Drumbeats into My Heart

44. Jordi Prepares for a Birthday

Seth's birthday is coming up. He'd mentioned it during one of our phone calls, so of course I had to get him something special. I can't afford much, but I don't think it has to be pricey to be special.

I asked my dad, and he asked a friend, who in turn asked another drum circle regular. Now I can proudly present Seth with his very own djembe drum. The fiberglass body is a little scraped up from years of exuberant playing, but the head was recently replaced and sounds great. I also hand-sewed a carrying case for it out of a thin quilt I found at a thrift store. It can double as gift-wrap when the day comes. I'm super-excited to give it to him.

I'm slipping the drum inside the case when my phone rings. My heart leaps at seeing Seth's name on the call display. I answer right away but remind myself to stay calm. I'll kick myself if I blurt about his drum and ruin the surprise.

"Hi, Jordi," he greets.

"Hello, future birthday boy. What are your plans? If you don't have any, would you like to make some with me?" I start imagining a day at the park teaching Seth about his new old drum, followed by a romantic dinner somewhere.

"Spending the day with you sounds perfect." Seth's voice falls and he heaves a painful sigh. "But my parents are throwing me a birthday party. I don't know if they realize I'm turning seventeen, not seven."

I try to keep the disappointment out of my voice. "That's okay."

"You'll come, right? I don't really want you to meet my mom, but my parents are under the impression I've got all these friends. I don't know why."

"You still don't want me to meet your mom? It can't be that bad."

He snorts like a horse. "Seriously, once you meet her, you'll know why. She's always up in everyone's business, offering advice that no one asks for. You'll wish you stayed home."

I laugh at that. "I'm sure it'll be fine."

"I'm pretty sure she's much worse than you imagine. But let's not talk about her anymore. Hey, have you heard of dyslexia?"

I blink at the abrupt change of topic. "Uh, yeah. Why?"

"I've been reading about it. Did you know it affects ten to fifteen percent of the population?"

"Okay..." I say slowly, wondering with trepidation what he's getting at.

"And those that are affected have problems reading and writing. Their ability to recognize letters is impaired, which makes it hard to recognize words. It's even worse when it comes to spelling. Interesting, right?"

I remain silent while a cold knot of dread tightens around my stomach.

Undaunted, he keeps going. "And it could happen to anyone. It doesn't make them dumb or slow learners. It just means they need to learn a different way."

I rub my eyes, willing the nausea to go away. "Why are you telling me all this?"

"Because..." He pauses for several unbearable seconds. "I think you should get tested."

"Tested?" I scoff. "So, dyslexia is an STD?"

There's a nervous flutter in his chuckle. "No, not like that. At school there's a Special Education teacher, Mrs. Martinez. She knows how to test for dyslexia. She teaches students with learning disabilities."

"Special Ed," I say flatly, my apprehension turning into ire. "So I get to join the weirdos on the short bus? No thanks."

"No, she's really cool. All the kids like her."

"Well of course all the retards like her." My scathing tone surprises even me. I sound like one of the obnoxious guys on the team. Dustin was never so crass, but when did I turn into this... this nasty monster?

A long pause ensues. My brain roils with denials. Seth thinks there's something wrong with me. I mean, there probably is, but who is he to try to label it? To insist on fixing me like I'm some kind of failed science project? I'm not fixable. I'm just not meant for school, that's all.

Seth finally speaks. "Jordi, why are you talking like that? It's not like you."

Now he thinks he knows me? I squeeze my eyes shut and wrestle with the tide of outrage, fingers drumming a fast, discordant tempo on the table. Why am I so mad?

"I'm not stupid," I grind out. Yet the statement rings false in my ears. I am stupid. Maybe I'm angry because Seth has finally figured that out.

"What? No! I never said that! Dyslexia affects language processing, not how smart you are."

I droop, suddenly tired. "I don't want to talk about this anymore."

"But Jordi, I really think it could—"

I inject a measure of steel into my tone. "I said no. I'm not getting tested, and we're not talking about this anymore. There's nothing wrong with me." My jaw clenches at the lie.

"But—"

The air whooshes out of my lungs. "Seth, I'll come to your birthday party, but only if you promise not to bring this up again."

"I won't bring it up at the party."

"No, I mean don't bring it up at all. Ever."

"Ever?"

"Ever."

Yikes. Sometimes when a nerve is touched, our pride will lash out in defense and denial. Hopefully votes don't have that effect on people.