Walking down the street, the wind isn’t attacking the pedestrians anymore.
“Okay, music.” I say looking forward toward down town.
“What about it?” Aaron asks from beside me.
“Music is the single most important thing about the indie scene.” I say.
“So what have I got to learn?”
“Everything.”
“First of all, remember our first lesson?”
“Yeah, don’t do what everyone else does, do what you want to.”
“Yeah, same thing applies here, and in every area for that matter. Don’t listen to the popular radio stations. Collage stations are pretty good. The more you listen to them the more they convince you it’s the greatest music alive. They're lying.”
“How do you know?”
“Because it’s not.”
“What makes music good music?”
“First of all, any music you like.”
“What if I like P-Diddy?”
I turn and look at him, “In that case you leave my sight.” Aaron laughs
“In here.” I say, swerving into a music store.
The features of this shop I know so well: The shop is old and smells like aromatherapy in the 1970’s with unwashed hippies gathering around a fire. The walls are covered in wood with photographs of bands.
I point to the wall, “If you’re anything good, you’ll be up there.”
“Are you?” Aaron asks looking at the pictures.
“Our band isn’t out yet. Our debut is in three days, though. Then we’ll make it on the wall.”
“I don’t recognize any of these people.” Aaron says.
I turn and glare at him with narrowed eyes, “I want you to know I’m holding myself back from slapping you right now.”
“What?” Aaron calls after me as I walk further into the store. “What did I say?”
“You’re digging a hole, stop.” I say turning to one of the cd displays.
Aaron comes up to me; I notice his cheeks are red.
“You won’t any mainstream of known bands here.” I say searching in the cd bin. “Only local or low key artists are here. You got an ep? You give it to the manager, it’s approved? You’re in.”
“So no crap bands?”
“Nope?”
“How do you know?”
“Because I work here and that’s my job, to make sure no crap cds are sold here.”
“Here” I pick up a cd with a picture of a man being eaten by an octopus on the cover. I walk over to one of the listening stations and put the cd in the player. I pick up the helmet attacked to the player and place it on Aaron’s head. He looks at me searchingly then I press play. His face changes. A clam fills him, his eyes seem to light up and the red in his cheeks becomes brighter. I put on the twin helmet. The music suddenly wafts into my head; it seeps to my body and rotates in my chest. The use of the fiddle, the bass player unexpectedly playing the hit beats. Then the voice comes in. Soulful. I feel his sorrows grow in my chest. His very voice seems to be crying from the pain. He’s loved and lost. Far better than what I ever got.
I take off the helmet. The pain lingers with me. I stare out the window. A dog and its owner walk by. In the corner of my eye I see movement. I look and see Aaron staring at me, his helmet placed back on the table of the station.
“Okay, so what was good about that?” I ask him, pushing it all down, my voice not wavering.
“Um the music?”
“What about the music?”
“Erm, the tune was good.”
I sigh,” Be specific.”
“Um I liked the tidily-doo part”
I glare at him. He snorts into laughter.
“No.”
“That wasn’t the right answer?”
“No.”
“What is?”
“Whatever you think it is.”
“Okay, um, I think the right answer is that what made it good was the music working well with the voice, he would sing about love and the music lifted, he would sing about the pain the music changed.” His smile disappears, and his eyes are hard and cold, “It went…Red.”
“Red?” I ask, surprised.
“Like the colour of the inside of you. The colour of raw flesh.”
I nod, “Fine. Now what made the music good in general?”
“I felt it. It was real.”
“That’s exactly it. Real music. Music that is so meaning full in both the vocal and lyrics but in the music itself, that’s what makes music good. Music can be fast paced but still be real, the music can really be moving like the crowd at the concert and everyone is having a great time, but it’s still real because it’s felt. If you can feel music them it’s good. But technically music can be good and right, but my favorites are when you feel it.”
Aaron’s eyes are bright and he’s lips are playing a gentle smile, not arrogant or playful, but soft.
“What?” I ask sharply. His features snap to normal with my word.
That was too much. It’s to close.
YOU ARE READING
Unique
Teen Fiction“What’s your name?” I say opening the box. “Aaron.” He says staring at what I’m doing. “I’m Kayla. But don’t go around telling people.” “Why not?” A smirk comes back on his face. “Names are too mainstream.” I say unscrewing the bottle, I pour one bo...
