I’m in the front row, ten feet from the stage, with my boyfriend on one side and my two best friends on the other. I’ve got vip seats, signed cds and some of the most amazing photos you’ve ever seen on my iPhone. Helena and Sophie haven’t stopped screaming since the band hit their first note. Colin is so pumped, he keeps picking me right up off my feet.
I’m the happiest girl in the world—and I’m laughing at myself.
Seriously.
Yesterday, I’m in the total depths of despair, then Dad gives me concert tickets and poof! All my problems disappear.
I’m either easy to please—or really, really shallow.
The music is so loud, I can barely hear it anymore. It probably means I’ll be deaf by the time I’m twenty, but at the moment I’m loving it. In a weird way, that much sound is almost like total silence. You can get lost in it.
My mind wanders all over the place. I think about Colin (of course), about the English paper I should have started last week, about how I’m going to decorate my room in the new house, about whether it’s normal for the drummer to sweat that much, about a fabulous pair of boots I saw at Project 9 the other day.
Mostly, though, I think about Mom.
For three months, I’ve been so mad at her. It’s as if she wasn’t even my mother anymore. She was just bad, mean, inconsiderate, evil.
The truth is, it’s Dad who should be mad at her. He’s the one she kicked out. And yet the only thing he’s ever said to me is, “She’s a good woman.”
Is he really that forgiving—or does he just not know?
I wonder if he’d have said the same thing if he’d seen the look on her face yesterday when I told her about the concert tickets.
You hear about people turning their noses up at something. You think it’s just a figure of speech—but Mom actually did it. She actually put her nose up in the air and said, “Oh”—loud clearing of throat—“I’m afraid I’m too busy for that type of thing at the moment.”
Then she smiled—or at least made an attempt.
Even with the band playing one of my favorite songs and Colin grooving away beside me, I feel mad all over again. That pitiful attempt at a smile. Why even bother?
If Dad hadn’t asked me to cut her some slack, I probably would have yelled at her, but I held back. I knew Helena and Sophie would be thrilled to go to the concert. I wouldn’t have to worry about them having a good time.
Frankly, Mom saying no to the tickets was a good thing. Why fight with her over it? It was her loss. I could afford to be big about it. That’s what Dad would do.
So I just smiled and said, “Oh, too bad.” Then I asked her if she wanted me to help her pack. (The sooner she moved, the sooner we could.)
Mom turned and looked at me. I almost didn’t recognize her. She’d been so blank in the face ever since Dad left. Right then, though, standing by the sink with a pile of dirty dishes, she almost glowed. It was like seeing light coming out from under a door in a dark hallway. I realized there was a human being in there after all.
She went right back to stacking the dishes. I could tell she was trying not to act too excited about my little offer.
“Well, I’d certainly appreciate the help. Are you sure Colin doesn’t have any plans for you this evening?”
“I thought maybe he could help too.”
That did it. She leaned against the counter and her face cracked into this huge smile.
Is spending a night with her kids, packing boxes, really Mom’s idea of a good time these days?
It’s hard not to feel sorry for her.
I bring my mind back to the concert. I look at Colin. His head’s cranking away to the music. He doesn’t have the best sense of rhythm, and he needs a haircut, but that’s why I love him. He doesn’t care about that kind of stuff. He just wants to have fun and be happy and make other people happy. (Maybe it really is true that girls always fall in love with someone just like their father.)
Last night, he actually skipped a hockey game to help us pack. He lifted all the heavy stuff for us and got down all the high stuff and lugged all the gross stuff out to the curb so we wouldn’t have to soil our delicate hands. He even play-wrestled for ages with Elliot to keep him out of our hair.
We were having a great time until Mom went and said, “It sure is nice to have a man around the house.”
She was only joking, but as soon as she said it she realized her mistake. Her face went blank again. We got all awkward. It was as if the words Dad and Divorce and Lonely and Sad were buzzing around our heads, and everyone was too afraid to swat them away.
Colin was the one who did something about it. He reached out and put his hand on Mom’s shoulder. It was such a nice thing to do—even if it was the totally wrong thing to do. (I don’t think she would have actually cried if he hadn’t touched her.)
Luckily, right then, Elliot piped up and said, “Hey! I’m a man and I’m around the house!”
He was so indignant that we all laughed. Mom turned and squeezed Colin’s hand, and I knew she was saying thanks.
The lead singer is clapping his hands over his head, trying to get everyone singing. I stand up and clap too, but my mind is totally on Elliot now. The poor kid is only five. Sometimes I think he doesn’t understand what’s going on at all. Other times I think he understands too much. I see how hard he tries to remember to put his toys away for Mom and how tight he hangs onto Dad when he comes over to visit. It’s enough to break your heart.
Mom’s really going to miss him when we go. I’m sorry about that, but it can’t be helped. It will be better for Elliot.
I’m going to make it better for Elliot.
The crowd starts cheering. I realize the band has left the stage. Colin hustles us out the side exit so we don’t get lost in the crush.
We drop the girls off at Sophie’s place. Helena’s hoarse from screaming, but she manages to croak out, “Tell your father I love him. Seriously. I loved him before he gave us the tickets—but now I want to marry the guy!”
Sophie goes, “In-ap-propriate!” She slaps a hand over Helena’s mouth, then whispers to me, “Though the truth is, I’m crazy for Steve too. You are so lucky!”
We kiss. We hug. We leave. Sophie’s right. I am so lucky.
I’m in such a blissed-out state that it takes me a couple of seconds to realize Colin drove right past our street.
“Hey!” I say. “Where you going?”
He gives that one-sided smile of his. It gets me right in my chest.
“There are two places you absolutely have to go when you’re driving a 1962 LeSabre. The Chicken Burger. And, of course…”
He turns down the road into Point Pleasant Park.
“…Lover’s Lane.”