Free 13 by Jason Robert Brown

magic Jewish power: the power of…guilt!
    Â 
    I’ve heard people of all religions say they know about guilt, but I think Jews really do have the corner on this particular art form. Jewish guilt is not something you can teach, it’s not even something you can define, but perhaps I can offer you this opportunity to study it.
    There are three components to Classic Jewish Guilt.
    1. Don’t worry about me, I’m fine.
    2. You didn’t do anything wrong, it was really my fault.
    3. You couldn’t really fix it anyway, you’re far too busy. I’ll take care of it.
    Now watch as I deploy those elements. I may be young, but I’ve got a real gift for this. It is a gift given to me by ten thousand years of suffering.
    Â 
    It is late afternoon. The bus has dropped me off at Pam’s house. I enter with my book bag. I look exhausted. Pam and my mother are drinking coffee at the kitchen table.
    â€œHey, tiger!” Pam says.
    I sigh.
    My mother says, “How was your first day of school?”
    I haven’t really spoken to my mother in two weeks, so she is surprised when I say, “I think it’ll be okay, really.”
    Pam laughs. “Well, that doesn’t sound too enthusiastic.”
    I sigh again, then say, “I think I’m going to lie down for a while.”
    I carry my book bag into my room as though I’ve been walking through the Sinai Desert. I lie down on my bed.
    Shortly thereafter, a knock. My mother peeks her head in the door.
    â€œYou okay, kiddo?”
    I sit up on my elbows. My mother enters, sits on the bed next to me.
    â€œSure, Mom. I’m just adjusting.”
    A meaningful pause.
    I clear my throat. “You know, Mom, I realized today that I’ve been unfair.”
    My mother looks surprised. “What do you mean?”
    â€œI know this isn’t your fault,” I say. “I know you’ve had to make a lot of really difficult choices and you’re doing the best you can. And I really respect youfor the way you’re handling things.”
    My mother blushes. A tear comes to her eye. “Oh, honey, I don’t actually think I’m doing all that well by you.”
    â€œNo,” I say emphatically. “You are. You’ve been so strong and I’ve been…I’ve been mean, Mom. I’m sorry.”
    She hugs me. “Thank you, Evan.”
    â€œYou know,” I go on, “I just think that kids have to go through trials. That’s how we grow. Something tough happens and we just push through.”
    She wipes her eyes. “Sure.”
    â€œI have to learn to be strong. As strong as you’ve been.”
    She’s starting to look a little guilty. I’m doing very well.
    â€œSo when Friday night comes, instead of hanging out with the rest of the gang and going to the coolest movie of the year, I’ll stay here with you and Pam.” I pause. “And practice my haftorah.”
    A quizzical look. “What movie?”
    â€œOh, it doesn’t matter.” I pull my notebook out of my book bag and set it on the desk. “The point is I don’t really need friends . Look, I would love more than anything to find a way to get everyone in to see it, but I can’t because it’s R-rated and their parents won’t let them. Besides, I’ve got all I need right here inthis tiny windowless bedroom. What I need is faith in myself. Like you have.”
    I begin doing my math homework.
    â€œWait a minute, Evan, I never said you don’t need friends.”
    Here’s the key moment: I DON’T LOOK AT HER.
    (A note: The temptation here is to turn, look really excited, and beg her to let you go. But you have to hold on, because it’s about to get even better.)
    â€œOh, Mom,” I say, sharpening a pencil, “it’s all right.”
    She kneels down and looks me in the eye. “Evan Goldman, you stop being silly. Tell you what. If your new friends