Page 87 of Playing With Matches
When I reach the edge of the rocky platform, I get my first glimpse at the situation. Which is lizardy.So lizardy.Wall-to-wall carpet of lizards. Of course, the webcam is positioned smack in the middle of all that would-be wallet leather.
“Here goes,” I say to nobody in particular. The lizards could give a shit. A twisted branch I’ve scavenged from the beach comes in handy to clear my path. I swing it back and forth in wide swathes. But the lizards are not afraid of me. I swear they’re mocking me. They look at me with their deadpan stares and slow unblinking eyes like something out of a Wes Anderson film.I can see the captions:
Somewhere in the Caribbean
Reptile Isle
1 pm
Some of the bigger guys don’t seem to want to get out of my way. One of the macho ones glares and hisses at me.
“How about I sing you guys a song?” I offer. “Any requests?”
They just blink at me so I start singing the first thing that comes to mind. “Puff the Magic Dragon.”
They seem to like it.
They let me pass and their eyes go all sleepy and unthreatening. I change the name of the little boy in the song to “Jackie Porter,” automatically, the same as my dad used to do when he sang me to sleep when I was little. When he wasn’t being the dragon. When he wasn’t Godzilla.
I’d forgotten about that, too. Yet somehow, I still know all the words to the song.
Finally, I reach the tower with the webcam. There’s some kind of repeater that’s getting enough juice to the camera to run the live stream. I just need to tap into it. Piece of cake. Except my phone is down to six percent. I pull up the network settings to see what I’m working with. My phone searches for the signal, spinner spinning as I come to the end of my song.
I swear the reptiles get pissed the minute I finish. Their eyes pop open and they start hissing again.
“Okay, okay, assholes. You like show tunes?” I launch into a rendition of “Popular” from the showWicked. Chelsea had played that song on repeat when the show first came out. With any luck, this will be my last tune.
But I can’t seem to hack in. Three percent.
“No. No, no!” I shake my phone like the friction will somehow activate a few extra minutes of battery life. Two percent.
Finally, when my phone is down to one percent, I connect to the network. I don’t even bother pulling up my contacts. I just press the side button and tell Siri to call Isla. If I’ve only got one call, I’m gonna make it count.
Miraculously the call connects and goes right through. I almost cheer when I hear the phone ringing.
Pick up Isla! Pick up fast!
One ring. Two rings. Three rings. Four. Finally, she picks up on the fifth ring.
“Hello?”
And then my phone dies.
isla
“My favorite color is green. All shades of green. Except the lizardy ones. Not a fan of the reptiles.”
~Jackson Porter, Playing with Matches Confessionals
I pack up allmy things before heading back to the beach to film the final episode ofPlaying with Matcheslater this afternoon. I’ve already done my last confessional. I have nothing left to say. My flight is leaving early tomorrow morning.
With each passing hour, I grow more concerned about Jackson’s unexplained absence. My intuition tells me something is wrong. I just can’t put my finger on it. Why would he just leave? Was he freaking out about what happened between us? Had he not meant the things he said? Had I just imagined the way he seemed to feel and convinced myself that there was something there because I wanted it so badly?
I wanted him so badly. I still want him so badly. I don’t buy Rob’s suggestion that he simply left. He wouldn’t have left his things here if he had. Nothing in his room has been touched. His clothes from last night are hanging on the line in the bathroom, still damp and salty with ocean water. His clothes are still all tidily folded in the drawers.
When I fluff the pillows, I can smell his shampoo on the sheets. I pick up one of the pillows and hold it to my face, embracing it like a lover. Inhaling him.
Where are you, Jackson?
