs and taking some pictures outside, Layla took her friends to Katie’s. Layla, Jenna, Alex, and Jack walked inside at around 11:30, the rest of their group shortly behind.

Kris was sitting at a table in the back. He was in the corner, a group of noisy friends talking and laughing around him. Kris watched, quiet and cool just like the first time they met, as Layla walked in.

Just as easily and just as subtly as two people can lock eyes across a crowded room, a wonderful night went sour. Instantly.

Kris’s intrusion here is noteworthy, a game-changing aspect of Layla’s story. Everybody’s feathers got a little ruffled; everything got a little shook up and, when it settled, it all fell into place somewhere new. Kris always did have a way of indirectly setting Layla up where she ought to be.

I’m going to be literal with you for a moment – this is where the story becomes a little less about Layla and her music and a bit more about Layla & Alex.

Observe:

11:34 pm
July 15th
Katie’s

“Oh…” Jenna gasped under her breath, a moment after walking inside. They had stopped, practically still in the open doorway. “Layla, I’m sorry,” she took her friend by the arm, leading the way out of Kris’s direct line of vision. “Shit.”

Jenna led them off to the side, stopping once they were safely hidden behind a group of people, all standing around beer-in-hand. Jack and Alex followed them through the crowd, Alex hovering behind a little confused.

“Kris is here,” Layla said like a question.

“I know. I saw him.” Jenna made a face as she said it, concerned but comical. It was an attempt at lightening the mood, nonverbally wondering ha-ha-this-is-awkward-what-do-ya-wanna-do? “I’m really sorry. I didn’t think they’d come here. Pete texted me earlier and asked if we were gonna be here and I said ‘yeah of course’ but I thought he was just checking in…I really didn’t think they’d come if they knew we were. I mean, I didn’t think Pete would let Kris show up if he knew you were coming.”

“It’s okay!” Layla answered quickly. “It’s not your fault.”

“We can leave if you want, go somewhere else,” Jenna offered.

“Um…” Layla hesitated for quite a few seconds. “Nah. No, it’s fine. We can stay.”

“Everything okay?” Alex, who had been hovering a step behind the girls, finally spoke up. He closed the gap, ducking inside the girls’ little huddle and letting his arm fall loosely against Layla’s back as he did.

“Kris is here,” Layla answered blankly, distractedly.

At that point, Jack had walked over too. He swung his arms around both Layla and Alex’s shoulders. Behind them, the rest of their group was beginning to show up, walking inside and taking seats around a nearby table.

Alex was oblivious to it.

“What?” he asked, his reaction to the news surprisingly intense.

Once the girls had caught him up, then Layla and Alex went through the same routine she’d just been through with Jenna. He offered to take the group somewhere else, she said it was fine. He insisted that it wouldn’t be a big deal if they left, she insisted that it was fine.

The difference between Jenna and Alex, though, was that Alex’s response wasn’t apologetic, like Jenna’s had been. He actually seemed pretty angry instead. If Layla was a little too caught off-guard and overwhelmed at the moment to be properly pissed off, then Alex was pissed off for her.

Alex wasn’t an aggressive guy, really not even the kind of guy who gets irritated easily, but his frustration was real. Probably the most obvious indicator was how quiet he became. Alex was never a quiet guy, but that night he had himself all boxed off and tight-lipped.

“You okay?” Layla mouthed at him a little later, after they had sat down with the rest of the group.

“Are you?” he answered with a question.

Layla nodded, then turned her attention back to the rest of her friends. They were talking about that night’s show, Jenna piping in about how cool it was to watch Layla play and how proud she was of Layla. The boys continued to make more of that get-to-know-you sort of small talk with Jenna. Layla appreciated how well they were getting along with her friend.

The night didn’t feel ruined to Layla. Yeah, she had been pretty startled to see Kris, but it wasn’t exactly the end of the world. They had been having occasional, casual text conversation for a couple of weeks now and she wasn’t opposed to the idea of walking over later to say a polite ‘hello.’

She thought it was weird that Alex was so concerned and put-off by the situation. At least it made sense that Jenna was going the extra mile to distract Layla – ignoring her insistence that everything was fine – Jenna was looking after Layla in the sweet, unquestioned way that girlfriends do for each other. It was kind of stuff that made sense for Jenna to do, since she had actually been around and seen Layla while she was going through the breakup. The only thing off about the night so far, according to Layla, was the semi-mopey version of Alex sitting next to her. Mopey-Alex, she thought, was like an alien.

The real commotion didn’t come until a little later, after Layla and Jenna had gotten up to dance. They brought Zack up with them – a girl on each arm – and wound up hiccupping with laughter as they pretended to grind up on him. Katie’s wasn’t really set up for dancing, but everybody did it anyways. The narrow walking space between the counter and the first few tables was packed with people and that “Just Dance” song was playing from a speaker by the end of the bar. Layla wove her small body through the crowd, tunneling into the middle.

Layla and Jenna both loved to dance and it brought back memories of their senior-year homecoming dance, a month before Layla ever met Kris. Jenna had been a runner-up for Homecoming Queen. They shimmied carelessly to the music, Zack doing a half-hearted goofy shuffle beside them. The first time Layla tried to rouse Alex from his funk and summon him onto the makeshift dance floor, he resisted. Instead, Jack came plowing onto the floor, then Vinny.

Layla had already bounced around the dance floor to Lady Gaga, Katy Perry, and some hip hop song she didn’t know by the time Alex caved and paired up with Jack, the two of them gyrating comically in unison. After a few songs, Layla separated from the group, about to stop by their table and ask to steal a sip from somebody’s drink.

When she reached the outskirts of the improvised dance floor, she found Kris standing by himself.

“Hey girl,” he said to her.

“Hi,” she answered, her smile cool and her cheeks flushed from dancing.

“I saw you walk in,” he told her. “I’m hurt you didn’t come over and say hi…”

A while ago, Layla probably would have loved the idea of all the snide things she could say back to that – call him out for running away and all that. What she said instead was coy and sarcastic. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she teased with a knowing eye roll.

Yes, Layla had been caught off-guard when they first walked in and she saw him. No, it didn’t ruin her night. And no, talking to him now didn’t make her shake with anxiety. It didn’t really make her do anything at all, actually.

“Wanna dance?” Kris asked, but not like a question.

“I guess…” she teased again.

Kris pulled Layla into him, his hands at her waist, and they moved back into the crowd. The pair wound up dancing nearby the rest of Layla’s friends, just outside the group.

When Layla dances, she tends to close her eyes a lot. She moves to the music, disregarding her surroundings in the same way she does when she plays music. She swayed in that free-spirited way beneath Kris’s embrace, his hands on her waist and her hands in the air imitating classic white-girl moves. He grinned down at her.

They didn’t talk much, just danced to another song that Layla didn’t recognize. As the song was ending, Kris tucked his fingers beneath Layla’s face and tilted her chin up. He leaned down with a self-assured smile and kissed her.

“What the…fuck?” Layla laughed nervously, pulling away so hard so bumped into one of the college girls dancing behind her.

“Oh, c’mon,” Kris groaned, trying to pull her back closer to him again.

Layla just looked up at him like he was crazy, like he was so crazy that it had her stifling laughter. She looked down, chuckling to herself and wondering if she should just walk away, as Kris took her by the arm and tried again to pull her back. “Don’t be like that,” he told her. “C’mon...”

“Let go,” she replied with an eye roll.

Kris tiled her head like a sad puppy, pouting his lips. “Why?” he asked.

As Layla wondered what she could even say back to that, Jenna came barreling in between them. She had been close enough that when Kris tried kiss Layla, it caught her attention. She heard the whole thing and had been standing off to the side for almost a full minute, anxiously watching.

“She said let go.” Jenna over-enunciated the words, as pissed off and protective girls at parties tend to do.

“Jen, chill. Jesus,” Kris all but whined, “Fine, okay!”

He let go of Layla’s arm and started to walk back towards his group of friends in the corner, which also meant walking past Jack, Zack, and Alex who were each standing behind Jenna watching with disgust.

Even though – as far as Layla could tell – the situation had been handled, Alex apparently thought otherwise. A persistent ex-boyfriend had been told to leave after an awkward and aggressive kissing attempt and he did. Layla felt safe with her friends and didn’t really think that there was very much more to it.

Yet, as Kris tried to pass between Zack and Alex, Alex gave him a little shove and spat some words that Layla couldn’t quite make out over the music. The shove was returned and a fist or two might have been thrown if Zack and a nearby stranger hadn’t intervened and broken-up the would-be fight. Kris had never been the type to get involved in anything other than talk, so Layla wasn’t too surprised that he walked off with hardly any protest.

Layla followed Alex as he walk off in the opposite direction, confronting him off to the side. “What the hell was that?” she asked.

“It was fucking dumb!” Alex snapped back, hands up in defeat. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“No,” she said sharply. “Everything was fine. He was pushy and Jenna cut in and told him to go away and he did. It was over –”

“I know, I know,” Alex cut off. “I’m sorry.”

“It was over,” Layla raised her voice a little. “My friend was there for me in a really weird, uncomfortable situation. She shut it down. And she did it appropriately. I don’t know what you think the deal is with us,” she gestured between Alex and herself, “but it isn’t some knight in shining armor thing. I love ya, Alex. You’re a great friend. But that was super fucked up. I’m not a thing that you can fight over. I’m a person. And that was really disrespectful.”

“I know,” he said again, fingers raking through his hair. “I’m really sorry. I just got worked up. I know he was always an asshole to you,” he looked her in the eyes. “I just wanted to make sure he isn’t an asshole to you again.”

“I’m gonna go get Jenna and head back to the hotel for the night,” she said. “I’ll see you later.”

As Layla turned away to look for Jenna, Alex reached out for her hand. “Layla –”

She pulled her hand from his, turned back, and repeated, “I’ll see you later,” before walking off.

Layla.

The thing that pissed me off wasn’t that Alex was protective. I liked that. Any good friend would be. I was mad because he was so quick to take an already-diffused situation and turn it into a fight. I know Alex. That isn’t Alex.

Even worse, he took something that wasn’t about him – something that was mine – and tried to make it something between two guys, duking it out. Being fought over isn’t romantic. It made me feel like property.

Alex.

I realized as soon as my hand touched Layla’s hand that I had never done that before. Layla and I had always had one of those comfortable, touchy-feeling, cuddle-and-watch-Juno kind of friendships. I never thought twice when she would put her feet in my lap, or lean into me as we walked down the street together.

We’d never held hands, though. That was way too intimate for friends.