I did not die in the bathroom. That’s good, huh? They have these crazy hand dryers in there. It’s like sticking your hands into a tiny, wicked tornado. Awesome. Your skin blows into crazy ridges.
Some plane to Philadelphia is boarding, so there are plenty of seats for me at the gate. Woo!
Okay. Back to the tragedy of the missed concert.
• • •
Andrew’s concert was getting out right when I got to the middle school. Parents were flowing out. Dorky kids in their high-water black pants and neck-choking white shirts carried violin cases and cello cases. I saw Bony Emily, Andrew’s best friend, walking next to her mom.
“Andrew still here?” I asked.
“No. He left right away. Nice going, Felton,” she said.
“Crap.”
Mr. Burkholz, the middle-school gym teacher, shouted to me while I rolled past: “Nice picture in the paper! Ha-ha!”
My stomach twisted. Jerk. Mr. Burkholz is one of those teachers who could give a shit if jocks are beating up other kids. He treated Cody and Karpinski like they were his best friends when they were like thirteen. I remember him asking them what they did for fun. Seriously. “What do you dudes do for fun?” They were thirteen. What a chump, Aleah.
I took off on my bike, then slowed down because I didn’t want to actually get home and have to encounter the disappointment of Andrew and the sadness of Jerri. As you know, though, it only takes a few minutes to get from BMS (Bluffton Middle School) to our house, even if you’re going super slow (which you often did on your Walmart bike last summer). I rolled down the main road hill, saw Jerri’s Hyundai parked out on the driveway, swallowed hard, and thought: I have an excuse, right? Aleah…and my hamstring hurts and someone put posters of me up in school.
Jerri and Andrew were up in the living room, having the post-event ice cream. (This is a long tradition, as you know.) Usually Andrew is fairly chattery. Usually he is talking a lot, going over the highlights, talking about who screwed up where, how he could’ve improved his performance, etc. When I climbed up the stairs from the garage and basement, though, there was no talking at all. Andrew and Jerri sat in silence.
Jerri shook her head at me.
Andrew said, “You missed it.”
“I…I had a bad day.”
“Andrew has been talking about this concert for months, Felton,” Jerri said.
“I know,” I said.
“It hurts my feelings…” Andrew said.
“I didn’t mean…” I said. “Listen. I’m just…I’m just having a tough few days, okay?”
“Because you set a state record in track and got your picture in the newspaper?” Andrew asked.
“Somebody made copies of that picture and put it all over the school today,” I said. “It’s terrible.”
“As of this morning, seventy-three people have left comments on feltonreinstein.com congratulating you on your 60-meter record. Forty-three people have left comments saying that picture is terrible. Why are you having a bad week?” Andrew asked.
“Oh…That’s awesome.” I nodded. “Thanks for telling me,” I said. “But you know that picture is really…”
“I didn’t play very well. I was looking for you in the audience before and then when you weren’t there I…”
“Oh crap, Andrew. I’m really, really—”
“It’s fine. I don’t want to…I’m not like you. I don’t need stupid fans who want to kiss my nuts.”
“Jesus,” I said.
“Andrew,” Jerri gasped.
“I’m sorry for the language, Jerri.” Then Andrew put down his pint of Ben and Jerry’s Chubby Hubby, stood up, and walked to his bedroom.
Jerri’s face went totally red.
“Jerri. I didn’t mean to miss—”
“Here’s the problem,” Jerri whispered. “Your intentions don’t matter, Felton.”
“I’m seriously having a bad—”
“You’re not the only person in this family.”
“Someone put up a poster—”
“This was Andrew’s time to shine, Felton. When does he get that?”
“I don’t know.”
“How could you?”
“I don’t know.”
Jerri stood up. She shook her head at me. Then she said something pretty bad, Aleah. She said, “Your dad always claimed ignorance too, Felton. He couldn’t be bothered to remember anything important to me.”
“Oh shit,” I said. Then I turned and walked back down the stairs to my room. I expected Jerri to follow me, but she didn’t.
I still maintain that it’s a low blow to say I’m like my dad. He did have affairs and he did commit suicide. That’s a pretty big thing to just throw around, you know?
• • •
Whoa. What time is it? Okay, I’m fine.
Okay. The airline finally posted Fort Myers on the gate. At least I’m not lost, Aleah.
I’m hungry.