The Music of What Happens - Bill Konigsberg Page 0,102
living room, Jordan is asleep in his new room, and I’m sitting on the couch, watching episodes of Catfish.
“Quite the day,” she says, and she gives me a hug and sits down next to me.
“Yup,” I say.
“How are you doing with all this?”
I shrug. “I can’t make him feel better. That part sucks.”
“You just have to give him time. This will always be one of the hardest days of his life, as long as he lives.”
“Yeah.”
“Just like you, when you were assaulted. You weren’t ready to talk about it right away. Sometimes people just need a little time to stew in their juices.”
“Sometimes I think I’m a superhero,” I say, and my mom laughs.
“I know,” she says.
“You know?”
“I know you a little bit, mijo. You like to think you can save people and make people better, and nicer. Your superpower is your smile.”
I can’t help but grin at that, and she does too.
“It’s okay, though, if sometimes you don’t smile and make everything better.”
“I know,” I say.
“Okay. I just worry sometimes. That you take too much on yourself. Other people can figure out their problems. And you have to take care of you.”
The thing is, I don’t know if people can. Figure out their problems. Would Jordan have gotten here, or somewhere like here, if it weren’t for me? I don’t think so.
Then this thought comes to me, and it makes me gasp out loud.
“What?” my mom asks.
“Nothing,” I say.
She rolls her eyes. “Nothing,” she repeats.
The thought is that no, Jordan wouldn’t be here. But I wouldn’t be, either. Without his help. Without my mom. Without the Amigos.
That feels like a profound thought. Cheesy as shit, but also simple and true.
“So you’re not going to tell me?”
I shake my head. “No. But something else I will say.”
She sits back on the couch and puts her legs across my lap and waits for me to speak.
“Thanks,” I say. “For being you. For loving me. I know I’m a pain in the ass, but you’re always there for me, Mom.”
This reddens her eyes.
“Do you know that I basically told Dad I was raped? Before you. He made jokes. I mean, he confirmed that what happened was rape, but he, like, didn’t say anything more. Or help me.”
She sits up. “What?”
“Yeah,” I say.
“What are you talking about? You told him and he didn’t do anything?”
“Well, I basically called at like four in the morning after a bad dream. Because the dream made me wonder if I should say something to someone or if I was making shit up. I told him not me, but hypothetically. Like a friend. But who calls their dad at four in the morning and asks something like that without it being about them?”
She shakes her head, hard. Her face is creased and rigid.
“He didn’t get it, I guess. It’s not his fault —”
“The hell it isn’t,” she says, just about exploding, and I worry she’ll wake up Jordan. “He’s your father. It’s not okay for him to hear that and not follow up. With me. Has he followed up with you?”
I shake my head.
“Damn it,” she says. “He tries my patience, mijo. I hate to talk bad about your father, but the man needs to grow up.”
“Well there ya go,” I say, my insides tightening.
She nuzzles the side of my leg with her foot. “Sorry,” she says. “I don’t like to do that. That’s your business between you and your father. But can I say one more thing?”
I shrug.
“You can call him out on it. If you want, I mean. It’s up to you, and what kind of relationship you want with the man. But you’re seventeen, and he let you down. You can let it go, or you can say something. That’s up to you, mijo.”
“Can I go back to my show now?” I ask.
She shoots me a look but then relaxes her face. “I know,” she says. “It’s a lot. I’ll leave you alone.”
“Love you, Mom,” I say again.
“Love you too.”
A monsoon rolls in overnight.
First comes the alarm buzzing all our phones. They sound five times and the warning from the national weather service appears. Dust storm warning for all of Maricopa County until 3:00 a.m. tomorrow with reports of blowing dust along I-101 in Scottsdale. Blowing dust can reduce visibility to near zero in a matter of seconds, making driving hazardous. If you’re driving, pull aside, stay alive.
I’m in the guest room, pretending to be asleep on top of a beautiful, flowery bedspread, when it