Page 92 of Follow My Voice
“Oh, are we negotiating now?”
“I learned it from you,” I say, shrugging.
I remember all the times Kang got information out of me. It seems like a long time ago, back when I was still stuck in my room, not going out, and the thought of seeing him someday hadn’t even crossed my mind. Yet here we are, face-to-face, having our first date.
“Fine, if you don’t want to take me to see you play, then at least tell me the story behind the mask.”
Kang looks down at his empty cup, moving his spoon around, as if contemplating what to say. I’m about to tell him we can save it for another time since he’s already opened up so much to me, but to my surprise, he takes a deep breath, then begins. “I only ever played for my brother.” He pauses. “He was the one who believed in me, who swore I belonged on a stage even when I laughed it off. But after he died… playing didn’t feel right anymore. Music was ours—something that existed in late-night jam sessions, just thetwo of us. I wasn’t ready to share it with the world, not without him. The mask… it keeps it that way. It lets me play without feeling like I’m giving away something that was only his to hear. Up there, no one knows me. No one sees me. And for now, that’s the only way I can do it. It’s stupid, I know…”
I place my hand on his and rub it gently with my thumb. “It’s not stupid, Kang.”
He offers a barely-there smile, then says, “As much as I’ve enjoyed sharing ice cream and a painful part of my past with you, and as much as I wish this day would never end, I don’t want Dr. Rodríguez to get mad at me for having you miss your curfew.”
I sigh, but give in. “You’re right. We should head out.”
All the way home, I pester him about inviting me to see him play. I really want to hear him sing. I can’t even imagine how his voice might make me feel.
Suddenly his phone rings and he hands it to me. “Can you get that? Tell him I’m driving.”
It’s a video call from Erick. Suddenly I remember that I’m not wearing a wig. I don’t feel brave enough to face someone like Erick. I stare at the phone in my hands for a few eternal seconds as thousands of thoughts flash through my mind. Kang calls out to me, but he sounds distant.
Erick is going to laugh at you.
No, he won’t.
Maybe not, but he’ll pity you, like everyone does when they see you without a wig. Remember the sad looks at the hospital when you got your treatment?
I close my eyes and picture my mother’s smile, how beautiful she looked even without hair.“It’s just hair, baby, it’ll grow back,”she said, winking.“Let’s look on the bright side: I won’t have to wear a hairnet when I’m baking my cakes anymore.”
I inhale deeply, puffing out my chest and feeling the air fill my lungs, and then release it all before accepting the video call.
Erick appears on the screen with messy hair, sitting on a sofa.
“Hey,” he says, looking confused when he sees me.
“Hey.”
“You’re not Kang.”
“Nope.”
“I’m driving!” Kang shouts and I turn the phone so Erick can see him. “What do you want?”
“That’s how you say hello?” Erick snorts. “Klara”—I turn the phone back to me—“can you believe how he treats his best friend?”
He doesn’t even seem to notice that I am not wearing my wig, and here I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown about it.
“Sometimes, our anxious mind causes us to worry about other people’s reactions or perceptions and we give life to an entire cycle of anxiety even though these thoughts have never even crossed their minds. We create anxiety based on assumptions.”Dr. B.’s words return to me. How right he is.
“Don’t be dramatic, Erick. What do you want?” Kang asks.
“I was going to ask for the notes for Professor Johnson’s upcoming final, but actually, better question is, does she know?” Erick asks, and Kang frowns.
“Know what?” I look at Erick for an answer.
“Kang finally signed up for the talent show in Charlotte—you going with us to cheer him on or what?”
“Ah… I…”
