When David was seventeen, he let his friends talk him into covering himself with gasoline and lighting himself on fire. He was badly burned, but he survived.
One year later David sat in a room telling a group about his addiction to pain killers. He struggled to focus on the details he’d decided to share about his week. A new member was inadvertently being a distraction. She was thin, with a chest that looked like more than God gave her. Her hip bones were visible above low cut jeans, and she sat stock straight with her shoulders back. Her hair was blonde, with half an inch of dark brown at the scalp. She was a strangely artificial apparition among the other au naturel spirits in the room. Her name was Sam.
After the Wednesday night rehab session, David stood behind the building, smoking a cigarette and leaning against a sign that read “No smoking within 25 feet.” Sam came out and approached him timidly. He knew it was because of his face. The stunt with the gasoline had left him scarred. His skin had recovered well, but his eyebrows didn’t grow anymore. He also had a bald patch at the front of his hairline on one side. He kept his head shaved, but stubble didn’t grow on the scar.
“Wouldn’t expect you to smoke,” she said.
“Why’s that?” He watched her struggle to express herself in a way that wouldn’t offend him. After several seconds she said “because” and gestured at him.
“Think a cigarette did this?”
She shrugged and asked, “can I have one?”
He shook one out of the box. “Little surprised you smoke. It’ll turn your teeth yellow.”
“I whiten,” she explained. “Gotta stay thin in my business, and trust me, these are safer than diet pills.”
“What business is that?”
“Modeling.”
“Anything I might’ve seen?”
“Probably not,” she said. “Just some print ads around Orderville, where I grew up. I was headed to L.A, but I kind of hit a wall here in Reno.”
“What kind of wall?”
She nodded toward the building, indicating their rehab session, where they learned she was addicted to stimulants. “Since we’re sharing, can I ask about…” she waved at his face. David told her the story.
For a month David supplied Sam with cigarettes after their sessions, and they talked about where they’d come from, how they’d wound up in rehab, and where they wanted to go.
After David’s failed stunt, the doctors gave him pain killers, but when the time came to stop, he couldn’t. He bought prescription pills from dealers or exchanged favors, shoplifting in trade. That was what had gotten him, but the judge went easy, probation even though it wasn’t his first offense.
Sam grew up a little bit awkward, but always being told what a pretty face she had. After puberty, she filled out some and started looking for ways to make a living on her pretty face. Her mom sprang for a couple of surgeries to help market her as a brand. Finally, Sam had decided that nobody in Orderville, Utah was going to make her famous and left for L.A. That fourth Wednesday evening, they talked so late that Sam missed the bus home, and David offered to take her. She asked for one last smoke before she got into his car.
“If you’re addicted to stimulants, I probably shouldn’t give you cigarettes,” David said.
“I know,” Sam exhaled. “I don’t care. I’m only trying to quit the crank because my manager says it’ll wreck my looks.”
David laughed, and Sam asked what was so funny. “We’re just so attached to our faces. That’s all.”
“You’re saying you wouldn’t rather have a regular, unburned face?” she asked.
“Maybe, but how do you think I got such a light sentence? How do you think I can afford this car when I don’t have a job? People look at me and see a charity case, and you, well, you’re teeth, tits, and toes. People pay just to see you smile.”
Sam said, “I’m not just teeth, tits, and toes.”
Over the last month, David had learned that she was right. Sam was a real human being, but she was buried underneath that awful, peroxide façade. It made him wonder if maybe he was more substantial beneath his own scarred mask, more than a beggar and a cheap thief for hire.
“Prove it,” he said. “Let’s go get some speed.”
“What? No. I’m trying to get clean.”
“No you’re not. You’re trying to stay pretty. You just said so. If you really want to show me you’re more than a face, stop putting so much effort into it”
Sam bit her lip.
“What do you love about modeling?”
Sam thought for a moment. “I don’t know. I’m good at it. You can make money doing it.”
“But modeling is super competitive, and most models don’t make much money,” David added. “Do you like the attention?”
Sam shrugged.
“Okay, what do you like about speed?”
She answered without hesitation. “The rush, of course. You toot it up and just boom, your heart is racing and the world is yours. It’s like I can go forever on a good tweak, and nothing is big enough to stop me.”
David said, “It sounds to me like you’re not really doing what you want, but what people want you to. How about we go get some speed, get lit up and just drive all the way to the damned coast.”
Sam laughed, “And what about food and gas? You just going to steal whatever we need?”
David shook his head. “I’m done with that. Don’t let the face fool you. I can do odd jobs. You can work, too, if you want. Oh, look, we’re here.” He took his foot off the gas in front of Sam’s apartment building.
Before he could bring the car to a complete stop, Sam grabbed his shoulder and said, “Let’s keep going.”