Bubblegum

by Adam Levin

The whole time, your dad had his arm around me, and he’d held me tighter while I was making the crying sounds, and once I’d ceased attempting to speak, the crying sounds stopped, and he asked me if there was something he could do to help me feel better—which, you should know (one last important lesson from your dying mother, here) is really the best way to deal with crying people you love (assuming they’re really crying): you hold them tight and wait til they’re quiet before offering any kind of practical help (you want them to feel free to cry, unrushed; you want to avoid giving the impression that their crying’s a strain on your ability to comfort them)—and when, forgetting myself, I tried to explain to him all I’ve just described, of course all that came out was the moaning and clicking, the humming, the shushing. And again, of course, your father held me tighter.