by Daisy Allen
I look up at her, “Er, yeah. Sure. Sorry, just kinda zoned out.”
“Did you sleep okay?” She frowns, concern filling her eyes.
“Yeah, um, it was okay.” ‘Okay’ isn’t a lie. On the other hand, ‘long and uninterrupted by nightmares’ would be.
“Ok, well, I won’t stay long, but I brought you this,” she says and holds up a purple book. “I found it yesterday in the living room bookshelf. It’s your photo album.”
“Oh yeah, sure. Thanks.”
“Do you want to have a look at it now?”
I shake my head. “Um, maybe later, I think I might try to have a nap.”
“Oh. Ok, do you want me to leave?”
Yes. “No, it’s ok.”
She smiles and pats my foot. “I’ll go, I’ve got some stuff to do anyway. I just wanted to make sure you settled in okay after the move.”
“Yeah, I’m good. Thanks… thanks for coming.”
She comes over and smooths the top of my head with her hand. “Take care, okay? Let me know if you need anything.”
“I will. Thanks. See ya.”
She grabs her bag and gives me another smile before leaving.
I sink back into the bed, exhausted. I appreciate her coming but each visit just drains me of every ounce of energy I have.
After watching TV for a few minutes, I turn it off. My head still hurts when I'm focusing on a screen, but hopefully, that will eventually fade. Like everything else, I can't help but think. How ironic.
The photo album Paige brought with her is still sitting on the table next to the bed and I reach for it, running my fingertip over the smooth, leather cover. I remember carefully choosing each and every photo I put in it, before my move to L.A., and how the first few months, I practically slept with it under my bed. But it's probably been over a year since I looked at it last.
I turn the front page. and my own face is suddenly smiling back at me. Me and Mom and Dad, on the day of my college graduation. So full of life, so full of hope, fearless about what was lying ahead. Not in a million years, in that moment when the camera lens clicked, did I think four years later, I'd be here.
I close the album. Not sure if I'm really in the mood for reminiscing. But it's not reminiscing, it's exercise, my brain tells me.
It's a Thursday, says the calendar by the bed that Paige brought for me. Each month has a picture of little kittens in teapots. It will relax you, she'd said. In that moment, it was hard not to wonder who was the one with the sore head, considering how many times I'd told her I hate cats.
Thursday, I look at the calendar again. Just to make I haven't forgotten. Not that that really means anything. Every day is just a copy of the day before it, and a prediction of the day ahead. And the only light at the end of the tunnel is that I'm slowly feeling better. And my mind is getting clearer.
Just not clear enough, just yet.
Give it time, they say.
I guess time is all I've really got right now.
I lay back against the pillows, looking around my new room. It's bright and airy. There's much less background noise up here, and if I close my eyes, I think I can almost hear the sound of the wind whispering through the sprouting leaves on the trees outside the window.
My eyes scan over the room, taking note of where everything is situated. Bathroom is behind that door on the right. A stack of drinking cups by the sink. Enamel jug with faded blue flowers on the table. My purple ukulele case on the chair by the bed. I sit up, squinting at it, making sure my eyes are focusing right.
My ukulele, what's that doing here? I haven't seen that since... well, I honestly don't remember since when. I guess Paige brought it with her today.
I slide my legs off the bed and pick up the ukulele case with two hands, carefully. I settle back into the chair and lay it on my lap, staring at it for a moment. It's heavier than I remember, or maybe I'm just weaker. I flip the latch open and it clicks in that way that makes me instantly, involuntarily smile.
I pull the ukulele out and close the case.
My fingers twitch, in anticipation? Out of habit? But for a moment, I'm almost too scared to touch the strings. How long has it been? Two years? Almost three? Will I even remember how to play? I cradle the small instrument in my arms for a moment, like a mother coming home after a long work day, getting reacquainted with the precious child in her embrace.
Do it, Noémie. Don't tell me you're scared of a freaking uke. Try it. Just play.
My fingers twitch again. And I move them closer to the strings.
A tune appears as if conjured from the broken recesses of my brain. Let us try, my fingers tell me. And I hesitate for one last moment before I relent. They strum over the strings. It's wildly out of tune, but I don't care.
I want to do it again.
I rotate the knobs a few turns and run my fingers over the strings again.
Better.
And then I play.
The tune in my head stream from my fingers and are transcribed into song.
I giggle, I can’t help it.
Why am I playing a song known for being sung by a green frog puppet?
I don’t know and I don’t care.
It’s making me happy and I’ve forgotten what that’s like.
CHAPTER SIX
Jez
There's the music again.
Except this time, I'm pretty sure I'm awake. I would pinch myself for confirmation, but I can't reach. I turn at the waist and my left hand makes contact with the nurse at the side of my bed, taking my blood pressure and I poke her, my cast digging into her side.
"Ow! Mr. Petrescu, what was that for?" She glares at me and rubs her skin.
"Really, Mister Petrescu? Still? After you've already seen my butt? Toni, please call me Jez."
"That's exactly why I call you Mr. Petrescu, Mr. Petrescu. I prefer to only call people by their first name if I've only seen their butts in a social context."
"Well, come down to our local pub on a Friday, then you'll be among a whole lot of people who have a high chance of seeing my bare butt in a social context,” I grin, waiting for her to roll her eyes.
"Thanks for the warning," she says, shaking her head as she puts the blood pressure cuff away. "Now, what was the pinch for?"
"I was just making sure I wasn't dreaming."
"No, hun, I really am this beautiful after a double shift and complete with Cheetohs’ dust on my nurse’s uniform." She makes an exaggerated model’s pose.
"You are just absolutely stunning, Nurse Toni. But no, I meant... that music, can you hear it?"
"Yes."
"So, we're both dreaming?"
"No."
"How do you know?"
"Because if I were dreaming I'd be standing beside a bed that had a naked Jason Momoa waiting for his sponge bath in it, not your pale, scrawny self."
I gasp. "I'm hurt!"
"Oh, where? Your arms hurt?" She glances at them.
"No, I meant, you hurt my feeeeeeelings."
She rolls her eyes and one hand comes up to rest on her hip. "Oh, is that all? Those ain’t my department, sugar. I'm purely blood pressure taking and butt sightings, only. For feelings repair, I'll have to call the Boo-boo Doctor. But he's usually pretty busy... in the children’s' ward."
"Ouch. You did it again. I would clasp my chest if I could bend my arms. Do they teach sass in nursing school?"
"No, honey, that's all me." She grins proudly.
"Anyway, back to the music."
"Ah yes, that's a new patient that's just been moved up to our floor. She's been playing the... what do you call it... um..."
Please don't say 'ukulele', I think to myself. That would be too weird considering I was just thinking of Toilet Girl playing the ukulele last night.
"Now, what IS it called, you know,” she circles her finger in the air, as if that will conjure it up in her brain, “... that mini guitar thingo."
Shit.
"A ukulele?" I ask, already k
nowing the answer.
"I guess. Mini guitar works for me."
"A guitar has six strings, a uke only has four,” I tell her.
She just shrugs. "Yeah, you're not convincing me 'mini guitar' is the wrong name for it. Four is mini version of six."
We're quiet for a few seconds, listening.
"She's really good. Don't you think?" I ask her.
"I guess. I'll see if she can play some BB King on it, then I'll decide."
"What's she like?" I ask, trying not to seem too interested.
I get a look before she answers. "The new girl? Why?"
I shrug, "No reason. Just making conversation."
She raises her eyebrows, and I can't help but wonder how she can make me squirm with just a look. She must be hell on her kids.
"She's ... delicate. Don't you be practicing your playboy ways on her,” she waggles a finger at me.
"What's that supposed to mean?!"
"Oh, I know all about you and your ways, Mr. Petrescu...I watch the DMV just like everybody else," her mouth purses, like she's giving me a silent lecture in her mind.
"You mean TMZ?” I laugh, and her lips purse even more. “Don't believe everything you see."
"Did you or did you not get caught on a certain rooftop with a certain person who may be referred to as her royal highness?"
I quickly avert my eyes. "Don't you have some other butts you need to be sighting?" I get a laugh for my trouble. "So, when did the new girl moved up to this heaven on earth?"
"Just this morning."
So it couldn’t have been her I heard last night. And the chance that I'm going crazy increases a bit.
"Okay, Mr. Petrescu, get some rest. You've got a big day," Toni says, patting my right wrist cast gently. "You excited?"
"To be able to scratch my own butt after today? More than you know."
"Uh huh, I'll be glad to not have to be the one doing it as well. I'll come get you when it's time, hun."
"Thanks, Toni. I'll be right here."
She walks over to the door. "Door open or closed?'
I lay back, listening to the faint strum of the ukulele.
"Open, please. As open as possible."
"You got it." I think I see a twitch at the corners of Toni's mouth but she leaves before I can call her on it.
It takes a while for my ears to adjust to the quiet again, but when it does, I can hear the ukulele much more clearly. It's a simple tune she's playing now, sad and somber.
I close my eyes and let it lull me into sleep.
***
Three hours later and there's nothing sad and somber about the noise surrounding me right now. There are eight other people in the room, but it sounds like we're in the middle of a fish market. Yelling and laughing and items being thrown from one side of the room to the other.
It's lunch time, and the circus has come to visit. My three bandmates, their three respective partners, Dennis, our manager and Hailey, his daughter and our PR rep. It’s so loud I’m sure the guy in the coma in the next room can hear us.
"Jez, Jez! Catch!" A soft, plush pig sails across the room and knocks me on the side of my head, for the third time today.
Marius doubles over in laughter at his joke.
"You know, you better get those in, because in half an hour, you're not going to be able to do that anymore, and boy, my revenge is going to be sweet."
"I'm not afraid of you," he says. But he clearly is. He moves over to hide behind his girlfriend Anca, my little sister. She holds out her arms, as if in defense of him.
"Don't worry, Marius! I'll save you from Jezzy."
"Anca," I say, "Do you want me to tell Marius what happened when you were six and ate too much pizza at Euro Disney?"
She immediately drops her arms down and goes to sit in one of the chairs. "Marius, you're on your own."
I grin at her and she pokes her tongue out at me.
I'm glad to see her. She's made this trip from Romania especially to be here today. I know it's been hard for her these last few months, being so far away from me when I’m holed up here, but she has her own life, one where she's happy and finding purpose doing what she's doing. I watch Marius go over and lay a soft kiss on the top of her head, and I think I'm finally used to seeing them together. Not that I don't still secretly tell him every few weeks that if he ever hurts her, I’ll rip his balls off.
"Hey, watcha thinking about?" Cadence asks, pulling a chair to sit by the bed. Cadence is Sebastian's fiancée and a collaborator on our last two albums.
"About Marius’s balls," I tell her, honestly.
"Sure,” she nods, “I mean, I guess it's your turn. I thought about them yesterday," she jokes.
"Wha?" Sebastian yells out, from his perch on the end of my bed as he flicks through the channels on the TV.
"It's okay, babycakes, it's your turn tomorrow." She reaches out and pats him on the back before turning back to me.
"You ready for today?"
I'm not surprised she's the one to ask me, having adopted the role of mother hen since she came into our crazy little group. Truth is, I'm not really sure how I feel. I don't really want to admit to her how much time I've spent wondering if there's no coming back from these injuries. And that while they're still wrapped in these casts, I can pretend that everything is going to be okay. There's no hiding from the truth though, once they come off. And no one's been able to guarantee that I'm going to be able to play the way I use to. I say as much to Cadence, and she listens and gives me a kiss on the cheek when I'm done.
"We'll be here. Every step of the way," is all she says. And I don't really think there's anything else to say.
“Mr. Petrescu," Toni says, from the doorway, taking in the scene of chaos in front her and just shaking her head. " Are you ready? It's time."
I watch as my bandmates and their girlfriends all stand up, suddenly silent.
"He's ready," Anca says, coming over and putting her hand on my shoulder.
And I guess, it's now or never.
***
"How do you feel?" Sebastian asks an hour later once we're back in my room.
The cast removal process had been quick and painless. The doctor had looked me over and asked me to perform some simple movements, some doable, some definitely not and sent me back to my room complete with cheering entourage.
"I don't know, to be honest." I look down at my cast-less limbs. My arms feel like they're disconnected from my body. I can lift them, slowly, up to my shoulder height and lay them flat against my body, which they haven't done for three months. But it doesn’t feel as though I'm controlling them. I try to squeeze my left hand, the one that bore the brunt of the injuries but I can barely bend my fingers a few degrees without the stiffness kicking. So, at this point, I don't know.
"The doctor said it is going to take a while to regain your strength and full motion," Anca says, trying to reassure me.
"Dude, I have bigger biceps than you for the first time ever," Brad notes, giving his arms a flex, and gets a slap to the back of the head from his fiancée Emily.
"Can you do this?" Dennis asks, rotating his wrist.
I copy him with my right wrist, the broken one, and a sharp, almost blinding pain radiates down my fingers and up to my elbow.
"Fuck." I curse. And I try it again.
This time the pain is even worse and lasts longer, and my body breaks out into a sweat.
"Fuck! No! I can’t!”
"Hey, hey, hey, it's okay, you've had the cast off for ten minutes. Just because it's off doesn't mean you're all healed. It's going to take a while,” Dennis tries to comfort me.
“I don't want it to take a fucking while, I've been here for three fucking months already. Enough!!” I yell, the frustration boiling up, beyond my level of control.
Everyone goes quiet, and I lay back, not wanting to see their faces. I don't want pity.
I just want to get on with my life.
"Jezzy," Anca says, laying a hand on m
y shoulder. It takes every last ounce of self-control not to shake it off. I know they're here for me, but they're not the ones who've been laying in this bed all this time. They can only understand so much.
I take a breath, and look at my sister. "I'm sorry, I..."
She waves the apology away. "Do you want us to go?"
I don't say anything, but they know me well enough. I can see them giving each other looks, and then they break apart, preparing to leave.
"Guys, I'm sorry, I'm just really tired, I haven't been sleeping well."
"It's okay, we'll let you rest,” Marius says, patting my foot. “We'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"
"Yeah. Okay. See you then."
I close my eyes and try to ignore the sounds of them whispering amongst themselves as they gather their things to go.
"I love you, Jezzy," Anca leans over and whispers to me, and I force myself to open my eyes to give her a smile and not notice the concern in her eyes.
"Love you, ‘lil sis."
The room is quiet again, and my arm aches. I sigh and sit up, reaching for the button to call for the nurse to give me something to make it go away.
But then it starts again.
The music.
There are a few notes, they're... hesitant, choppy. There's a pause and a few notes again. Like she's listening for something. The tuning.
It's a little sharp, the pitch alarm in my head warns. And there's a pause. And then another note. And another, slighter flatter. And then... yes.
Bang. Perfect.
I can't help but smile, finding the perfect pitch is like fitting the final puzzle piece. It fits right where it should. Anything else is wrong.
I pull back from the call button, and settle against the pillows again. She must be tuning because she's about to play something, and I find myself holding my breath, waiting.
