Christian Jungersen - You Disappear

I told Niklas that Søren was my boyfriend before I met his father, and he regarded Søren with a look that was astonished and intensely blank at the same time. I’d never seen such a look before, though since Frederik’s operation it’s become a regular part of my life. It’s the same expression Frederik gets when someone mentions that he’s sick. There’s no pigeonhole in his brain where he can file that datum. It simply doesn’t exist.

• • •

So much would have been different if I’d stayed with Søren. My husband would be healthy. My children’s father would be healthy.

• • •

At twenty past ten, I hear a soft click from the front door. Niklas and Emilie did a good job of stealing down the stairs.

They walk a little ways down the street before she mounts her bike; he doesn’t kiss her goodbye, doesn’t give her a hug either, and I think I manage to step back from the living room window before he turns around.

I hear him go to bed, and even though I must have napped at least three hours, I’m ready to lie down too. For almost half a year now, I’ve slept alone on the air mattress on the floor, but I usually lie on my side of the bed first and read for a while. I’ve discovered that I have fewer nightmares if I read a women’s magazine just before falling asleep, and there’s no lamp over by the air mattress.

A few hours later, Frederik wakes me as he shuffles around, toothbrush in his mouth, and sets his clothes out on the dresser. The alarm clock says half past two. I’ve fallen asleep in our bed with the night lamp on.

It’s the worst imaginable time to start a serious conversation, but I find myself saying the first thing that crosses my mind. “You shouldn’t try to get Niklas to steal things for you.”

Already as my mouth blurts out the words, I grow apprehensive. Now the rest of the night’s probably destroyed; I might have to listen to him yell at me for hours on end. And I have to go to work in the morning.

But all he says is, “That’s something I could never do.”

He smiles and then suddenly perks up — perhaps because lying stimulates him.

“That would be a terrible thing to do,” he says. “I think that would be utterly, utterly, utterly wrong. And I haven’t done it.” He persists with this lie, though I haven’t contradicted him. “You’d have to be a real shit to have your son steal for you. That’s something I’d never do.”

He stands quietly on the floor right in front of me, fixing his gaze upon me with unusual intensity.

I’ve read enough neuropsychology to know the medical term for what he’s doing: he’s perseverating —meaning that he continues the action he’s in the middle of, long past what’s necessary.

“Do you really believe I’d try to get Niklas to steal?” he asks. “I swear to you I wouldn’t. You can be one hundred percent certain that I wouldn’t do such a thing. One hundred percent. Because I think it’s wrong. One hundred percent.”

I just want him to forget about it without going berserk. We’ll have to discuss it some other time. “No, I do know that,” I say. “Just come to bed now.”

As he returns to the bathroom to spit out the last of the toothpaste, wearing a T-shirt and nothing else, I think about how easy I find it to shelve my impulse to talk about Niklas. Twenty seconds ago, the words just tumbled out. Was that due to poor blood flow through my frontal lobes as I was waking up? Did the blood start to surge then with fear and stress from the prospect of an argument? From what I’ve read, it seems very likely. Maybe this is as close as I can get to feeling how it is for Frederik all the time.

Frederik settles down next to me with an auto-racing magazine that Thorkild bought him.

I turn on my side to face him. “Sorry for saying that. I’m really glad that you had the strength not to get angry. You’re making progress all the time, and I appreciate it.”

Irritated, he smacks his magazine down on the comforter. “Feelings, feelings, feelings! We always have to talk about the things you’re interested in! When can we talk about something I think is exciting?”

“Well, but we talk about your speakers every single evening.”

“That’s not so very much, is it? There’s also something called morning and noon and afternoon, and also night. And noon and morning.” He’s perseverating again.

“Fine. So let’s talk about the speakers.”

After I’ve listened once more to him go on about baffle plate density, harmonic overtone series, and Q factors, he calms down. I’m desperate to talk to someone about how I can support Niklas through all this in the best way possible, but Frederik’s started reading his magazine again. So I send Bernard a text message, figuring he’ll read it tomorrow.

I have to think a long time to achieve the right casual tone. Whatever I do, it mustn’t sound desperate.

Hi Bernard — if you have the time, I’d really appreciate talking to you about living with a teenage boy when you’re married to someone with brain damage. Not so much a lawyer talk — more of a support group talk. Thanks, Mia

Within a few seconds, the display on my cell phone lights up. I take the call before it manages to ring.

“I think about that a lot,” Bernard says. “I’d be very glad to talk it over with you.”

“Were you awake too?”

I can hear him hesitate, and then we both start laughing.

“It’s not a big deal.”

“We can talk tomorrow — or whenever it suits you.”

“Yes, let’s do that. But we could also talk now.” His voice sounds gravelly, in a way it doesn’t during the day. “Was there something particular that happened between you and Niklas today?”

I have to draw a deep breath while I consider how best to formulate it. “He’s never stolen before, but …”

Behind my back, Frederik grunts irritably. “Isn’t it time for you to go down to your own bed now?”

I turn over so I can see him. He looks at me over the top of his car magazine.

I switch off my bedside lamp and gather up my comforter. In my ear I hear Bernard’s voice. “Was that Frederik?”

“Yes, I’m disturbing his reading. Hold on a sec, and then we can talk.”

Dear Mom and Dad ,

Mia has asked me to thank you so much for the money you’re loaning us so that we can make it through this period while I’m not allowed to work. I’m writing to tell you to give us more .

It would be easy to think that ordinary, inexpensive particleboard would be just as suitable as high-density fiberboard .

That’s WRONG!

A large percentage of the distortion — and with it the obscuring of microdetails — of the musical essence of music itself! — of the reason that we listen to music at all! — of the subtle musical communication we hope to achieve! — of the joy of once more being able to listen to great art! — originate not with the speaker driver but the cabinet. The heavier the cabinet, the fewer the resonances. That is why some of the world’s most-respected and well-reviewed speakers weigh a great deal more than 200 pounds. A quick internet search should convince you of this point .

Normal particleboard would be TOXIC for the sound quality that is the whole point of my endeavor. With such material, all my efforts in speaker design would be wasted .

Concrete is heavier than high-density fiberboard, and many DIYers have therefore imagined that it would be ideal to cast their own cabinets in concrete. HOWEVER, its natural resonance has a higher frequency than wood’s, so even though a concrete speaker weighing hundreds of pounds has less resonant energy, the resonance will be more annoying because it lies in a tonal range where the ear is more sensitive .