Song for Jess

by Meg Buchanan

  He shook his head.

  But when I got to school, the Year 13s were waiting to be let into the hall for some speaker who was bursting to tell us how to live our lives. I’d already got it figured. Zac Coleman, singer, songwriter. Remember?

  Tessa and Jess came over before they went to class.

  “I like the hair,” said Tessa.

  “Thanks.”

  “I like the whole look.” She turned to Jess. “Isaac looks great, doesn’t he?”

  Jess looked my way, and it was like it was the first time she’d seen me.

  Our eyes clashed, and I found words.

  “What do you think?”

  Jess nodded and smiled. “You look nice.”

  I was soul taken, heart stopped, breathing on hold.

  Chapter Three

  Sunday 20th October

  “Why does Jess get to invite people to her brother’s twenty-first?” I asked Tessa. We were at the old hall in Karangahake. It was Jess’s brother’s twenty-first, and the hall was filled with people I didn’t know. Some were still wandering in through the double doors, pushed wide open. Others were spilling out into the car park.

  “That’s the way her family does things.” Tessa pushed through the sound and the bodies. Luke and I followed. The mass ebbed and flowed like a tide, tossed around by the sea of noise. A DJ stood up front adding to the racket. Plates were being cleared from the trestles, and dishes clashed in the kitchen.

  We found Jess standing by some tables. She was wearing this short lace dress, deep orange like the roe of kina, with long sleeves and a short flirty skirt. Her hair flowed down her back, a river of dark honey.

  She smiled when she saw us and came over. “Hi, Tessa and Luke,” she said. “Hi, Isaac...” There was this pause. Because it was Tessa who invited me, not Jess. Then Jess solved the pause. She took my hand. “Come and meet my grandma,” she said. “You’re just in time. She’s been waiting for you to get here.”

  “Meet your grandma?” Jesus, I wasn’t even sure I was here with Jess. Talk about being thrown in at the deep end. Jess leaned in the grandma direction. My boots stay rooted, and I leaned in the Luke and Tessa direction.

  Jess tugged on my hand. “Come on.”

  Her grandma was sitting at a table in the noise of the DJ surrounded by a million people about the age of Mum and Dad and all watching me and Jess. Jess’s aunties and uncles, I guessed. Her grandma was a sea of purple flowers, topped by white hair, and she had this crinkly smile.

  “Grandma, meet Isaac,” said Jess.

  “So, this is the boy all the fuss is about,” said Jess’s grandma. And that was a revelation. I glanced at Jess. She managed to glance back, blush and shrug all at the same time.

  Like I said, it was a revelation. Maybe Luke was right. She liked me.

  “Come closer so I can see you, Isaac,” said the grandma quietly and looked up at me with eyes like Jess’s, but old.

  I looked at Jess and she nodded, so I stepped closer. The grandma lifted her hands real slow, the way Jess moves. I bent down a little, and she cupped my face.

  I like Jess a lot, and she seemed to like this grandma. The hands on my cheeks felt like that tissue paper they wrap fine china in. She stared at me a moment, then she turned to Jess.

  “You have a fine-looking boy here,” she said. “Lovely eyes.”

  “If only we could see them through the hair and makeup,” said a prune- faced woman. Everyone around laughed.

  Jess’s grandma let my face go and patted me on the shoulder. “Look after my granddaughter, Isaac.”

  It all went from there. I met a cascade of family. No idea who.

  Then Jess and I stayed together right through the party. We found Tessa and Luke again and wandered around with them drinking and talking in the crush and the noise. The DJ had cranked up the music. Everyone was shouting over it. Someone had dimmed the lights. Some of the olds had left the table and were trying to dance.

  “How big is your family?” I asked Jess.

  “Just two brothers and a sister.” She took a sip of lemonade. Her father had poured it for her.

  I met him too, and he seemed friendly. I’ve seen him at school anyway. He’s a teacher there. And the mother. She’s another teacher but a different school. Friendly too. And her brothers. I know Denis, we’re in the same year group, but he runs with a different crowd. Then there’s Alan. It was his twenty-first.

  Her sister Laura was less friendly. Laura’s in her first year at university and was just home for the weekend. A couple of years ago, she was ‘that girl’ at college. Head prefect, won the speech contest, in the maths team, got most of the prizes at the end of the year, and just got beaten to Dux by some maths whizz.

  I waved my bottle at the cluster on the dance floor and at the tables with Jess’s grandma.

  “And a billion aunts and uncles.” For me there’s Mum and Dad and a couple of grandparents in Wellington we might see at Christmas.

  “Mum and Dad have lots of brothers and sisters,” said Jess.

  We leaned against the wall at the end of the hall. Jess beside me with her arm touching mine. I could feel the pattern of the lace on my sleeve and the warmth of her body. Luke and Tessa were on the other side of Jess having their own conversation.

  “How many altogether?” I asked Jess.

  “I don’t know.” She counted on her fingers for a bit. “Fifty-three?”

  “And they’re all here?”

  She shook her head. “No. The ones with little kids left after dinner.” She looked up at me, and paused, and for a moment I stopped breathing. I thought I could taste what it would be like to kiss her, lemonade, lipstick, her. It was just a moment. I caught sight of her mother watching us from the kitchen door, the light behind her, a silhouette.

  Jess looked at the kitchen door too then away and concentrated for a while on the dancing heads in the half light. Luke and Tessa disappeared as usual.

  Jess and I kept talking and wandered a bit more. Eventually we went outside and across the road. We leaned against the stone wall at the start of the walkway.

  It was October and cold, but we were away from the hall and it was peaceful, darker and quieter. Music and light still spilled out of the front doors. But not this far, and everyone else was inside.

  “Is that your motorbike in the shed where you practice?’ asked Jess like she was searching for something to say as hard as I was.

  “Yeah.”

  Jess nodded, and I saw her shiver. Maybe we should go back into the hall where it was warm. But instead I moved my arm and put it around her shoulders like I am sure Luke would have done at least an hour before.

  “To keep you warm,” I said while I was wondering how to kiss her. Like I’m also sure Luke would have done an hour ago.

  She turned and smiled. “Thanks.” The word came out in a puff of fog, her lips a perfect shape and parted and close. The lemonade and lipstick, the breath of her whisper, reached me.

  She lifted her hand and traced my cheek. Then raised herself on tiptoes. The lace of her dress brushed my shirt. She touched her lips to mine. I guess she got sick of waiting and had to take matters into her own hands.

  The world contracted to just that moment, lips, warmth, touch, skin, taste, shadow. I breathed in the flavour and sound and the softness of her.

  It was the best thing I can remember.

  She sighed, downward, quietly.

  After an eternity I heard a voice calling out from a distance.

  “Jess.”

  I looked up at the hall. Jess looked over too. Her sister was standing there.

  “It’s Laura. Mum will have sent her to find me.”

  I could see her sister’s head on a swivel, searching. When she saw us, she started down the steps. The music had stopped. The lights were on full, and the hall was emptying itself out.

  Laura stalked across the road towards us.

  “Jess, Mum wants you to come and help clean up,” she said. “And time for
you to go home,” she said to me.

  Chapter Four

  Sunday 10th November

  Yesterday we were all in the shed again. Jess was there too. She watched and smiled.

  Then Mum poked her head in the door. “Isaac, we’re going to Thames. Do you want to come?”

  “No, I’m good,” I said from the pallet stage.

  “Okay. See you later.”

  “Yeah.” After a few minutes, I heard car doors slam and Dad’s car leave.

  About lunchtime, Luke and the others decided practice was over.

  “Do you want a ride home?” Tessa asked Jess.

  Luke’s got a car. I haven’t. I get a ride with Luke or borrow Mum’s if I need one.

  Jess shook her head, “No Denis said he’d pick me up at three.”

  “Want a drink?” I asked Jess when everyone else had gone. She nodded, and we went inside.

  Yeah right.

  This is how it really went.

  I stood there just inside the door of the empty shed, and Jess sat on the saw horse and watched me with those eyes from behind the waterfall of hair.

  This was the first time we’d been alone together. Really alone. And it was going to be for at least three hours.

  She might have realised we’d stop practicing at lunchtime. But when she arranged for Denis to pick her up at three, she couldn’t have known Mum and Dad would be out.

  So, we were alone, and no one knew. Well Luke did. He smirked and patted me on the shoulder as he left with Tessa. I wasn’t sure what Jess thought about this aloneness. Then she left the sawhorse and walked over to me. She slipped her hand into mine. That solved the problem.

  “Do you want to come inside?” I asked. Jess nodded.

  Inside the house, we kissed. We’d kissed before, but this time it was different because this kiss was the prelude, the beginning, the bridge that would lead to everything. Jess had on jeans and t shirt, and I wondered if that was what she wanted for her first time. Shouldn’t she be in a flowing dress or something romantic?

  Jess slipped her hand into mine. “Do you have condoms?”

  I looked at her like she was an alien. I was worrying she might want this to be more romantic, more beautiful, and she asked that? But it was just what she’d say, because she might be quiet, but I’d discovered she didn’t pussyfoot around.

  “Fuck. No,” I said. With a mother like mine, the last thing you’d want to do is leave condoms about the place, even hidden.

  Jess grinned and pushed that waterfall of hair out of her eyes. She’s perfect, with the cascade of hair, and S shape of her body, the legs that go on forever, her lips so red, her eyes somewhere between green and brown. She pulled a couple of condoms out of her jeans pocket.

  “Tessa gave them to me. And that was lucky because you’re not very well organized.”

  Bloody hell.

  Then me and Jess found out about fucking.

  In my room, the curtains cast flickering shadows.

  Hands, mouths, legs entwined.

  Light dancing on our skin.

  Souls touching.

  I never knew if someone you love runs their fingertips over your body it feels like the touch of a butterfly wing. It turns out all the love songs around don't prepare you for that.

  By the time Mum and Dad came home we’d had a shower and were watching TV. Then Denis turned up and Mum recognized him.

  “Is Jess one of that rowdy Murphy family?” Mum asked after they’d gone.

  Monday 11th November

  The rock star thing isn’t a joke anymore. Well not for me anyway. It’s the music. Funny thing about the music though, when I was a kid Mum did the work. She bought the piano and the guitar and the violin. She dropped me off at lessons, picked me up and made sure I practiced. It was her dream then. But, suddenly it is part of me too.

  The other day I bought an effects pedal for my amp, so I could make the massive reverb sound the White Stripes uses. I’m the biggest Jack White fan ever. I live for the White Stripes and their albums and read about them.

  Wikipedia says reverb is the persistence of sound in a particular space after the original sound is removed. That is the coolest explanation for the coolest sound.

  It’s not just me. Stadium doesn’t practice just because Collins wants it now. We want it too, and it isn’t just the Smokefree thing either. We’re really starting to know we’re good.

  A couple of days ago at school, Collins stopped me. “Have you written anything yet, Isaac?”

  “Yeah.” But so far, I’d pretty much only written about Jess. I’ve been writing what I know.

  “Had a go at lyrics?” he asked.

  “Not yet.”

  “Did you watch the DVD?”

  “Yeah,”

  “What did you think of it?”

  “Not bad. That guy Cohen can write.” I went to leave. I had maths in about thirty seconds.

  “You might be interested in looking at a couple of books I own,” Collins said.

  “What about?”

  “Writing songs. If you are, come around to my house tomorrow afternoon. We’ll look through what I have. You’re welcome to anything that interests you,” he said.

  So, that afternoon, I went to Collins’ place, a little villa on Station Road. I knew he lived alone, and the inside looked like it. In fact, it looked a bit like him. Sort of worn around the edges but friendly enough. The whole house was like my bedroom, like music had taken it over. A piano, guitars, and everything else to do with music covered every surface. And books! On the floor, on the table, some were in the bookshelf. Mum would have had a fit.

  “Do you want something to drink before we start, Isaac?” He opened the fridge and pulled out a couple of cans of Coke. Then we went through his books.

  He opened one and started to flick through it. He stopped a few pages in. “This book is about how to structure lyrics.”

  Understanding the Parts of a Song, said the heading.

  He passed the book over, and it was all there. Verse, chorus, bridge. I’d heard the words and sort of knew what they meant, but this book explained it all. Collins left me to read through it while he stuck the empty cans in the bin.

  “Why do some songs have an introduction?” I asked when he came back.

  “Not every song has one, but sometimes you need something to lead you in. You need to learn about how to use one and how it affects the rest of the number.”

  That seemed reasonable. I flicked through a few more pages. Understanding Common Structures.

  “Start with an AABA structure?” I read it out then looked up at Collins.

  “That’s the most common structure. A for the verse, B for the chorus. So AABA is two verses, a chorus, then a verse.” That made sense too. I could think of a few songs structured that way.

  “What other structures are there?”

  And it was like Collins had been waiting years for someone to ask that question. He shuffled back and forth through the books, talking chorus, verse and bridge and AABB, ABCBA. It was like alphabet soup, but it made sense. And Collins knew songs that had these structures. He went to the piano and played them, talking his way through each one.

  I always thought he was cool, but you should have seen him.

  “How come teachers don’t teach this stuff at school?” I asked.

  Collins shrugged. “Probably doesn’t interest too many kids.” Then he moved to the next page.

  We kept going for a couple of hours. It was brilliant.

  “Play around with the ideas,” said Collins as I left to go home. “Once you learn the theory, you’ll get it.

  Chapter Five

  Monday 16th December

  The final run through before the Smokefree thing. I helped Cole move the drum kit onto the stage for the school assembly the next day.

  The setting up wasn’t going well. What idiot thought of drum kits?

  Guitar. Easy to transport.

  Violin. No sweat.

  Keyboar
d. Not bad.

  Drum kit. A million pieces all waiting to fall off and hit the floor with a clatter.

  Collins was no help standing in the aisle watching. “Move it a metre to the left,” he said, about when we thought the drum kit was in the right place. I helped Cole move it again.

  “Never going to be set up at this rate,” muttered Cole. “We’ll be going home at midnight.”

  I laughed. Who cares?

  Tessa and Jess were sitting on the seats half way down the hall. They were always with us now. And Jess was even better in person than she was in my imagination.

  She was fun.

  I liked her a lot. I felt more complete with her.

  We got the drums set up again. Cole sat down. Luke fiddled with the microphone. He was doing all the lead vocals, and was good, all showmanship and bounce. Adam and I could sing, but we didn’t have the sort of confidence Luke had.

  Adam and Noah were in position, and I looked around for the violin. That bloody thing had a life of its own. Never where I put it.

  “It’s down here, Isaac,” said Collins. “I moved it out of the way, so no one would stand on it.”

  Sure enough, there it was on the seat beside him. I hopped off the stage to get it.

  “How are the lyrics going?” Collins asked.

  For the last few weeks, I’d been going to his place for a couple of hours every day. We’d talk about what makes a good lyric, and how it should scan. I learned that just means the number of syllables in each line, and how the melody works with the words. And how the lyrics should show not tell, and avoid clichés and so on.

  It was a new world. It was like you had some control. And there are whole websites that will write the lyrics for you. Feed in the words you want to use, and the site feeds the lyrics back.

  I got the violin out of the case.

  “Hard to come up with an idea.” I put it on the seat. “Anything I think of, someone’s already written.”

  Collins snorted. “All the really great songs are about love or God,” he said.