Drumbeats into My Heart

72. Jordi's Fresh Start

I've never been an anxious person. But today, preparing to attend a drum circle that I've invited Seth to, I'm a nervous wreck.

As I help my dad pack the car, I can't stop the worrisome thoughts. What if Seth decides he's done with me? What if he hates me? What if he never listens to my messages at all?

"Jordi, that's a box of old socks." Dad removes the box from my grasp and sets it back on the floor.

I blink rapidly, wrenching my thoughts back to the present. "Why do we have a box of old socks?"

"I don't like it when they start sagging, so I collect them for—" He stops himself and frowns a little. "You know what, now that I'm saying it aloud, it's stupid. Nobody wants sagging socks. I'll dump these." He kicks the box aside.

I nod distractedly and head into the kitchen for the water we're going to bring.

"What's with you?" Dad follows me, a mildly perplexed expression on his face.

"Huh?"

"This." He gestures in my general direction. "Since when do you ever answer with huh?"

I shrug, trying to untie the knots in my stomach.

He studies me for a moment. "Is this about what happened in the parking lot?"

"No," I answer quickly. But as the pain bubbles up anew, I crumple a little. "Sort of."

He hugs me. "You'll feel better once we start drumming," he says into my hair.

"I invited him to come, but I don't know if he's going to show up or not," I say, trying not to cry. "And if he doesn't, then it means..."

He squeezes me harder. "You can't let anyone ruin drumming for you. It's in our souls. A gift. We tap into the universe when we drum."

"That's so cheesy, Dad."

"Maybe so, but it's true. You can feel it."

I nod against his chest. He's right. Cheesy or not, I do feel it.

He grips my shoulders and pushes me to arm's length. "Now, are we ready to get our drum on?"

My eyebrows push up from the middle. "Get our drum on?"

He shrugs. "I'm a hip dad."

I grin and squeeze his hand before pulling away. "Yes, you are. But that is not a hip phrase."

"Duly noted."

With snacks and instruments packed, we head out.

***

Dad was right. The drum circle does make everything better.

The courtyard practically pulsates with the unified rhythms of twenty or so drums and instruments. It isn't something I merely listen to, it's a tangible thing I can feel. That reverberates down to my very core, mending my wounded soul.

Like my dad, I play with abandon, giving myself to the moment, channeling the energy through me, out to the universe. Cheesy or not, Dad is right.

This is pure joy.

Still, there is a slight damper on the whole thing. Two hours into the drumming, and Seth hasn't shown up yet. Every time the circle takes a break, I scan the area for him. Without the drum energy, my worries come crowding back again. What if he got lost? What if he can't remember how to get here? What if he's decided I'm not worth the effort in the first place?

There are no missed calls on my phone. I consider calling him one last time, but I stop myself. I promised myself that the last call was my final attempt to reach out. If I don't keep that promise, I turn into some sad, desperate, clingy loser, and I don't want to be that girl.