Why did Jeffrey Tifton love music? Easy. His world was created through solid rules, but he didn't have to intentionally think of ways to put the chaos at bay. Those rules came into circulation through pure blind emotional guidance. Like everyone else, he lived a life of tension and resolve, and he had found the patterns for building and releasing the tension. He found his personality was represented through a melody, and all of his outside connections were accompanying harmony and countermelodies to help him grow and diminish. And, much like Bach and most of the classical era, he had a four part harmony included in his life. That included the multi-dimensional, ever-changing, all-knowing, and unconditionally loving Penderwick sisters. He could listen to a Handel concerto and instantly know what voice matched with each sister. Every piece of music was slightly different, but he had associated each sister with a certain harmonic line. Rosalind was the bass line; she moved the piece through the key, the mood, the build. If she chose to ascend, the rest of the sisters would compensate, and if she chose to fall, the sisters would go down with her and try to bring her back up through non-chord tones and chromatic passing lines. However, she always made it to the tonic in the end. Batty was the alto; She liked to go with the flow, keeping a steady pitch through each chord change, but she had the power to shift in the slightest, and create a whole new dimension to the music. If she chose to use a raised fourth for a secondary dominant function, she indicated that the piece was rising to an emotional climax, and that every sister should be prepared. She connected strongly with Rosalind — the two were inseparable — and complemented Rosalind's decision with almost unwavering support. The music got the most interesting when she decided to deceive, and the piece grew the most after her renegade build and resolve. Jane was obviously a tenor line. It was pronounced, rich, deep, and complemented every other voice. It soars high and sank low; she was not governed by the rules of range. She could separate from Rosalind as far as she wanted to, soaring into multiple ledger lines, and nearly making it into an entirely new clef with her dramatic cries and passionate counterpoint. She lead the other voices toward true resolution. She anticipated the denouement of a song, and initiated the journey towards it, dragging even the stubborn Skye with her towards that final fermata. And Skye? She was a soprano. Her head was constantly stuck in the clouds. She was independent, constantly breaking the pattern Rosalind had established, and she defended her sudden rebellion with war cries of trills, and haunting dynamics and awe-inducing phrases. Her sisters never failed to accompany the errant Skye, and guide her path through the song. Skye analyzed where each sister moved, and stubbornly decided to move in the very opposite direction.
Jeffrey heard the sisters in the music. Jeffrey listened to the memories and reflections in every baroque score he analyzed, and connected every sequence of descending fifths with Rosalind either suggesting an adventure in Quigley Woods, or Skye bringing her telescope to the most bizarre of places to look at the stars. He looked upon those memories with a slight smile, but he knew the best music was what lay head in the classical period and beyond.
Chopin was the only composer who could musically comprehend how all of the relationships between the sisters made sense. He wrote ridiculously fast waltzes to portray their brief but exciting brawls over room choice on vacation and who got the biggest slice of Rosalind's pineapple upside-down cake. His preludes were the mad morning scrambles before school, with Jane doing her last-minute studying, Batty trying to find her stuffed elephant that she always brought, and Skye being her usual pugnacious self in the morning before her second cup of coffee. And Chopin's nocturnes explained the love between the sisters. Everybody raves about his opus 9 nocturne in Eb; it may be beautiful, but it's not the shining star of a piece that truly beings the light of reality on the Penderwicks. Jeffrey firmly believes that op. 37 no. 2 is the piece that shows the love in its rawest form. It directly paints the picture of the family sitting around their quaint and quirky fireplace made of mismatched stones, and many a scuff-mark and bloodstain (Mr. Penderwick used the place as his nursing station for scraped knees). It shows the simplicity of how easily the family blends and bonds over hot chocolate; talking is at a minimum, the noise at a soft decibel, but everything is shown through Rosalinds moving base, Skye's reserved melody, and Jane's beautiful resolution. Jeffrey calls it the "Hearth Nocturne."
Of course, Skye has heard all of this before, and her favorite reaction to it is to hit Jeffrey over the head with a roll of paper towels. That tradition first came into play when he tried explaining diminished seventh chords in a grocery store in Maine.
She didn't have to hear it again though; maybe it's better it's not at the forefront of her brain whenever she's bonding with her sisters; it allows Jeffrey to look and see the love in its most innocent, most puerile, most untainted form.
He was perfectly content watching from his place at the piano bench at the Penderwick home, a small and mysterious simper on his face. The person who was closest to figuring out the enigma of his smile was Jane, and even then she couldn't comprehend the lightness he felt when being around the merry band of sisters.
However Skye understood the overwhelming feeling of being in the whirlwind of love, yet not being fully immersed in it. Jeffrey had a lifetime of distant mothers and imposing stepfathers that founded the barrier between himself and being in the middle of it all. He liked analyzing from the side, finding the right music to set the feeling, to describe the motion, to discern the moment and the reasons why people came together like this. Skye had the lifetime of hurt from a late mother to expand the barrier between herself and pure childlike love. She enjoyed watching from the side and breaking down the logical reasoning behind emotions, and what triggers caused certain moments; she used analysis to hide the fact she couldn't feel an overwhelming emotion — it was always blocked by the need to comprehend, to solve, to analyze. She couldn't let go of all the control and discipline she mercilessly acquired through soccer drills and prime number recitations just to give into a simple emotion.
During family reunions and unexpected visits, during school recitals and awards ceremonies, the Penderwick family gathered in the living room to congregate in celebration. Jane was in the center, waving her arms with a flourish and recounting the story with her creative author's touch. Rosalind offered refreshments and kept the children entertained. Jeffrey sat at his rightful place of the piano bench, finding the music. The joyousness of family — Mozart maybe? It was his customized bench after Rosalind had sewed him a gorgeous needlepoint design of music notes, stars, and tendrils of flames surrounding the words "Penderwick Family Honor." Skye brought her stool over to the side of the piano. The stool was the exact height needed to adjust her telescope for any approaching meteor shower or comet revolution. Batty had painted it dark blue with a silver trim, and neon green stars. Skye knew stars weren't green, but she didn't reprimand Batty as badly as she could because Batty was so thoughtful, and Skye thought the color of the sparkling arbs matched Jeffrey's eyes. The two recluses sat in a corner during the family gatherings and watched with slight envy disguised as pretentious contempt. Well, they judged until a poking match started.
The only way to describe Skye and Jeffrey's relationship was through the French Impressionists. When walking together, they fell into sync with a lighthearted cadence much like Ravel's "Bolero." It was slightly humorous, a type of satirical military march. Skye and Jeffrey walked together as if they were soldiers in a war against the rest of the irrational world. They were military comrades, moving onwards in daring adventures on the rolling hills and ubiquitous coastlines of Massachusetts.
They wove through and past and around each other in a flurry during soccer drills, Much like in the Allegro of Ravel's Sonatinas. The building suspension of one person getting towards a goal while the defense watched helplessly until a spontaneous plan erupted that caused the ball to never truly reach the goal. They darted through trees, they tripped each other, they trash talked, they wagered chores, money, homework assignments, and humiliating stunts. Soccer games were war when Skye and Jeffrey played. Skye loved the exhilarating feeling of trying to outrun Jeffrey. She loved how she didn't just run in a straight line while playing soccer. She had to plan geometric strategies on the spot in order to steal the ball, maneuver around the obstacles, and push Jeffrey to the ground in order to score. Jeffrey felt the rhythms when running. Because he had to run around in random patterns much like Skye had to, he hears rhythms overlapping — sixteenth notes turning into sixteenth triplets, seventouplets occurring randomly, thirty-second runs as he turns around, hemiolas as he twirls around trying to find the camouflaged Skye again.
Jeffrey felt "Tombeau de Couperin" in his heart as he looked at Skye as well. The rush of pride, the ascending arpeggios of gratitude, the fast pace of their soccer wars and fake hate. The sudden range jumps being their quick-witted insult matches which ended up with stomach-rattling guffawing due to the escalation from "dork" to "squalid cactus" as both people ran out of true insults to throw at each other.
Jeffrey felt like he was spiraling down an imaginary corkscrew stave whenever he laughed with Skye. He felt Debussy arpeggios, he felt like dancing, he felt like playing, he felt like dancing while he played. He felt like shutting his eyes and absorbing Skye's presence, basking in her conspiracies and ludicrous analysis. He absentmindedly nodded along to her rants about the ignorance of high-schoolers and romantic myopia and the difference between intellectual art and emotional rubbish, and hardly retorted because he just enjoyed listening to her. Skye was music of her own, close to Debussy's "The Girl with the Flaxen Hair." Her stubborn and fierce and loyal and intelligent and scintillating personality created a type of music influenced by Bach, influenced by Chopin, influenced by Ravel, influenced by Debussy, but still entirely her own.
Jeffrey wants to capture that. If he can't explain in words, he'll explain it in music. He'll eschew tonality, much like how Skye eschews femininity, and create the whirlwind of her presence when she returns home to cool off after a soccer match, and. He'll touch gently upon the keys in the same manner she holds when she gawks at the stars. He'll keep it mathematical, logical, unique, and utterly passionate. He'll create a symphony out of a piano because Skye makes a family out of a person.
Jeffrey thought Skye didn't look past his easy nature and good humor. She did. She's an analyst, and he's the most fascinating subject she's ever studied, from his appearance to his idiosyncrasies to his odd display of emotions.
He's gotten handsome over the years. A relaxed and approachable face, with a thousand eyes spattered on his face, a ski slope nose, and rose-pink lips. His tousled hair has not changed since childhood, and all of the little Penderwick cousins love playing with his hair when he's around. What Skye loves most about his face though are his eyes. His eyes are not just green. They're fern, they're emerald, they're granny smith apples, they're ancient Asian Jade, they're green pearl, they're a golf course after it rains. Skye has a favorite coffee shop she walks to in times of stress studying. Jeffrey often meets her there and studies with her. She loves that coffee shop because it's peaceful, kitschy, and classical music constantly plays over the speakers. She loves that coffee shop most of all though because there's an "Open" sign that turns on during the cold winter nights, and that exact shade of neon green is what Jeffrey's eyes look like. They light like a fire on the coldest and most stressful of winter nights, and they sparkle for her in her caffeine-induced Xanadu.
He's a sucker for a lighthearted laugh session, but gets a quiet and far-off look during serious conversations and genuine compliments and sentimental birthday speeches. Sometimes, not very often, he completely astonishes Skye with a rare bout of seriousness of his own. He drops a phrase that stuns her silent, and he walks away with that incorrigible and utterly Jeffrey enigma of a smile.
Jeffrey is bound by the strict rules his parents imposed on him as a child. He can never break away from the rule that you don't share your genuine emotions out loud. He can never break away from the obsessive need for control and structure. However, the Penderwicks have softened those stringent mannerisms, and he's learned how to compromise and find a happy medium in which he can be passionate. That's what his music is for. When he plays, he plays by the sheet music rules note for note, metronome beat by metronome beat. He reads the music and follows it like a soldier in training. He woodsheds any difficult parts until it's mastered, memorized, and worthy of the most fastidious music professors. It may be perfect technique wise, but he also brings the element of musicality in a very special way. The lilt of his fingers, his sudden stops and starts, his subito dynamics, and most importantly his deft articulation is what helps Jeffrey and his music become one. He believes in how a note is played, and not what it's surrounded by. One note can be played a million different ways — it has endless permutations. That's why music is eternal and loved by many. Skye has tried calculating how many permutations is possible in music because there's only twelve know pitches. But the answer is unknown to her because even the same piece played by one person can have as many as a thousand permutations due to the musicality aspect.
Skye is in absolute awe of how Jeffrey can tackle those kinds of numbers. They're not just numbers and mathematical fractions and patterns — the order in which they're played is what causes Skye to lose understanding over everything. She's happy just being surrounded by his sound. Bittersweet, cryptic, and layered. Everybody thinks they know Jeffrey — he's just a musical, fun-loving dork. Skye knows better than that, though. He's the most tightly-shut book she's ever tried to open, encumbered with the weight of many bindings and illegible print. Even if she hasn't read him cover to cover, she's read the prelude.
Earth was a lucky creation. Skye was a lucky creation upon the lucky creation. she had a near nonexistent chance of being born, yet here she was. Though she's thankful for the life she's been given and is in debt to the Earth because of it, she still searches for the otherworldly. Her interest in the abstract concept of numbers and how they can be applied to numerous other planets that had just as small of a chance of being created is vast and cannot be matched. Her interest in beyond is not matched, but Jeffrey comes damn close. He has the Earth in his freckles, vines in his veins, stars in his eyes, fire in his heart, air in his fingers, and spirit in his smile. Though he may be grounded, he's susceptible to Skye's passion towards space, and she's susceptible to his view of the roots of Earth.
A paradise pairing for two ethereal earthlings.