10

Cries and Laughters

“You have to be miserable. This is the only way you can be, the only way you can stand being alive.”

10.

Book of Memories:

Me such a loudmouth,

You such a quiet kid,

But we be best of friends, so it’s all right.

Now that you’re leaving, I don’t know what to say.

I’ll miss you.

Don’t forget us. We’ll be praying for you.

You’ll do well over there, whatever you do. I have no doubt.

Keep drawing.

Keep singing.

Study hard. Even your worst subject. Math, was it? I hear they are a little behind, so maybe you can make a fresh start.

Different culture, different language, different people . . . I know there will be a lot to adjust to and a lot to overcome. But I have all the faith and hope for you.

Forever your friend.

Lights. Bright lights. Too bright . . . I can’t see.

Please, not so much, I can’t hide with it all around. I’m nothing to look at; why do you want to see me?

Please. Let me go. I won’t make trouble, I promise. I’m sorry I wasted your time. Please . . .

A flicker of light.

A cough.

Shuffling of papers.

Nervous smiles.

Silence.

Long silence. Too long.

What’re you waiting for? Should I sing without the piano? You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Just my voice, what’s left of it, naked for all to see. Just the terrible, cracking voice before it’s completely dead. You want to witness the spectacle for yourself.

At least let me have the intro. I’ve sung this song a thousand times, yet I can’t remember the first note.

Run away? Just run off the stage as if there’s been a mistake. Is that what you came to see? No, you want better proof. You let a no-talent loser enter the contest so he can humiliate himself, prove to himself and the world that he can’t sing, so you can laugh with justification. Another pitiful loser that thought he could, now put back in his place.

See? If you listened to your parents and respected your limitations, you wouldn’t have to face this embarrassment. Get off the stage, you moron! You don’t belong here, you don’t belong . . .

“I can’t.”

Frown.

“Too high. My voice cracks up, I can’t help it.”

“You’re stalling. You used to sing first tenor, you can do this.”

“Used to. I can’t even sing second tenor now; it hurts my throat.”

“Your voice was fine when you first tried this song.”

“It keeps changing. Pretty soon I won’t be able to sing anything but bass.”

“Well, what do you want to do? Falsetto maybe?”

“No, not high enough. And it wouldn’t be right for solo.”

“Let’s try again tomorrow, you’re tired.”

“Can we pick another song?”

“This is the best song for the way you sing, and it’s late to change songs for the contest.”

“OK.”

Applause.

Broad smiles.

Quick scribbles on paper.

There you go. Next?

Next?? Is it over? Did I blackout?

“Is it too late to cancel? My voice is almost gone.”

“Oh, you’re going to be fine. You sang great yesterday.”

“I . . . I just don’t — ”

“Look at me. You look great. And you sound great. OK?”

“OK.”

“Good. Better hurry, you’re going to be late.”

Two.

They were kind. I probably deserved three, especially if my voice cracked. So much faith, so much hope, and so many expectations. Wasted.

“Why won’t you sign up for anything?”

Don’t you remember? Why would you want me to sign up after what happened last year?

“We could really use you.”

“No.” I’m through with these contests, I shouldn’t even be in this class.

“If you just — ”

“No.”

A smile.

A genuine smile. Could it be?

“Give me a hug! I heard you did great!”

Such warmth. Is this what happiness feels like? I don’t remember anymore.

Except . . . Except this is all wrong. I didn’t do great, I don’t deserve the hug, doesn’t she know what I got?

Please, you don’t have to pretend. You know you should’ve sent others to represent the school. Others who would’ve gotten ones, others who did get ones. You should be hugging them, not me.

But you aren’t pretending, are you? You have nothing to hide, no reason to lie. I’m the only pretender here, the only liar.

Is that why I feel so ashamed? Because even if you’re right, I still wouldn’t deserve your praise, only the pain in my heart, only the emptiness.

You’re killing me with your hug. You’re killing me with your love. You’re killing me with your honesty.

Please, let me just disappear.

“Come on, you’re with us.”

“What?”

“You’re the bass in our quartet.”

“I don’t think so, I didn’t sign up for any quartet.”

“You didn’t?”

“No.”

“I’ll ask her.”

Yeah, she probably signed me up, she just wants me to participate, in any form. She can tell I’m slipping away, slipping away from music for good.

Too late now, I’m already gone, I’ve been gone for a long time. You just didn’t notice or didn’t want to see it. But now it’s impossible not to see, and this is your desperate measure. Like a doctor trying to restart the heart, a heart that has stopped beating for a while.

“She says she signed you up.”

“Yeah, I figured.”

“She says you have to sing in our quartet.”

Shrug.

She can sign me up for the moon too, but it’s not going to happen.

“Come on, dude, we can’t sing with just three, we need you.”

Nice try, but I’m sure you can find someone else.

“I didn’t sign up. Go find another bass.”

“No one else good ‘nuff.”

“Not my problem.”

“You’re gonna stop us from entering the contest just because you don’t wanna sing?”

Guilt trip? Won’t work on me, you’re wasting your time. Don’t you know it only works on good people?

“Guess so.”

“Come on, man, do it for me.”

What’s it to you? Why do you care whether I sing or not? Or did she put you up to it, to convince me? Well, it’s not going to work.

“Sorry.”

Diary:

School isn’t the same without Stephanie. Still getting straight A’s out of habit, but I have no interest in classes anymore, and not exactly a model student despite the grades. Either I don’t participate in classes or I argue all the time when I do participate. Argue just to argue, just to disagree with someone, just to be annoying. Suddenly I crave conflict. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Maybe the evil witch isn’t being nasty enough, and I’ve gotten used to the hostility. No, that’s stupid, just the sort of thing those quacks in psychiatry might say.

Surprisingly I end up convincing most people though I don’t believe a word I say. I argue just to create hostility, yet they take me seriously as if I’m arguing my own opinion, as if I’m making good points when I’m really just making things up from the top of my head. They don’t realize I’m being belligerent. They don’t realize I don’t care about the discussion itself. They don’t realize my only goal is to shoot down whatever opinion somebody puts forth whether I agree with it or not. I’m the male version of the “shrew” in discussions, yet nobody seems to get it. Instead, they think I’m some sort of genius, a know-it-all though I don’t really know anything. Some are even afraid to speak up because they think I’ll find something wrong and expose it. What a pain in the ass I am. But they aren’t angry with me, they only show respect! How can you be a shrew if no one gets angry with you? It’s so frustrating.

I lost my voice. Bass is just about all I can sing now. I think I abused it when it was vulnerable and now it’s gone, not much I can do about it. Maybe if I hadn’t sung in a year, I might still have it. Oh well. Bass is not much fun to sing; it’s too easy and too limited. I feel so helpless. I feel like everything’s slipping away, and I can only watch it happen.

Concert choir auditions. The last day. Most boys have already auditioned and know whether they’ve made it. But still some excitement in the air. Some have yet to audition, some have yet to find out. Including me. But no excitement for me, only grim determination. Because I know I won’t, and there’s no turning back after this.

I’ve known all along really, just didn’t allow myself to see it until today. I’ve been gone since the beginning of the year, yet the loss is so real now.

I’ve been expecting a miracle, that somehow there’ll be a way for me to continue. But there’s no miracle. Of course, there wouldn’t be. What was I expecting anyway?

Such foolish hope. After all, it was your decision not to sing anymore, your decision to quit, to resist any persuasion. If you have regret, you have only yourself to blame.

I know all this, I know it’s all my doing, but today I can’t ignore it any longer. How will I survive, tolerate the drudgery, and get through each day with nothing to look forward to? Somebody save me! Save me from my foolishness!

But why? Not because of the voice! And not God either. You don’t even believe in God anymore, what right do you have blaming Him for your problems? Besides, you haven’t lost your voice completely. The least glamorous, least challenging part it may be, but you can still enjoy music if you want to.

Stephanie. Is that why? This is your idea of mourning. It’s not right for you to enjoy anything, you have to be miserable. This is the only way you can be, the only way you can stand being alive. Never mind it doesn’t make any sense, never mind it won’t bring her back, never mind it’s not what she’d want if she were alive.

Is it because of the grudge against her? Because when you auditioned last year, she said your voice didn’t quite fit with the rest. Sure, a lame excuse, and she must’ve known it too, for she was quite apologetic, saying how very few sophomores make it, how it’s made up mostly of juniors and seniors. And this made you angry because she didn’t tell you the real reason. That you simply weren’t good enough because other freshmen auditioned and made it, and therefore they were better than you. No, you weren’t angry because she didn’t tell you the truth. You were angry because she thought they were better. So what she was nice and didn’t say it, to spare your feelings. You knew the truth, and that made you angry. Because you thought you were better even if she didn’t know it. You thought you were far better. You just couldn’t handle her judgment, her hopelessly wrong judgment.

But she was right, and you were wrong. You just can’t forgive her for thinking that others were better. So you punish her by not participating in the contest. Because you know she wants you to. You punish her by not auditioning for the concert choir. Because you know she wants you to. You’ve decided this long before the school year started. This is the only reason you took men’s choir again. Not to sing, not to enjoy music, but to punish her, to spite her. You’re just a vindictive, arrogant son of a bitch, and you deserve everything you get. By punishing her, you punish yourself. You’re such a rotten human being you deserve to suffer.

Forget it. I don’t care why. My course is set; it’s too late to change. Whatever the reason, I can’t change my mind now. There. That’s better. Now I can focus on something else. Go back to homework . . .

But I catch you looking at me. Sad. Helpless. Something you want to say, something you want to explain. Your unhappy stare . . . I guess you know, I guess you’ve known for some time, your eyes saying what you can’t say out loud . . .

You don’t have to audition. Just tell me and you’re in.

But that’s not fair to the others. Why make an exception for me?

This is not about fairness. You belong in the concert choir.

I didn’t belong last year and I had a better voice then, better range. I don’t belong now if I didn’t belong then.

Last year . . . I can’t explain . . .

I know, you don’t have to, I already know why.

What can I say to change your mind?

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. There’s nothing I can say to change my mind.

So this is it then?

Yes, it’s time to move on. Don’t ask me why, I don’t really know, I just know I can’t do this anymore.

A serialized coming-of-age novel about a boy who must decide whether to live or die after surviving an abusive family and the death of his love: first.