Drumbeats into My Heart

38. Jordi Gets a Poop Emoji

"Do you think I should shave my beard?" Dad calls from the bathroom Saturday afternoon as he's getting ready for work.

I follow his voice and lean against the bathroom's doorway. "Why? You've had it, like, forever."

"I don't know." He drags his fingers across one prickly cheek. "Isn't it funny how the hair on my head stays dark, but this beard is turning gray already?" He examines the other side of his face. "Does it make me look old?"

"No, you look distinguished."

"Distinguished, huh?" He strokes his beard a few times. "That doesn't mean old, does it?"

I chuckle and swat his arm. "No, Dad. It means people will look up to you."

"Right then." He gives himself a single approving nod in the mirror. "Distinguished it is."

Later that evening, my phone chimes with an incoming text message. I'm pleased to see it's from Seth, even though I'm not fond of text messages. I laugh at the poop emoji. He's no doubt berating himself about something.

Rather than risk a typo-filled text reply, I call him.

It rings a few times before he answers. "Hey! Hi! I mean, uh, hi."

I stifle a giggle at the small groan that follows.

"Hi, Seth. Just wanted to sort out the details for tomorrow."

"Cool! Yeah! Great!"

Wow, he sounds so nervous.

"Seth."

"Yeah?"

"Take a deep breath."

He does.

"Now let it out to the count of ten."

The phone makes blustering noises as he exhales.

"I ran out of breath before I got to ten," he says when he finishes.

I chuckle. "It's fine. How do you feel now?"

"Better. Thanks for that. I get, uh, nervous on the phone. Can you tell?"

"Only a little," I lie. "So anyway, do you want us to pick you up tomorrow?"

"Pick me up? At my house?" He pauses to contemplate his answer. "Uh no, I'll come to your place. Is that okay?"

I wonder at his reluctance. "Do you not want me to know where you live? It can't be any worse than my apartment."

"Oh, it's not that. It's just..."

I wait for him to find his words.

"It's my mom," he says in a dramatic whisper.

"Does she have fangs?" I match his whisper volume.

"I wouldn't be surprised."

Since I loved my mom more than anything on this planet, I can't quite understand why he has such a hard time with his.

"She's so..." Seth pauses, during which I can imagine him making vague gestures with his hands. "Intense. I don't want to subject you to that just yet."

Figuring he has his reasons, I let it go. "It's fine. Get here by one, okay?"

"One o'clock, got it."

"Cool."

Silence ensues, during which Seth clears his throat, obviously uncomfortable with it.

"I missed you today," I say, referring to my performance and the DMV parking lot farmer's market.

"You did?" I can hear the smile in his voice.

"It wasn't the same without my stalker there to cheer me on."

"Sorry I couldn't make it today. Mom wanted help weeding the garden."

"Was it intense?"

He delivers a weak laugh. "Terribly."

"I'm looking forward to tomorrow. I think you'll like it."

"Me too! I Googled 'drum circle' and watched a few videos. They look fun."

"They really are. Hey, are you one of those compulsive researchers who has to look everything up?"

"Guilty. The more excited I am, the more I want to learn about it. Nerdy, huh?"

"Giving yourself homework? Uh yeah, a little," I say with a laugh. "Nothing wrong with that though."

"It's part of my charm?" he suggests hopefully.

"Absolutely."

"I like to be prepared."

"And how would you prepare? Give me an example."

"An example?" he pauses a second. "Well, if they were going to be chopping the heads off chickens at this drum circle in some weird ritual, I'd wear something appropriate. Like a blindfold."

I didn't think I was the type to cackle, but I'm pretty sure I do right then. "Don't worry, no chickens."

"Thank goodness. I'm not quite sure how to say 'no thank you' to a cult. Would they even let me leave?"

"I've actually met people who think we're part of a cult."

"And what do you tell them?"

"I offer them Kool-Aid."

It's Seth's turn to guffaw. "I would so love to see their faces."

"They usually give up and leave right about then."

"Does it bother you?"

"What, people thinking I'm part of a cult just because I'm having fun making music with a group?"

"That'll be a no, then. I envy you."

"Me? Why?" He would think differently if he knew my circumstances.

"You're a free spirit. You don't care what people think."

"If only that was true."

"Yeah?" He's silent for a moment, during which I can almost imagine the gears in his mind turning. "What do you worry about?"

Damn it, I should've known he would latch onto that and want to know more. He's so inquisitive. "Oh, you know, the usual stuff."

"Considering that I'm worrying what a bunch of strangers with percussion instruments are going to think of my shirt, my perspective might be a bit warped on what 'usual' means."

"Some of the drummers still wear twenty-year-old tie-dyed shirts with holes in them. I think you have nothing to worry about." I hold my breath, hoping he doesn't press his question.

"Oh, all right then. Cool."

There's a break in the conversation where I'm sure he's wondering if he should ask again what I worry about, so I decide to wrap things up before he can do that.

"Remember to get here by one or we're leaving without you. It's my dad's turn to get the rhythm going, so he's going to be oddly punctual."

"Ooh that sounds important."

"It's not a big deal, but he seems to take it seriously."

"Then I will too," he says solemnly.

I smile into the phone. "Well good. I'll see you tomorrow, Seth."

Tomorrow's going to be fun! I hope the drummers know how to vote.