Harmonic Feedback

Grandma made her way down the stairs. She hadn’t said much to me the last few days. Justin and Mom hovered around me practically every minute, asking if I was okay.

“Are you ready to go?’ she asked.

I slumped in my chair. My legs felt like tree trunks. “I’ll never be ready.”

Grandma walked over to my bed and sat down, her eyes combing my face. “I had a brother once. Did you know that?”

I shook my head.

“His name was Paul. He was drafted in World War Two—got shipped to Japan. I was only four years old when he hugged me good-bye, but I remember everything he was wearing that day. Everything he said. He gave me his guitar—a Martin—and made me promise I’d play it. Even if he didn’t come back.”

“And he didn’t come back?”

She lowered her eyes to the floor. “No. He was a prisoner of war—almost made it out alive too. But his friend fell during the Bataan Death March. They’d make the soldiers walk for days without food or water and kill anyone who stopped. They caught Paul helping his friend up, and they killed him for it.”

“What happened to his friend?”

“He survived to tell the story. But even at that age, I remember feeling cheated. Paul was only eighteen. He had his whole life ahead of him, and I never got the chance to know him. It’s hard losing anyone, Andrea. And it’s really hard when they go before their time. So in that sense, no, you’ll never be ready. But it does get easier. You get to the point where you have no choice but to pick yourself up by the bootstraps and keep living.”

I couldn’t imagine that. Nothing felt real. I just wanted to wake up and see Naomi standing at the foot of my stairs again. Begging me to check out her drum set.

“Did you play his guitar?”

She smiled. “I did. Even did a little tour around the country with my sister. We dedicated every set to Paul.”

“Do you still have it, the guitar?”

She nodded. “It’s in my room, and you’re welcome to play it anytime you want. But it can’t leave this house. And it needs to be put back in my room whenever you’re done. Right where you found it.”

“Of course.” I studied her face for a few moments. “Did you hate Naomi?”

Grandma frowned and exhaled softly. “No. She was a troubled girl who needed discipline, but I never hated her. We talked a little when she helped me with the garage sale. She was very smart. The kind of person who could do anything if she put her mind to it.”

I looked at my hands. “People are saying horrible things about her online.”

“People will always talk. But you have her memory inside you. They can’t take that away from you.”

But memories fade, I wanted to say. What happens then?

We went back to Justin’s after the funeral. I didn’t know what was worse—the muted sobs or the overpowering scent of roses. They weren’t even yellow roses. I remembered the way Naomi’s eyes lit up when she talked about the yellow tulips Scott gave her. Yellow was her favorite.

Kari tried to speak, but she choked up halfway through. Roger stood apart from the rest of us, unmoving. And Naomi’s dad had this flat stare the entire time. He reminded me of a blank sheet of paper. Her mom was there too, with her hands over her face, crying.

I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Naomi couldn’t have been in that shiny box. It was too pristine for her. Too clean. She would’ve wanted frayed edges and bright colors. And laughter too. She would’ve hated the tears.

I fell back on Justin’s bed and rolled onto my side. He pressed his body against mine and wrapped his arm around me.

“How’re you doing?” he whispered.

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel. I can’t sit around with wads of Kleenex like everyone else. Naomi wouldn’t want that—she’d probably tell me to laugh. But I can’t do that, either. It’s not normal. It’s not right.”

Justin stroked my arm, his breath warm against my ear. “Nothing feels right at first. And there isn’t a normal way to deal with this. If you need to laugh, do it.”

“If I’d been there Friday night, I could’ve talked to her.”

“What would you have said?”

“I could’ve told her everything I liked about her. How she was the first person to give me a chance in a really long time, how much I wanted us to stay friends. That’s why she got so mad at me and ran off with Scott. She thought I didn’t want her around anymore.”

Justin kissed my shoulder. “Naomi had one foot out the door before you even met her, Drea. Don’t blame yourself. You were a good friend to her.”

“Not good enough. I let her leave the day of the garage sale, Justin. And I knew something was wrong. Why didn’t I go after her?” I punched the pillow underneath me. “I could’ve stopped this. I know it.”

“I feel like I could’ve done more too. What? I have no idea. But I’ve been where she was. The more people tried to help me, the less I wanted it. With Naomi, I hoped that being there for her was enough. That our music was enough. But sometimes nothing is enough.”

Lizzie hopped up on the bed and rubbed her face against mine. Her green eyes looked sad and lost—just like me.

“I don’t understand why anyone would choose to need drugs. I’ve spent my entire life wishing I didn’t need them. I feel like a guinea pig all the time.” I ran my fingers through Lizzie’s soft fur. “I want to know who I am