By Silas's Side

Silas doesn't much know what's good for him. He does what he likes, which isn't always the same thing. Sometimes it is but oftentimes it ain't.

Silas had a way with matches. He could take a matchbook, open it, rip one off, close the book, and light the match, all with one hand. I asked him how many hours it took him to get to where he could do that. He said he taught himself back in high school, practiced every day in Spanish class for two weeks. Went through a lot of matches in his lap and only got in trouble once, the final time, the only time he actually did it. He'd chew on matches from time to time, but those were a different kind, the strike anywhere kind. These were the chewing kind because—and I saw him do this multiple times—if a beautiful woman needed her cigarette lit he would flick the head with his thumbnail, kept the match in his mouth, and she'd have to walk right up to him, put her face just inches from his, if she wanted that fire. It was something you wished you'd thought of first. Goddamn, it was a good trick.

Silas hated smoking, but he loved to light those cigarettes. He was able to keep the two separate, he said. Just because he ain't a fan doesn't mean he can't help others along, especially when a beautiful woman gets involved. There's a hypocritical note in there somewhere, but I let him do what he wanted, he was going to do it anyhow. That's usually the case with these things. And usually the woman wouldn't offer him one in return, and when she did he politely declined.

What made me worry was when one woman did offer him one, and he did say yes. All my years by Silas's side and I never saw him act close to taking one, not even a consideration. So I knew this woman, she must be something. To Silas anyway. To get him to do a thing he always said he'd never do.

I didn't see him with matches after that. When I asked why he wasn't chewing he said he was ready for a change. When a beautiful woman asked if anyone had a light he didn't say a word. When he reached into his pants pocket he just took out keys. There was no fire anywhere on him. I asked if it was because of her, because of this smoking lady, and he said it wasn't, almost made like he didn't know what I was talking about.

One day he shows up, reaches into his pants pocket, takes out a box of cigarettes. He opens it up and half of them are gone, and in the empty space rests this lighter. Some cheap plastic thing, some drugstore add-on, some terrible green color. This bright green that maybe exists somewhere but I seriously doubt it. He bumps one of the cigarettes on the top of his hand a couple times and tosses it into his mouth, like he's been doing it his whole life. And he brings this green thing up and lights the smoke. I didn't know the man I was watching. I almost asked him his name, just to make a point, but truth be told there would have been more genuineness in the question than I care to admit.

I didn't spend much time around the two of them, and certainly not her. He moved into her place eventually, and a couple times was all I could take. Even when they weren't smoking you could feel it, that extra layer, deep inside the fibers of the carpet and resting on the blankets. I watched his teeth slowly yellow. I heard his voice, the voice I knew, the voice of my friend, fade away, replaced by some cut up voice saying words I didn't understand. And all this while I swore she looked at me the way you look at an enemy. And I probably did the same thing, truth be told.

Silas and I saw each other less and less and then not at all. I could count the years but it ain't a number I wish to think about. I hear things now and then from mutual people. I make inquiries from time to time, but I don't want word to get back. I like to think he makes inquiries about me, things he has to hide from her, this cigarette girl of his, this important bitch.

I'm sorry. I try not to be too bitter. I don't like being angry. It's just hard sometimes. I get the better of myself. It was going to be someone eventually. I just don't understand why it had to be her.