Page 77 of Only You
‘Pretty good,’ he said. ‘Although, you don’t have to pluck so literally. It’s more like a slide.’
‘Like…’ She slid the side of her thumb against the string the way she would play an acoustic guitar, but she grimaced at the wobbly sound.
‘More like…’ He leaned over and slid her thumb up from the second string, so her thumb rested against the first. ‘Imagine it like your fingers doing the moonwalk.’
She snorted. ‘Really?’
‘Give it a try,’ he pushed. She shrugged before doing so. Surely enough, the note was smooth, just like his had been. ‘Good. Now, alternate your middle and index finger… Good… Now do that for each string.’ She did, and he clapped.
‘I think it’s hardly worth a standing ovation,’ she said as she rested her fingers against the body.
‘No, but it is a good first step, one you picked up in…’ He looked over to his kitchen clock. ‘Roughly five minutes. Pretty impressive if you ask me.’
‘I just think you’re easily impressed,’ she said, mentally basking in the praise. ‘Now, what’s next?’
‘Now,’ he plugged the bass into the amp, ‘we get serious.’
He walked her through various beats and the sound of each note, repeating it until she had the E and A notes somewhat memorised. Then, he got another bass to play a simple bassline for her to copy. She felt self-conscious about being able to hear herself over him – he didn’t plug the second one in – and started to fumble. Jones was patient, restarting with the same patience as before, slowing down until she got it. Still, she could hear her notes, and it sounded so… bad.
‘Can we stop?’ She had held back the question for as long as she could, but she was moments away from ripping the cord from the bass and the last thing she wanted was to damage anything.
‘Sure.’ Jones immediately put down his guitar and set it aside just as she did hers. ‘If you’re tired, we can wrap this up.’
She sighed, picking at the loose thread on her jeans. Truthfully, she could probably go another hour or two if she wanted, but she just couldn’t take it. She had been studying music for over ten years, had won all the right contests, played with state-level bands. It had been a very long time since she sounded so mediocre.
‘I sound so rough,’ she said.
‘You literally just started learning two hours ago,’ he pointed out.
‘I know, I know,’ she said. ‘And I know I’m not going to sound perfect or anywhere near like you, but I sound like I’m in an elementary school band, learning a nursery rhyme.’
‘Still good in my book.’
‘How are you so positive?’ she asked, annoyance slipping into her tone.
‘Why are you so negative,’ he countered. ‘You just started. You have to give yourself some time.’
‘The thing we don’t have,’ she snapped, bitterness coating her words.
‘Exactly,’ he said without missing a beat. He pulled his guitar back on his lap, strumming a much quicker bassline than they’d practised with. ‘Why waste it being disappointed that you’re not perfect?’
She gritted her teeth, a wave of frustration running through her, and she couldn’t tell if it was aimed at his laidback attitude or herself. She rubbed her temples, which brought minimal relief, as she heard muted notes filling the air. She strained her ears trying to recognise the song but couldn’t quite figure it out.
The question came reluctantly from her, but she knew it would bother her more if she didn’t ask. ‘What are you playing?’
‘Listen,’ he said. He sat up and played full out. She tried to make sense of the beat but couldn’t quite place it. It was naggingly familiar though, something she was sure her dad would recognise.
‘I can’t figure it out,’ she said.
‘Yes, you can.’
‘Jones.’
‘Listen,’ he urged. ‘Close your eyes and listen.’
At first, she narrowed them defiantly, his instructions bringing out a stubborn streak in her. He returned her gaze, his mouth pulling down in frustration but his eyes gentle. They were always gentle, and it drove her crazy. Did he ever get angry? Maybe he was more like Sabine and Demir, with their feelings under lock and key, while she was Selene and Damien, hers much closer to the surface. Not that it mattered as she tried and ever so clearly failed to keep up her walls. She closed her eyes all the way, crossing her arms but listening as he started playing again.
The sound was definitely older, easily Seventies or Eighties. She unconsciously started bobbing along, finally finding the rhythm. Just as she got comfortable, he stopped. She scrunched her eyebrows, about to tell him she hadn’t figured it out yet, when he played a very distinctive set of notes. The memory of her dad dancing in the front seat to the song on the drive to school came to her like lightning and she could suddenly hear the whole song.
