A 52-Hertz Whale by Bill Sommer Page A

listen to the miracle. The miracle spoke to me about problems in our relationship, needs not quite met, issues not quite resolved—and I didn’t listen! (Massive facepalm. Followed by knuckle-bite. Followed by cheek-slap.)
    Derpin
    From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: October 7, 2012 at 3:26 PM
Subject: RE: Status Update
    Dear Darren:
    I need to talk to you about my mom. After Salt’s death, I decided to join the American Cetacean Society and devote some of my time to conservation efforts like sending emails to various individuals on the International Whaling Commission and elected officials making decisions about our seas. This, to me, was the best way to honor Salt’s memory and save others from a similar fate.
    The problem is that Mom keeps harassing me about sitting in my bedroom in front of the computer after school. My whale advocacy on the computer is WAY better than playing gory video games (which is what 99 percent of my classmates do on the computer and involves pretending to be a sniper in Afghanistan or smashing zombies with bats). Anyway, after the fifth day of my efforts on behalf of the American Cetacean Society, Mom comes into my room, sits on the edge of my bed, and tries to convince me for the fiftieth time to join the Baking Club at school. She claims that these brownies I made when I was five were the best she’s ever tasted. (Since then, I’ve done a couple tortes, some French macaroons, worked with ganache.) Still, what Mom doesn’t know about Baking Club is: 1) I’d be the only guy in the group (which Coxson and his gang would see as further evidence that I am shit-for-brains or whatnot), and 2) the best part of baking, for me, is a room so silent that you hear the flour shift in the bowl.
    So for the fiftieth time, I tell her to forget about it. Well, she can’t—no, won’t—forget about it. She gives me about thirteen other suggestions for “school and community involvement”: volunteering in a soup kitchen, trying out for the fencing team, joining debate, blah, blah, blah. Each suggestion is an activity she thinks I like—or WISHES I liked. I say “no” thirteen times. She says that I can’t stay at home in my room forever. That I have to get out and interact with people. (What does she think I do at school all day?) She tells me that if I don’t want to get more involved at school, I have to get a job. I laugh at that suggestion. I mean, who would hire a fourteen-year-old with no work experience whatsoever, especially in this economy?
    Well, it turns out lots of people. Mom insisted on driving me around yesterday to Sal’s Sub Shop, #1 Dry Cleaners, Acme Grocery, and Star Arcade. All of them were accepting applications, and somewhat reluctantly, I filled them out. No bites yet, but I’ll let you know what happens.
    Sincerely,
    James Turner
    From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: October 7, 2012 at 11:24 PM
Subject: RE: Status Update
    Dear Jamesauce,
    Re: your mom and her obsession with social baking, I’d pick out something she likes to do in relative privacy—fill out a crossword puzzle, watch a TV show, soak her feet—and start demanding she do it with a bunch of other people as a member of a club. See if Baking Club is so crucial then. Trust me on this one. I’ve made an art out of arguing with my parents.
    I hope the job hunting goes well. All of those establishments you filled out job apps for sound primo. The arcade sounds like the most fun, but you always gotta eat, so slingin’ subs (and getting free ones) might not be a bad racket either.
    Long term, though, I wouldn’t write off the whaleology thing. First of all, I’m pretty sure women dig guys who care about other living creatures besides themselves because it’s actually not that common a thing. Second, I know for a fact that women love guys who are successful