Katie Friedman Gives Up Texting! (5 page)

My parents stood at the doorway and watched me.

“We just think it's getting too much,” my mom said, quietly.

I stared at the ceiling. “What's getting too much?”

“You know,” said my dad.

“You guys don't understand,” I said. “It's how kids communicate today. It is. Everyone does it. I told you that.”

My mom took a deep breath. “We do understand,” she said. “That's what we're afraid of. It's kind of communicating, but it's also not. It's also hiding behind something. It's not completely real.”

I rolled my eyes. “Whatever. It's real to me.”

My phone beeped.

Incoming text.

I didn't move.

“Aren't you going to get it?” asked my dad.

“No.”

It beeped again.

“Just get it,” said my mom.

“Fine!” I grabbed my phone and looked.

I think this was meant for someone else.

From Nareem.

Huh? I was confused. My first thought was that he'd made the mistake. Then my heart started pounding, and I scrolled up.

I didn't say I still liked Nareem! I said he was a great boyfriend. LOL! G2G

My mouth suddenly went really dry. I let out a little gasp and started hyperventilating.

I DIDN'T SAY I STILL LIKED NAREEM! I SAID HE WAS A GREAT BOYFRIEND
.

LOL!

Oh, no. Oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no!!!!!

I meant to send it to Charlie Joe, but sent it to Nareem instead.

Nareem—the absolute nicest, most caring person in the whole world.

I immediately felt like the smallest, lowest person in the whole world.

I felt like dying.

Tears sprang to my eyes. I covered my face with a pillow.

“Noooooooo!”

My parents ran over to me, asking questions. “What is it, honey?” “What's going on?” “Can we help?”

But I didn't answer. I just kept crying. Finally I managed to croak out, “Please just leave me alone.”

My mom looked scared. “Please tell us what's happening, honey.”

“Not right now,” I moaned. “Later I will, I promise.”

My parents looked at each other, then came to a silent decision.

“Okay, sweetheart,” my dad whispered to me gently. “We'll be back in a little while.”

“A very little while,” I heard my mom whisper to my dad, as they slipped out of the room.

I turned all the lights off in my room and lay down on my bed for hours. My breathing slowly returned to normal. My parents came back every few minutes, but I couldn't talk to them. Finally, I started to calm down, as my horror turned to sadness, and embarrassment, and then complete exhaustion.

I wrote the lyrics to my first song.

Then I cried myself to sleep.

I didn't know it at the time, but I had just sent my last text.

 

11

HOW

HOW?

Lyrics by Katie Friedman

(Music not written yet)

How do you

Speak the words

That you never thought would be spoken?

How do you

Break the heart

That never has been broken?

How do you

Find the strength

To finally walk out the door?

How do you

Tell the one you loved

You don't love them anymore?

I want to know.

I need to know.

I have to know right now.

I'm on my knees

So someone please

Please come show me how.

How do you

Look someone in the eye

When you're not sure what you want to see?

How do you

Say the words

There is no more you and me?

How do you

Resist the urge

To hide behind a screen?

How do you

Know it's time

To give up the machine?

I want to know.

I need to know.

I have to know right now.

I'm on my knees

So someone please

Please come show me how.

 

12

SOMETHING BEAUTIFUL

I stayed home sick
from school the next day.

My parents didn't question me. I think because they're therapists, they know that it's pointless to try to talk to someone, until that person is ready to talk.

As soon as the school day was over, I got on my bicycle and rode over to Nareem's house.

His little sister opened the door.

“Hi, Ru. Is your brother home?”

She looked at me and squinted her eyes. At first I thought she looked mad, but then I realized I was imagining it.

“Hold on a second.”

She ran off, and I waited at the door. And I waited. I heard some low voices. I waited some more. After about three minutes, I headed back toward my bike.

“Hello.”

I turned around. Nareem was at the door. He was shielding his eyes with his hands, like he was protecting himself from a bright sun. But it was a cloudy morning. I think it was just his way of making sure he didn't look directly at me.

“Hi.” I stood there, not sure which direction to go.

“You can come in if you want.”

Nareem went back inside, and I followed. He headed to the kitchen, where his parents stood.

“Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Ramdal.”

They both nodded. Neither one spoke.

Nareem went to the fridge. “Can I offer you something to drink?” Still not looking at me.

“Nareem, I—” My eyes darted to his parents.

I think I saw a tiny look of pity cross Mr. Ramdal's face. “We will leave you two to discuss this privately,” he said.

My face went hot as they walked away. “You told them?”

“I do not hide anything from my parents,” Nareem said. “Would you like a drink or not.”

“Just some water.”

He poured me a glass, and we sat at his kitchen table. I had no idea what to say, except for the obvious.

“I'm sorry, Nareem. I'm so, so sorry.”

He stared out the window. “I would be curious to know if you have felt this way for a long time.”

“What do you mean?”

Nareem's voice was calm and not at all angry. “Obviously I now realize that this is what you wished to talk to me about in study hall last week,” Nareem said. “And it is equally obvious that you changed your mind after I told you about the Plain Jane concert.”

I felt my body fill with shame.

“You're right,” I whispered. “But I was torn about it. I like you so much. I didn't know what to do. I would never ever do anything to hurt you—”

“But you have hurt me. LOL, you wrote. I didn't know there was meanness in you like that.”

There was nothing to say to that. So I said nothing.

“You have come to apologize in person. That is brave.” He looked at me for the first time. “You could have texted, after all.”

I felt the need to cry, but I stopped myself. “You're so mad at me,” I said. “You're so mad at me.” I reached into my pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. “I wrote a song. About us. About the truth. I don't think we should be boyfriend and girlfriend anymore. But you are still the most amazing person I think I've ever met.”

He walked over to the table, hesitated, and picked up the piece of paper. He read it. For the first time, I saw the sadness in his face. And then he smiled.

“You have written something beautiful.”

And then I did cry.

 

13

NAREEM

Nareem and I talked
for two more hours.

I told him again that the last thing I ever wanted to do was hurt him. I told him that I didn't want to be a therapist anymore; I wanted to be a musician. I told him I didn't know how I felt about Charlie Joe, but that I thought I might want to find out. I told him that my parents never kissed each other in front of me.

I told him things I had never told anyone else before.

He told me that the night I first kissed him at Camp Rituhbukkee was the best night of his life, but that when he saw me hug Charlie Joe on the last day of camp, he thought that one day Charlie Joe and I would become boyfriend and girlfriend. He told me that his dream in life was to dunk a basketball.

We talked more that day than we had in nine months of going out, until finally I got up from the kitchen table where we'd been sitting. “I should go. Thank you again for letting me come over and talk to you. I'm so grateful.”

Nareem got up, too, and picked up the piece of paper with my lyrics on it. “Your song.”

I looked at him nervously. “You really like it?”

He stared at the paper. I couldn't tell if he was reading or thinking. Finally, he put it back on the table.

“I'll have my father send it to Jane.”

It took me a minute to understand what he was saying.

“Jane? Plantero? Plain Jane?”

Nareem nodded. “Yes. The other night, she asked you to write a song and send it to her. It's an amazing opportunity, and it would be foolish to let it go to waste.”

I stood there, unable to move. “Nareem, I don't know what to say—”

“If you write her a note and give it to me, I'll have my father send it to her tomorrow.”

Suddenly, I was hugging him. There was a lot in that hug. Guilt, sadness, regret, gratitude, pain, joy.

“Bring me the note in a sealed envelope,” he said softly. “I don't want to be tempted to read it.”

“Why are you being so nice to me?” I mumbled into his shoulder.

“I am just being me,” he answered.

I kept hugging until Nareem gently pulled away. Then I cried a few last tears. “Thank you,” I said. “For everything. Thank you.”

“You're welcome,” Nareem said.

As I biked home, I thought about what had just happened. And I realized something. I was shocked, I was amazed, but I wasn't surprised. Because of where the kindness and generosity came from.

That was Nareem.

 

14

THE LETTER

Dear Jane,

The concert was so amazing the other night. And meeting you was definitely the most amazing part of all.

I have been thinking a lot about what you said about communicating with people and not being so dependent on phones and other devices. I think you're definitely right. I really learned that the other night when I made a terrible mistake and hurt someone I really care about in a text. I feel unbelievably horrible. Texting and IM-ing and stuff can be really dangerous, and it seems like people are using it too much instead of doing things like talking to each other, and it can make people insensitive and mean.

I don't know if you meant it or not when you said to send you a song, but I decided to write one anyway. It felt good to write it. So far it's just lyrics. Here it is. I really hope you like it.

 

Your biggest fan,

 

Katie Friedman

 

15

SOMETIMES IT TAKES A LITTLE SADNESS

Two nights later,
I was eating dinner with my parents when our home phone rang.

My mom and dad looked at each other, since no one ever really called the house except for people trying to sell us stuff. In fact, my parents had been talking recently about getting rid of the home phone altogether.