Tara Kelly - Harmonic Feedback

“Sounds like Kari.” Naomi tapped her knuckles against the window. “Be forewarned—that girl can hold quite the grudge.”

“I’m not losing sleep over it.”

I tried to hold back a smile but failed.

“You don’t think she’s hot at all?” Naomi asked. “Because everything else with a dick does.”

“Sure, but she’s not my type.”

“You prefer brainy redheads with music addictions, right?”

I kicked the back of her chair.

“Ow, hi. Base of my spine here.” Naomi shifted in her seat.

“As long as it’s good music,” he said, glancing at me in the rearview mirror again. His lips twitched with a smile.

I stared out the window for the rest of the car ride.

I deconstructed Naomi’s face with my HI-8 video camera, moving from her full lips to the crinkle in her brow. The beauty and the flaws—every unique freckle. This was how I saw people.

“She smiles with grace, but no one recalls her face.” Naomi swayed in front of the microphone, shoe tapping the floor. “Invisible. Carved between the walls. She can scream your name, but you don’t hear her at all.”

I moved the frame to the right. Justin’s fingers hammered their way into the chorus. His eyelashes fluttered against his pale cheeks and his shoulders gently swayed. Black or white—he owned every key.

I loved watching them create their magic. That’s what it was to me, really. I could hear everything wrong with a mix, produce a vocal to death, and create a billion different sounds, but I couldn’t play a melody that made me shiver.

Naomi tilted her head back. Her face contorted with each word. “She knows her place in this world. She can tear down its walls, and still nobody knows her name. Yeah, she knows her place. But she’s not going down… without a fight.”

Too bad today was just practice. I was getting some great shots.

She tore the headphones off and hooted. “Okay, that rocked.”

I turned back to the computer and made sure the vocal track recorded properly. “You really nailed this take, Naomi. I think I can pretty much use the whole thing.”

“Pretty much?” Justin asked. “Use it all—in its entirety. The flaws make the emotion come through even more.”

I double clicked on the track. “Yeah, but—”

“Yeah, but nothing,” he broke in. “Put your ’verb and delay on it—just don’t chop it up.”

Naomi squealed. “I can’t wait to hear the whole thing! I like the bass line you did, Drea.” She wrapped her arms around my shoulders and kissed my cheek. “It’s groovy.”

“Thanks,” I said, wiping the wet spot she left behind.

She plopped in Justin’s lap and sighed. “You, sir, are a piano god.”

He winced as she gave him a juicy kiss on the forehead. “Are you on something again, Naomi?”

“I’m high on music. Lighten up, Dad .” She stood up and did some kind of dramatic pose.

“I think she’s happy about seeing her dad tonight,” I said.

“No, no,” she said. “It’s the music. Hey, we should play ‘Dawn’ for Justin. I want to record that next.”

“You up for it?” I asked him.

“I play by ear. No preparations needed.” He smiled.

I grabbed my green acoustic and sat with it in my lap. “It’s a little slower in tempo, but more upbeat.” I told him.

This song called for fifths in the verse. Two power chords played twice each with a muted pick rhythm in between.

Naomi grabbed the mic, nodding her head to my strums. “Sweet little Jane was caught in a rut. She went too far and never paid up. And the street corner won’t give a dime to Daddy’s little girl with the misty eyes.”

I glanced over at Justin. He stared back with the hint of a smile on his face. My fingers slipped. “Oops.”

She launched into the bridge, a spoken-word part repeated twice. “There’s no God fear and no sky to reach. Are my words silent shadows or just obsolete?”

I avoided Justin’s gaze as I shifted into the chorus. It wasn’t punchy like the verse, calling for more of a dramatic riff.

“She waits for the dawn… with her lace gloves on. She said revolution. Cleanse the streets, unveil the mask of sweet pollution. Yeah, she waits for the dawn. Her time will come.”

Justin played three high notes on the piano and colored them in with two bass chords. It gave the song a little more elegance. He kept it simple, as if he knew too much sugar would ruin the mix. I really liked that about him.

“What time is it?” Naomi asked suddenly.

“It’s just after five,” Justin said.

And from the sour odor wafting down the stairs, dinner would come too soon.

“I gotta go.” She snatched her backpack. “You going to put ‘Invisible’ up tonight?”

“Planning on it. I just have to do a little mixing and mastering,” I said. What I really wanted to say was, Don’t leave me alone with Justin. I can’t even look at him right now.

“Cool.” She gave Justin and me a quick hug before sprinting up the stairs.

The door clicked shut. I faced the computer.

“Do you want to work on something new?” he asked.

“That’s okay. I think this will keep me busy for a while.” I labeled Naomi’s latest vocal.

“Should I go, then?”

No, I like being around you. Yes, because I think I like it too much. Maybe, because I don’t know what else to say. “Do you want to go?”

His footsteps came up behind me. Soft and hesitant. “No.”

I bumped the mouse, undoing my last action. “Um, okay.” Edit-redo. “Just so you know, what Kari said about the locker room thing. I don’t talk about you. Naomi does and—”

His breath tickled my ear. “I don’t care.”

I accidentally deleted my bass track. Undo. Wait, wrong menu. “What would you like to undo? I mean, do?”

He looked at the computer over my shoulder. “I could watch you work your magic.”

“I need the earphones for that.” Think, Drea . “But I’ve always wanted to learn how to play the piano.”

“Sweet.” He grabbed the back of my chair and rolled me toward the keyboard. “Door-to-door service.”

I gripped the armrests. “Um, thanks.”

He moved his chair to my right. His arm pressed into mine as he sat down. “What song do you want to learn?”

“How about one of yours?” I tried to keep my voice even. Interested. But it probably came out over the top.

“Okay, I’ll teach you the first one I wrote. It’s really lame, but easy to learn.”

“I doubt it’s lame.”

He took my left hand and pressed my fingers into three notes. “This is A-minor. Your first chord. Just keep playing A-C-E-A-C-E.”

I played each note as he directed until I found a rhythm.

“You got it.” His hand hovered over mine again. “Now move your pinkie back to the G and play G-B-D the same way.” He instructed me to move down to E-minor, then up to F before returning to A-minor. It was hard to focus with him so close, especially when he smelled like rain again.

As I got the hang of the bass notes, he played a sparse melody in a higher octave, following my unpredictable rhythm perfectly. “You’re a quick study,” he said.

“Whatever. I keep hitting the wrong notes.”

He touched my nose. “That’s because you’re thinking too hard. Close your eyes.”

“Then I won’t be able to see what I’m doing.”

“That’s the point,” he whispered in my ear. “Sometimes the only way to connect is to let go.”

I shut my eyes, trying to detach my brain from my hand. No easy feat. Justin played a few more notes. These were faster—more passionate. They gave me chills. I tapped my foot on the floor and pretended I was driving his melody. My fingers moved slowly at first, but I became less aware of everything as the music swam around me.