Drumbeats into My Heart

8. Jordi vs Disappointment

The weighty bag of dollar bills and change jangles when I plop it on the table in front of Dad. He looks up from his newspaper and peers at me. Who still reads actual newspapers? He does. Apparently because he likes to support a dying institution. I think it's because he has a hard time with electronics. Also those kids who were selling the subscription were awfully cute.

"You look happy," he observes. "Good haul today?"

I grin and nod, choosing not to mention Seth. The turnout actually was pretty great, but Seth is the real reason I feel so good. I never realized how much I like being the center of a guy's attention. Not in the sexual, I-wanna-rip-your-clothes-off sort of way. It's that feeling of being super-interesting because all the questions are about me. He could have talked about his classes or favorite sports or whatever, but instead he's asking about my favorite movies or what I'd do with a bag of avocados. He's interested in me.

My longest relationship so far was with Dustin. Six months. He was cute and athletic, and he brought me flowers. But most of our conversations tended to be about football or practice or the team. I watch football on TV with my dad sometimes, but I'm not, like, in love with it or anything. I guess that's what you get when you date a wide receiver. I get it, though. People tend to talk about the thing that defines them.

"Yeah, it was a good day," I say, plopping into the chair next to him and reaching for a banana.

"Speaking of good days, Phil is getting promoted to regional." Dad sets the newspaper down. "I think I'm going to try for his manager position."

"That's awesome, Dad! You could totally do it. Everyone loves you."

His forehead creases. "You think so?"

"Absolutely." I peel the banana and take a big bite. "You've been shift leader for, like, ever."

"That's true." He scratches his beard. "Say, any headway on your own job front?" He flashes his palm at me when I open my mouth to protest. "I have nothing against you drumming for cash. You know that. If there was a way for me drum for a living and still pay all these bills, you know I'd be doing it."

I shut my mouth and lean back slightly, not sure what he's getting at.

"It's just... I want you to have a future, you know? Your mom wanted that for you too. Maybe you could get a part time job at a bank or something."

I can't stop myself from snorting. "Doing what, sweeping floors?"

His mouth twists into a frown. "All right, maybe a bank is a bad example, but you know what I mean. Someplace where you can get experience that'll eventually get you a better job. One where you won't have to worry about money. And if you do well in school—"

"We both know that's never going to happen." My lips press into a thin line.

The air whooshes out of him as he deflates. "I'm sorry, cupcake. I wish you'd gotten your mother's intellect instead of my useless drumming."

"But I love drumming, Dad. It makes me happy. I don't think it's useless."

He sighs and gives me a sad smile, like he knows something I don't. Like he regrets ever showing me the way of the drum.

"Dad, drumming is a part of you, and now it's a part of me. I love that. It's something we both share, and I'm glad you gave that to me. Plus, I'm happy I'm good at something. Without it, I'd be just another stupid girl dropping out of school."

He blinks for two dumbfounded seconds before his forehead wrinkles. "You're dropping out of school?"

I wince. I didn't mean to tell him this way. "I'm no good at it, Dad. I'm just dumb."

"Don't say that. You're not dumb. And you only have one year left. Can't you, I don't know, get tutoring or something?"

I shrug as a cold lump of shame blocks my throat. I can't stand the disappointment in his eyes.

"Promise me you'll get help."

I lift my eyes to him. The worry lines in his face are as pronounced now as the day of my mom's diagnosis. I'm causing him distress. I'm as bad as cancer.

"Promise me. There's gotta be tutoring programs or... something." He grips my arm. "You can't give up."

Keep trying. It's important not to give up. Mom's words echo in my head, but I push them away. Mom isn't here anymore. Only disappointment.

"Jordi?" he prompts.

I swallow the lump in my throat. The best I can do right now is give him a platitude. "I'll think about it."

It's hard to be positive when you don't think you're any good. Let's give her a few uplifting votes.