“Whoa,” I exclaimed, “Monkey city!”
“Must be from the father’s side of the family.”
I twisted over Laurie and looked down at her back. “Yup, you appear to be tail-free.”
“Thanks for noticing.”
Suddenly I couldn’t be on the bed, so I started pacing—which was tricky in a room that was maybe eight feet long and had random objects covering its floor to varying depths. “So, uh, you’re pretty upset, I guess. But why now? You’ve known this was coming.”
“I know, it’s just…the picture and the card make it so real. Like this new person really is going to come, and be my half sister, and my mother’s whole daughter, so I’ll be just her half daughter.”
“Uh, Laur, remember how I beat you on the math PSAT? I think the logic section may have been your downfall.”
“Uh, Alex, remember when we were eleven, and you tried to blow up that huge anthill with firecrackers, and all the ants landed on you, and they bit you everywhere, and you were in the hospital for three days? Don’t talk to me about logic, buster!”
“Okay, first of all, that would have worked if the Raid can had just detonated on time. But anyway, all I’m saying is that you’re still your mom’s whole daughter. Look, she invited you to stay there this summer, right? Doesn’t that tell you anything?”
“Yeah, it tells me she’s seen Cinderella, and she knows cheap labor when she sees it. Maybe I just won’t go at all.”
“I don’t know, Laur. It seems to me like she’s reaching out to you. Don’t you think that might just burn your bridges with her completely?”
“Maybe I want to burn my bridges with her. That way she can’t keep jerking me around like this for years at a time!”
She kicked her headboard rather mightily to emphasize her point, and also succeeded in emphasizing the titanic crack in the wood. I strode over to her, insofar as it was possible to stride under the conditions, and put my hand on her shoulder. Her eyes had that little prism thing going, where the tears are just brimming up but not yet running over. We didn’t say anything for a long time, until finally I started feeling too nervous with the silence.
“You know, I just think a child and a parent should speak with each other, that’s all.”
She just stared, so I filled the convo gap again. “I went to Sol’s today, and he…he wasn’t around, so I was in the locker. You know, where I got the guitar from? Because I was going to take it out again and play. But then I knocked everything over—well, I caught the guitar, but—and a box of pictures and stuff fell out. So I was putting them back in, and they were of Judy, his daughter. And she hasn’t spoken to him in forever, but he has EVERYTHING of hers in there. I mean, there was a baby tooth in there, and her second-grade report card, and even some news clippings from her grown-up life. And you can just tell he loves her so much…but he can’t…”
Suddenly there were four welling-up eyes in the room. Laurie asked, “How’s he doing? What’s wrong?”
So I told her what Leonora had said, and Claudelle, and about the horrible noises in his lungs, and how he hadn’t even wanted the cookies, even though he had practically twisted my arm to make me bring them. And by then I was completely crying, and so was Laurie, and we were practically swimming in a sea of freshly utilized tissues. Then we were on the bed, and my arms were around her, and hers were around me, and there was a whole long interval of progressively closer eye contact. So we both started leaning in for real, and I could tell this was going to be the big kiss, because I was so sad and so happy at the same time. And I closed my eyes and waited for the gentle brush of her lips on mine…
And then there was a tremendous CRACK, like a gunshot. I mean, not like some tiny little .22 caliber jobbie either, but like a crazy huge hand cannon from an ultra-violent military-type movie. And Laurie and I tumbled into each other, and we banged teeth AGAIN.
We were on the mattress, which was on the floor, because Laurie’s entire bed frame had split down the middle where she’d kicked it. I suppose I recovered first. “Wow, Laurie, you sure do rock at karate!”
She grinned at me adorably through her split lip. “Wow, Alex, you sure do have slick man moves!”
I should write this stuff down some day. But honestly, who on God’s green earth would believe it?
PEACE IN MY TRIBE
All the way home from Laurie’s house, I thought about two things: my painful, swelling upper lip and my relationship with my parents. If I could cry over Sol’s estrangement from his daughter, and if I could tell Laurie to bury the hatchet with her mother, then maybe there were some things I should say to my mom and dad so I didn’t have to walk around knowing I was the world’s largest hypocrite.
They were sitting at the table, having a late-night cup of herbal tea. It was a scene so normal that I could barely comprehend how a year and a half of insanity could have crept in since the last time I had seen my parents do this. I put a hand on each parent’s shoulder. “Mom, Dad, there’s something I want to talk to you about.”
My father looked worried, so I continued. “Relax, I didn’t smash up anybody’s car this time. And I’m not failing my classes, and I didn’t get anybody pregnant. Or pawn my guitar for crack money. Or…”
Mom was sort of laughing, but she squeezed my hand. “We get the point, Alex. So what DO you want to tell us?”
“Well, I was at Sol’s tonight, and he’s not doing well, and I found a box of old pictures and stuff of his daughter, the…his daughter, Judy. So I was thinking about how much he’s done for her, and how she doesn’t appreciate it. And I know I’ve been—uh—not so easy with the whole divorce thing. I think you may have noticed.”
Mom wasn’t going to let that opening pass her by. “Oh, so the whole lawn-gnome incident would have been kind of, oh, I don’t know, an anger thing?”
Dad took a shot, too. “And that whole not-talking-to-my-father-for-months routine, would that have been part of a larger pattern?”
“Look, you are both just a raging hotbed of wit, okay? Yes, you both know how angry I was. And how weird it is for me now, to see you back together, only not ALL the way back together. Plus, even if you, like, remarry or whatever, I don’t know how I’ll ever really be sure it’s permanent again.”
They shared a pretty awkward little glance over that bit, but I needed to continue.
“But I know you both love me, and I love both of you. I’m sorry if I’ve been a problem. That’s all.”
“Problem?” Dad asked. “Did you notice a problem with the boy, honey?”
“No, no problem,” Mom replied. “I might have maybe encountered an issue or even a situation, but not a problem, per se.”
My mom stood up and hugged me then, and my dad got his arms around both of us. It was weird, because we hadn’t necessarily been such a big huggy kind of family before. But it felt good, too. Then Mom broke the mood. “Okay, boys, some of us have a twelve-hour shift tomorrow. I have to get to bed.”
Dad asked me if I wanted a cup of tea, and I said yes, even though I secretly think herbal tea tastes like fermented dishwater. When all the shuffling around the kitchen was done, and we were sitting side by side at the table, Dad had something to get off his chest. “Alex, remember when I told you that I didn’t run out on Mom, that she told me to leave?”
I took a long sip of my tepid and yucky beverage. “Yeah?”
“I think maybe I should tell you about what happened between your mother and me last year.”
I took another sip, stalling for time while I considered this. “You know what, Dad? I don’t really want to know. You gave me enough of an answer in December.”
“Really? What did I say?”
“You told me, ‘Things aren’t so simple. People are complicated and contrary.’ And you were right. And that’s all I need to know. Really.”
Dad looked relieved. “Well, all right, if you’re really okay with all this now.”
“I am, Dad. I really am.”
He started to get up from the table, and it occurred to me that I did have one other question. “Wait. I do have just one more thing I’m curious about, since you asked.”
“Okay, shoot.”
“Uh, why did you break up with Mrs. Simonsen?”
“I don’t know, bud. I just couldn’t see spending the rest of my life with a woman who smelled like chalk.”
Yes, friends, that’s right: Another marriage saved by chalk dust.
April 3
Dear Judge Trent,
This letter has two purposes. The first is to inform you that I feel I have nearly met the requirements of my pretrial intervention assignment. I have now worked over a hundred hours at the Egbert P. Johnson Memorial Home for the Aged. Additionally, and perhaps more important, I think I have learned and applied a life lesson.
The lesson I learned was taught to me by an old man, a vase of flowers, and a box of old mementos. Do you remember how I wrote in an earlier letter that Solomon Lewis has a daughter who doesn’t speak with him? Well, he leaves her these flowers every year at Hanukkah time, even though she never comes to get them. Also, he has this storage locker at the home, and I came across a big box of photos and things, labeled “Judy.” Of course, he has all of her childhood stuff, like report cards and baby teeth. But he also has a bunch of news articles and things about her adult life that he has found and saved over the many years since their estrangement began. Even with all of the difficulties he has, even though he is terminally ill, he keeps track of his child. It’s like, if Sol’s daughter would show up, even after all this time, he would be totally ready to pick right up with her again. So the lesson Sol has taught me is this: Most parents love their children, no matter how mad the children get, no matter what the children do or say. Most parents love their children, and everybody deserves a second chance at happiness.
So I told my best friend, who has a very messy relationship with her mother, to give daughterhood another try. And then I went home and put my money where my mouth is: I forgave my parents for their marital problems. Wow. I probably deserve some sort of juvenile delinquent merit badge.
The other purpose of this letter is to invite you to what will probably be Sol’s last concert. His emphysema has taken a bad turn, but he insists on going through with one more jazz performance at the home, this Saturday at three P..M. in the home’s rec room. The performance will be really special, because first of all, Sol recently gave me a very valuable and exquisite-sounding jazz guitar, and this will be my first gig with the new instrument. Also, Sol has been giving me guitar lessons for six weeks, and he is an incredible teacher. Plus, he and the other two musicians from my last concert are all brilliant players. So this concert should be a great event musically.
I almost didn’t invite you to this event, because you didn’t attend the first one. However, as Sol has taught me, we all deserve a second chance!
I hope to see you there.
Alex Gregory
April 6
Dear Alex,
I will attend.
Sincerely,
Judge J. Trent
FINALE
Imagine this: You are a musician. Not a bad musician, but also not a supernaturally great one. You find yourself on a stage in front of a couple hundred people, many of whom you know personally—and one of whom could theoretically send you to jail if your playing is TOO horrendous. You look around the stage and take in the view of your fellow instrumentalists: the teenage drum wizard looking calmly explosive in khakis and a white button-down shirt; the high school priestess of the piano, clad in a silky-looking dress, cracking her knuckles in a way that is somehow ladylike when she does it;the elderly grand master of all things guitar, looking dapper in an ancient checkered tan blazer with lapels like highway on-ramps. And you try to forget your nervousness and the fact that you are unquestionably the smallest gun up there—that even though you have been working at this harder than you’ve ever worked at anything, any one of these people could blow you off the stage faster than you can say,“Bebop!” Plus, there are three of them.
You think back to a time when you didn’t have to be on this stage, when the throngs weren’t all massed in front of you, watching your every move. A simpler time, a quieter time. A time twenty-five minutes earlier, when you were sitting around talking with your bandmates in a little back room.
“Uh, guys, I’m nervous.”
“Why?” asked Annette, as she sat holding hands with Steven. “We did a concert just like this one just a couple of months ago.”
“I know, but back then, I thought playing well meant just getting through the songs. This time, you guys and Sol have opened me up to vast new horizons of self-criticism.”
“But you’ve been playing great. Really. Steven was just saying last night how far you’ve come in this short time.”
“And it’s true. I was telling Annette that you’re much more sensitive now. It’s like you have a whole new set of ears. Even at the last concert, when you and Annette were both playing accompaniment, you were banging out these huge chords on all six strings, so there wasn’t much left for her to play. But two days ago at rehearsal, I noticed on ‘I Got Rhythm’ that you were only chording on three strings—and it sounded excellent. Plus your strum has gotten a lot lighter and bouncier, too; you’ve been locking into my beats a lot better.”
“Well, that’s only because Sol has been yelling at me about that stuff. The other day we were running through the Fiddler medley, and he reached over and started banging on my head in time, shouting, ‘Not like that, boychik. You sound like a herd of elephants charging through a music store!’ The only thing that saved me from permanent brain damage was that he had a big coughing fit and I moved my chair away from the bed before he could recover.”
They smiled, and Annette said, “He’s really changed you, you know.”
“What do you mean? Just because his innovative use of fear as a teaching tool has been…”
“No, seriously. You’re not just more sensitive as a musician—you’re a more sensitive person. Everybody has noticed. Look how you always used to make fun of me and Steven behind our backs.”
“Oh, about that. Listen, I just want to…”
“See? You were almost going to apologize. A year ago, you would have denied the whole thing, then started making up jokes about us as soon as I stopped talking. Then Laurie would have told me afterward how misunderstood you were, he’s a nice guy if you get to know him, blah blah blah. But now you’re just, I don’t know, better. Nicer.”
I could feel the heat of a spectacular blush suffusing my face. I WAS standing there at that very instant, trying to make up a joke or two. But what came out of my mouth was no joke. “Thank you, Annette. Thank you.”
Just then, Sol burst into the room in a wheelchair, which was being pushed by a laughing orderly. “Thank you for the ride, my friend. I haven’t had that much fun traveling since Rose Friedman took me to the backseat of her Buick in nineteen forty-seven. Hello, kids! I hope you all brought your playing fingers with you today, because this is going to be GREAT!”
He was all rigged up with dual air tanks and a full-face oxygen mask hanging down next to his cannula, which was clipped in place under his nose. Nobody else would be able to play even “Mary Had a Little Lamb” with all this equipment strapped to their head, but this was Sol. Still, his color was horrible, and his voice was ragged. He looked for a moment like he was going to cough, but grabbed the air mask and sucked deeply on it instead.
“Uh, Sol, what’s that for? Are you really okay to play?”
He pulled the mask aside a bit. “What—this little thing? I’m fine. I’m just getting ahead on my oxygen.” He stopped and took two big puffs from the mask again. “I figure this way, when I stop breathing, I’ll have a couple days of life saved up, just in case I’m not done yet!”
Steven and Annette didn’t quite know how to take this, but I knew it meant Sol was going to make it through the day. He was definitely rea
dy for business, too. “Hey, Alex. Are the guitars tuned up?”
“Yes, Sol. They’re out there, and Laurie is watching the whole stage while we’re back here.”
“Good. If that Mrs. Goldfarb gets down here early, there’s no telling how much damage she could do with a stage full of instruments. And how is Mrs. Um today? I hope she’s not wearing her red dress, or you might have a heart attack and fall off the stage.”
“She’s wearing jeans, Sol.” I put my hand on his. “And you just worry about yourself, okay? I don’t want any surprises out there.”
“Worry about myself? Why? I’m fine. I’ve played a million gigs before this one, kid. Nothing can really surprise me onstage anymore. I’m ready for action. You just watch those old ladies checking me out up there, and try to learn a thing or two.”
So there I was onstage, twenty-five minutes later, trying to learn a thing or two. We’d played through four tunes, and everybody else was doing their usual top-notch job. Sol wasn’t playing the fastest runs I had ever heard from him, but each note was exactly perfect—as though he were carving the melodies into clay tablets so they would last a thousand years. Steven and Annette were just ridiculous—an octopus of rhythm and harmony. As for me, I was mostly just staying out of the way, although I was turning into a fairly accomplished out-of-the-way-stayer, if I do say so myself.
The fifth tune was to be the last one before intermission, and Sol called it: the Fiddler medley, which was my big duet with him. If ever there had been a time for me to screw up on a grand scale, this would have been it. I looked out at the front row, and Laurie was perched on the edge of her seat, chewing her lip—she knew how big this duet was for me, since I had played her my part over and over again for weeks. She gave me a little thumbs-up signal, and I was glad I had her as my supportive whatever-she-was thing. My parents were next to her, happily oblivious, Mom’s head on Dad’s shoulder. I was glad I had them, and that they were being supportive whatever-they-were things for each other, too. On the far side of my dad was the judge. She had made it!
Notes From the Midnight Driver Page 13