Bassline

Syl smiled as she entered the beach house. The rumble of the bass guitar welcomed her home, and the house keeper Rita came to greet her in the front hall. Not for the first time, she had to remind herself that this was still her brother's house, though he had been kind enough to let her and the kids stay as long as they needed.

That's what family was for after all.

But that sentiment never stopped her from feeling like she was imposing. She made a mental note to start looking for a place for her and the kids, maybe when preparations for the new tour coming up were done. Not an easy task with the city's current strict zoning laws.

Rita would miss the kids though, Syl realized as they walked together down the hallway. The house keeper joyfully recounted the children's antics for the day; how Cabot had gotten peanut butter in Jet's hair, and Aniela's excitement at the purchase of some new tack for the horses. The thump of the bass followed them like a movie soundtrack.

The scent of something savoury washed over her like an ocean wave as they entered the kitchen. With a proud smile, Rita announced that dinner would be ready soon.

Syl nodded and went to get the kids.

Jake and Valentine were easy enough to find; she followed her ears and tracked the bassline to the living room. They were sitting on the couch by the giant picture window (really just a huge piece of glass that would have been a wall in any other house) that framed the sea and sunset outside.

Valentine looked up and smiled, never missing a beat as her fingers thumped the strings. Syl caught the reggae bounce in an otherwise distinctly rock-style bass riff, and smiled back. Her father would have been proud.

Jake smiled along with them, "Val's awesome, isn't she?"

"Definitely," Syl agreed, chuckling. "And it looks like you're hogging her talent all to yourself."

"Hey, it's not my fault she won't join a band!" The boy protested in his defense. Still chuckling, Syl ruffled his hair to let him know she was just kidding.

"Nothing's come up," Val explained, shrugging nonchalantly while her fingers continued to slide along the strings, as if controlled by a subconscious part of her brain. "But then I really haven't been looking lately."

Syl knew why and gave a worried frown, but said nothing. Val would figure out what to do in her own time.

"Is Aniela out at the stables again?" It wasn't really an question.

"Yeah, Cab and Jet went with her," Jake added, grinning. "They wanted to try teach football to Pedro again."

Val chuckled and her bass music shifted slightly from a little less rock to a little more reggae. Pedro was the pony their father had reluctantly bought for them the first time they had spent Christmas at the beach house.

"Well, you're gonna have to be referee then, Jake, and tell them the game is over. Rita's almost ready with dinner."

"Okay!" He hopped off the couch, and dutifully ran off to play the authority figure to his younger brothers.

"Get your sister too! And don't forget to make sure they wash up!" Syl called after him, but wasn't sure he heard.

She glanced over at Val. The girl stopped playing and lay her bass guitar on the couch, trying not to chuckle at her aunt's worried look. "I have a bad feelling they're all going to show up at dinner smelling like horse."

Going On...

The room felt strange despite its familiarity. She'd never been in this specific room before, but she recognized the layout and equipment set-up. Four solid, sturdy walls for acoustics and sound-proofing. Sparse furnishings as not to dampen the sound. A basic multi-track recorder, not as advanced as one in a recording studio, but good enough for decent quality playback. A small collection of various musical instruments for those who wanted to experiment or just couldn't bring their own. Mid-sized speakers in every corner. Mic. Music stand. Plain wooden stool.

She knew the room; she'd been in a thousand rooms just like it. But those rooms felt like they belonged to a thousand other lives.

She opened the guitar case at her feet. Light flashed off the black gloss finish of the hollow, wooden body within, as she reached in to lift the guitar out like a friend who had fallen down. She had still played over the last few years, but not in the same capacity she once did. There were the occasional family get-togethers, the requests from Jake for a song, the quiet nights on the deck of the beach house plucking an accompaniment to the rhythmn of the waves.

How long had it been? Over twenty years since she had walked out of that Toronto music shop with a brand-new shiny black acoustic guitar? Back when the world was an adventure she couldn't wait to begin, when she wanted to sing to the world and hear it sing back.

The stages, spotlights and roaring crowds felt like a dream now.

That was a different world and a different life.

Settling herself onto the stool, she flipped open the battered folder on the music stand. Years expressed in notes and staves on the page looked back at her, waiting to be sung. The song she co-wrote with Faith's father peeked out behind lyrics dedicated to the memory of her first love. Beside them, an incomplete melody for her late fiancé begged for a bridge and final verse, while the corners of a silly parody penned by her deceased band mate curled around it as if attempting an embrace. The music seemed to hold its breath, waiting for permission to exhale.

She adjusted the mic, sliding her fingers onto the familiar frets of the guitar, and took her own deep breath.

No matter what happened, no matter who lived and who died, life kept going on.

Strumming a simple chord progression, she began to sing a random melody.

Time to go on with life.