Suzie’s House 441 : Emma’s Song II

Tracy and Emma beat him to the practice room. Bruce had tried to get there first because he’d been in a rush to leave after the last practice session and had forgotten to pack away his Casio. It might not be the best synthesizer he owned, but he still didn’t want people messing with it.

As he watched, Emma reached out and pressed a few keys, sending up a musical squawk that might almost be considered part of a song but for a couple of miss-placed fingers. He rushed forward to save his Casio, and his ears.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, what do you think you’re doing?” He gently pushed the girls away from his synthesizer, careful to both keep the stand stable and to not offend the one he liked.

“I-I-I I’m sorry,” Emma pulled back immediately, all curled in on herself. Then she got some backbone and put her chin up. “But! But you didn’t tell me the time changed.” Her voice trailed off. “So I had nothing to do, and….”

“I did too tell you. Well, I told some guy at your house, anyway. I think your father? I didn’t know you had a father.”

“How could you not know? It isn’t as if we haven’t talked about him,” Tracy glowered at him.

“I thought he was gone. Isn’t everyone’s dad gone most of the time?” To Bruce’s way of thinking, that was better anyway.

“I… I never heard anything.” A worry line popped up between her eyebrows.

“Maybe he didn’t get a chance.” He wanted to smooth the line out.

It didn’t work. Her worry lines got deeper. Then her chin came up. “The point is… um… I didn’t know. So. I’m, I’m writing a song.”

“Oh really? Well you’re a singer, so…” I stopped himself from saying she should use her own instrument and leave his alone. He didn’t need to because he had somehow seamlessly ended up behind his Casio in position to play. “I’ll accompany.”

“Me too!” Tracy got out her bass.

Emma started to sing. “He’s dead. Dead and gone, killed in a plane crash.” She followed this with a list of items found in a dumpster like you would find in an eviction.

“Wait. That major progression is…” Bruce just barely kept himself from saying pathetic. “It’s too strong. So is the bit about him being dead. Don’t you think it would be better to make the listeners figure it out for themselves that he’s dead? Give them a bit of mystery.”

“But.” Emma’s lower lip came out. Not quite enough for a pout, but Bruce could see her digging in her emotional heels.

“Wait. I’ve got a great idea.” He finally dug around in his backpack. Inside were three different masks he had made for her. He picked one in black satin with wicked narrowed eyes and a little line of diamond like rhinestones along one cheek. “Sing it while you’re wearing this. Like you would in a concert.” He held it out to her.

“All right.” She took it reluctantly. “I’ll give it a try.” She put the mask on.

She underwent an immediate and radical change. Her head shifted forward, her shoulders turned, and her voice became much more sultry and intimate. When she sang, angels took flight.

“Where are you, Johnny? You’re plane tickets are in the trash along with spices from around the world. Do you not need this incense anymore? What happened to you, Johnny? You life lays here on the curb.”

“Oh, I like that a lot better,” Tracy said.

Bruce nodded, but he was too busy improvising appropriate melodies to go with Emma’s voice to say much.

“Who are you, Johnny? Your psychology textbook lays in the gutter along with your golden bird cage. The door is broken and there’s no bird. Did he fly away? Do you?”

Tracy came in with a strong guitar line. It would have sounded great except the bass made it too low. Bruce stopped playing immediately.

“Oh. That reminds me. What did you do with the money I gave to Gene? You were supposed to buy a guitar. There’s no point in our practicing anymore until you get the right instrument.”

“Did someone say my name?” Gene came up behind him.

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