Tommy points to my parents’ car as Tina pulls into the driveway. “Looks like they got home early.” He winces.
They’re sitting in the living room, perched in the wing-backed chairs on either side of the room, arms folded, mirror images of each other.
“Do you not understand what grounding means?” my mom asks, like she’s been rehearsing the line since the second she realized I was gone.
“Mom, don’t—” Tina starts, but my mom holds up a hand.
“You already have no phone and no computer. What else is left, Kiki?”
I shake my head. I have no strength for this conversation. They can do to me what they will.
“No TV,” my mom says. “Tommy, take her TV out of her room.”
My brother mouths an “I’m sorry,” but heads upstairs.
“And the car,” my dad says. “No car for the rest of the summer.”
I shrug. It’s fine. It’s whatever. Calliope Pfeiffer is dead, and I am numb. “Can I go upstairs now?” I ask.
The gravity hits me in the solitude of my bedroom. My brother took my TV and all that remains is a small rectangle in the dust on my dresser.
Calliope Pfeiffer is dead. The words keep going through my head. She’s dead. Millions of people loved her and looked up to her. She was on her way to becoming a huge star at the top of her game. She had everything in the world going for her and she fell out a window. It just seems wrong. It seems so basic, to go from having everything in the world to having nothing.
Her shows, her movies, followed a formula. Dana was always getting into jams. There was always a chance that she’d die or get tragically hurt or something, but you knew those things were never really going to happen. She’d figure a way out. Ethan would show up and save her. Everything would be fixed by the end of the hour. But Calliope Pfeiffer’s real life is over without a resolution.
By this point, my tears are flowing. I plop down on my bed and listen to the silence, the hum of the air conditioning, the traffic on the street below that’s usually drowned out by the noise from my TV or computer. I’m no different than Calliope Pfeiffer. My life is over before it even started. I had a chance to study music, but I blew it. And then, without resolution, I was gone.
I do the only thing I can do. I dig through my boxes of stuff from Krause, pull out a pad of staff paper, and start writing.
chapter twenty-three
I spend the next twenty-four hours in a composition fog.
I stay up all night working on lyrics, and then, the next morning, after my parents go to work, I sneak down to the piano in the living room and start writing the music. My brother and sister take turns hovering in the doorway watching me, but I ignore them. I’m in the zone.
I’ve always listened to Dana’s music, imagining a time when those lyrics might apply to my own life, when I’d know about love and heartbreak and grief and I’d be able to channel those emotions into my performance. But now, today, I don’t need her music. I’m making my own. I’m creating. I feel like sunshine and energy are bursting from my pores. I feel alive.
When my parents get home, I retreat to my bedroom again, content to avoid them for the rest of the summer. But just before bedtime, Tina knocks on my door. On my way to answer it, I hear her say, “You should’ve seen her today. She was like a beast. I’ve never seen her work that hard at anything.”
“Hmph,” my dad says, as I throw open my door.
“Come with me.” Tina motions for me to leave my room.
“I’m going to bed.”
She puts her hands on her hips and glares at me until I follow her downstairs.
My mom and my brother are already perched in living room chairs. Tina points to the piano. “Play,” she says.
“No.” My skin starts to itch. They’re ambushing me. It’s like when Beth forced me to sing at Matt Carroll’s party back before prom. I don’t like being put on the spot.
“They want to hear it,” Tina says. “Play.”
It occurs to me that this might be my one shot, my only shot, to show my parents what I’m capable of. Maybe they’ll hate it. Maybe, yeah right, they’ll love it. Either way, I have nothing to lose. They’ve already taken my phone, computer, and TV from me. Why not take my dignity, too? I sit down at the piano. “It’s rough,” I say.
“Play,” says Tina.
I do. I play through the introduction and I sing the first verse, feeling naked in front of my family. This song is about everything that’s happened to me over the past few months—Beth, Davis, Jack, Calliope Pfeiffer, the friends I made at camp. It’s about my journey to figure out what I want to do and who I want to be. It’s my heart, exposed, and I worry my parents will never look at me the same way again after they hear it.
When I finish, I stare at the keys, hitting and releasing the damper pedal in quick succession, putting an abrupt end to this little exercise. No one says anything. No one claps. There’s only silence.
Then my mom speaks, slowly, methodically, like I’m a baby bird she’s trying not to frighten. “Whose…butt…are you talking about here?”
“Mom,” shouts Tina, “you’re missing the point!”
“Nobody’s butt,” I say, blushing. “It’s a metaphorical butt.” God, I knew she wouldn’t get it. Of course she harps on that one line.
We’re back to silence.
My dad nods. “It’s good. Very good, honey.”
“Thank you,” I say.
I wait for my mom to add something else. “Is that your only song?” she asks.
“Why? Because this one’s not good enough?” I want to say. Instead, I tell her, “So far.”
“Well,” she says, “it’s good, so far.”
Tina shakes her head. “You are not an artist. You don’t get it.” She jumps up and holds out her hand toward me. “She has been working on this piece for twenty-four hours. That’s it. What she just played for you is amazing.” Tina storms off.
“I liked it,” says Tommy.
“It’s a good start,” says my dad.
I nod. I can’t say anything else. The only thing I can do is vow never to let my parents hear anything I write ever again. They get up and go to bed. I stay at the piano and keep working.
I tinker with the song for the next four days, rearranging lyrics, adding embellishments. I’m so totally in the zone, I don’t miss Twitter. I don’t miss television. It’s not like at camp. I’m working as hard here as I was there, but it’s different. This isn’t sucking the life out of me. It’s giving me life. It’s giving me purpose.
When she’s not sleeping or pretending to interview for jobs, Tina sits next to me, encouraging me, acting as my sounding board. My parents and Tommy move in and out, stopping to watch every once in a while. I hear them talking about me. “Tina’s right,” my dad says, “I’ve never seen her work so hard.” I take that as my cue to keep going.
On Thursday afternoon, Tina says, “This song is your soul, Kiki, laid out all bare and stuff. I feel like I finally know you, you know?” She’s staring at the music in front of us on the piano.
“You didn’t know me before?” I ask.
“Not like this,” she says. “In real life, you’re always hiding behind TV or Twitter or your jokes and whatever. You make like you’re above it all, like you don’t give two shits about anybody. But”—she points to the music—“that’s not true, is it?”
“It was never true,” I say.
“It’s nice to finally see that.”
I stand up and crack my knuckles. It’s the first time I’ve gotten up from the piano bench since eight this morning. “I need to make a phone call, I think.”
Using my parents’ landline, I dial one of the only numbers I ever bothered to memorize. Beth answers on the third ring. “Hello?”
“Can you come over?” I ask.
There’s a long, dramatic pause. Beth was always one for the drama.
“Please,” I say. “There’s something I need to show you.”
&nbs
p; “Five minutes,” she says. I’m not sure if she means she’ll be here in five minutes or if she’ll give me five minutes.
When Beth comes over, I see her glance around the house, taking it in. After coming here every other day for twelve years, she hasn’t been here in four months. I’m sure she figured she’d never be here again. I sit her down in one of the living room chairs.
“I wrote a song,” I say, sitting down at the piano. “It’s for you, on some level.”
I play through it, afraid to look at Beth. The second verse is basically about our friendship, about how we meant so much to each other, but maybe now need to let each other go. I don’t want to fight anymore. I don’t want to make an enemy of her. I want us to go through the rest of our lives remembering the good times, and there were good times—filling our dollhouses with furniture, accidentally buying the same dress on separate shopping trips, sneak-watching R-rated movies in her parents’ basement.
When I finish, I finally look at her. “I’m not good at saying the words.”
“You’re good at singing them,” she says. Her eyes are misty.
“You really hurt me with the Davis thing.”
“I was jealous and stupid. It felt like everything was out of balance. You had something I didn’t and I couldn’t handle it.” She shakes her head. “God, I can be an asshole. Your sister’s right.”
“Broken clock,” I say. “We’ve been friends a long time, Beth.”
“Maybe too long.”
“Yeah, I mean, we’ve always had this particular dynamic. You were the star and I was the aunt. We kind of swapped roles with the whole Krause thing.”
“And I did not handle it well,” she says.
“No, you did not.”
“I am really, really sorry, Kiki.”
“I’m not.” I get up and stand in front of her. “Since I can remember, you were always the most important person in my life. Maybe we’ve outgrown our friendship, but I don’t want us to just discard each other, like the last twelve years were nothing. We no longer fit into each other’s lives, but—”
She stands up and hugs me. “There’s always a place for you in my life, if you want it.”
“I was too dependent on you, Beth. I know you think I never needed you, but I did. You pushed me to be more social. You introduced me to your friends. Going to Krause, it forced me to do those things on my own. I, Kiki, have the capacity to make friends on my own. Who knew?”
“I did,” she says. “You’re a frustrating person, Keeks, but I love you. I’m…just terrible at showing it. And I’m so, so sorry I hurt you.”
I sit down next to her and the two of us spend the next two hours catching up. She tells me about hanging out with the popular girls and how they’re upset with her for dumping Davis after he hooked up with my sister at the party. I tell her about Seth and Jack and Tromboner Dave and everyone else at camp.
I’m not sure what this conversation will add up to. Beth and I will probably never be as close as we were, and maybe we won’t hang out like we used to, but I’m glad to have her in my life. I’m happy to know that, from this point on, no matter where our lives go, I can always reach out to her, and her to me. Friends and boyfriends will come and go, but, on some level, no one will ever know me as well as Beth knew me. She was my first best friend, and I hers. We are bonded for life.
After Beth leaves, my mom and dad call me into the family room and tell me to sit down.
“We’ve been talking,” my dad says. “For the past few days, we’ve been watching you work on that song. We’ve never seen you so focused on anything.”
“Or so content,” my mom adds.
“Maybe we were hasty in forcing you to attend my school next year. Your brother pointed out that Tina got to study what she wanted to study and you should have the same opportunity. I think he may have been covering his own butt for when he wants to study art history or something when he goes to college.”
“Probably film studies with a concentration in Sylvester Stallone movies,” I say.
“That sounds right,” my dad says. “Tommy’s not wrong, Kiki. Despite your struggles this summer—and believe me, you’re still grounded, and then some—you should have the opportunity to study whatever it is you want to study. I was adamant that one of you go to my school because, yes, I put my own dreams on hold so that your lives might be easier.” He clears his throat again.
“Dad, I—”
He holds up his hand. “So I know a thing or two about settling, and it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”
I hold my breath, waiting for the rub.
My mom says, “Your sister got a partial scholarship to sing at Krause, so we only had to pay for a percentage of her tuition and her room and board. Your dad and I will give you the same amount of money, if you choose to go somewhere other than Dad’s school. Beyond that, you’ll have to figure it out—academic scholarships, loans, a job, what have you.”
I take a beat. “Are you saying I have your blessing to go where I want?”
She nods.
“Wow,” I say, jumping up to hug them. This is the best news they could’ve given me, but I feel my mind drift into sadness. I have no one to share it with.
“What’s the matter?” my mom asks, holding me at arms’ length.
“I’m really happy,” I say.
“But…” my dad says.
“I know I’m grounded. I get that. Believe me. But there’s one thing I need to do. If you’ll let me do this one, tiny, little thing, I’ll be grounded forever, I don’t care. I will be your prisoner for life.”
My parents look at each other. “What’s this one little thing?” my mom asks.
*
The next morning, Friday, Tina drives me down to Indianapolis. It’s the last day of camp and my parents have given me furlough from my grounding for today only. We have to come back tonight, not just because of my situation, but because Tina has a job interview with one of my dad’s friends, and he threatened to kick her out of the house if she blows it off. We’re going down there for two reasons: 1) to see everyone one last time, and 2) so I can perform my song at the Crossroads open mic tonight. Hopefully. I called the café this morning, and all the slots had been assigned. This doesn’t deter me, though. I will get on that stage. Somehow. I’m willing to do anything.
On the way down, Tina tells me stories of her time at Krause, many stories I’d already heard, but I get it now. I understand her need to wax nostalgic. That magical time where you’re living in close quarters with all your friends, where sleep is something you’ll worry about later, where attractive people and all the potential that comes with them are right around the corner—that time is something you want to hang on to for as long as you can. Because once it’s gone, it’s gone. I know that all too well. I feel lucky to have learned this lesson before actually starting college. I will not take it for granted.
When Tina and I arrive at Chandler Hall, we have to ask the guy at the front desk to call Kendra to let us in.
“Who should I say is here?” he asks, holding his hand over the mouthpiece.
“It’s a surprise?” I say.
He rolls his eyes, unimpressed with my need for anonymity.
My nerves start taking over as we wait for Kendra to come down. What if they don’t miss me? What if they forgot all about me? What if the nice sendoff the night before I left was all bullshit and they were really glad to see me go? Also, as the seconds tick by, I start to worry about who else I might run into, namely Jack or Mary or Mr. Bertrand. Maybe I didn’t think this through.
But a few seconds later, the door swings open and in comes Kendra, her eyes swooping across the lobby, looking for the unnamed person who has come to see her. Her eyes land on me and they brighten immediately. “Holy shit!” she screams, as she runs over and wraps me up in a huge hug. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to see you, obviously. What have I missed? Did you get one of the scholarships?”
&nb
sp; “Dunno yet. We find out tomorrow morning.” She crosses her fingers. “As for the gossip, I’ll give you the Cliff’s notes. Mary’s the mole, but you knew that already. She stuck around for the rest of camp, but no one would talk to her, obviously. Norman got all depressed after he had to dump her and he found solace in Brie, of all people.”
“Brie and Norman are together?” I ask.
“I haven’t stopped giving her shit about it.” She pretends to swipe Brie’s long blond curls off her shoulder. “The queen of the sopranos dating a tenor who’s shorter than her? How vile!” She leans in and whispers, “Secretly, though, I love it. They’re adorable together. Brie has been, like, eighty-five percent more chill.”
I point to Tina. “Kendra, this is my sister. Tina, this is Kendra.”
Finally noticing her, Kendra stares at Tina in awe. “I saw you in Madame Butterfly two years ago, when my parents dragged me up to Indy to look at Krause. I was totally against going to college in Indiana, but after seeing your performance…”
Tina smiles. “That was a fantastic show.” She links arms with Kendra and the two of them practically skip through the door. They head into the stairwell, but I pause to check out Unit Six, which is eerily silent right now. Then I look down at my clothes, my “Come at me, crow” Game of Thrones T-shirt and sweatpants. What was I thinking wearing this today? Was I really going to get up on stage in some ratty old garbage? This is not what I was wearing in all my daydreams. “Hey, wait.” I run to catch up with the girls. “Can we go shopping?”
*
A few hours later, we’re at Crossroads and I’m wearing a bright red dress that looks just like the one Dana wore in the famous episode where she finally hooked up with Ethan. It’s iconic and fabulous and makes me feel invincible. Almost.
I need all the near-invincibility I can get. I am about to perform the Dana song at open mic night, in front of everyone.
Kendra, Tina, and I stopped at Crossroads after shopping and I checked out the lineup for tonight’s open mic. There, about halfway down the sheet, was the name “Dumpster.” I tapped on the name. Dave. Tromboner Dave.
The Sound of Us Page 23