“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, Noemie. 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.
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.”