“Has the doctor said anything?”
“No, he’s going to run some more tests next week to see how… you know, everything’s working. And he’ll decide then.”
“Okay, well, I can come tomorrow, if you want.”
“No. It’s okay.”
I’m suddenly tired. So tired I can barely keep my eyes open. My head aches and I lay back on the couch.
Sleep comes. But it’s harsh and dark, and I wake up in a sweat.
There’s ringing in my ears left over from the nightmares and the sound of screeching and scratching.
In my skull or against a window or on the roads, I don’t know. Something creating friction.
And everything is discordant.
It’s past midnight. I must’ve slept over five hours. Paige is gone with just a bag of fruit left on the table to even remind me she was here.
I rifle through my short-term memory, then remember her telling me my family isn’t coming to visit.
My heart sinks all over again, as though I’ve just heard the news for the first time. I drag my head from the couch cushion and shuffle over to pour myself a glass of water. I drink it down, the whole thing at once, and it’s like a crystal waterfall in my brain, bringing life back into me, refreshing me.
I poke my head out into the hall, and see Robbie sitting there. He sees me and comes running over.
“Hey there, girl, how you feeling? You kinda zonked out there. I didn’t wake you because you haven’t really slept so well the last few days.”
“Yeah, thanks. Um, is there… um, is there something for me today?”
He smiles and hands me an envelope.
An envelope.
Not a wrinkle piece of hastily folded paper.
But an envelope.
I’m silent as I turn it over in my hands. Like it holds some sort of secret I’ve waited my whole life to uncover.
Robbie flicks the switch on the lamp by the bed, flooding me with light. “I’m just going to do a walk around. Hit me up if you want a chat.” I tear my eyes away from my hands long enough to give him a weak smile as he leaves. He’s barely out of the room before I rip the envelope open and pull the sheet of paper out of it, unfolding it to its largest form.
It’s blank.
Wait. What?
I flip the paper over. No, that can’t be right. I turn back again.
It’s blank. Completely blank.
What does this mean? What’s he trying to say?
My heart sinks with disappointment. I don’t know what I had expected, but it wasn’t this.
I’d been waiting all day, to see what his message was to me, to show me he understood me, knew me. And this is what he has for me. A blank page. A nothing. The story of two people who have never crossed paths, exchanged looks, words.
I scrunch up the paper and envelope and throw it hard across the room. Tears spring to my eyes and I don’t know why. I’m angry, or sad, or hurt or lost. I wipe them away, brushing my fingertips hard against my wet cheeks but they keep coming.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” I spit, over and over, as my hands wipe over my face again and again, the tears drenching the collar of my shirt.
But I don’t know who’s stupid. Him for making me feel this. Or me, for letting myself get into this position.
Fuck this.
I jump to my feet and grab my ukulele from its open case.
I don’t care who sees me and I don’t care who hears me
Who needs him? My chin tilts up in defiance. I had music before him, and I’m going to have it after him.
I storm out of my room and down the hallway into the family room, not bothering to pull the door closed behind me. I skid to a stop, right in the middle of the room. Like I’m center stage in a concert starring myself.
And I play.
It’s not a song I’ve ever heard before, or a song I’ve ever played.
It’s new and it’s by me.
About this moment. This exact moment in time.
About all the exhaustion, the pain, the expectation, and the disappointment. All the waiting and the not knowing, and the confusion, and the excitement and the nothing.
It’s all coming out now. The notes are fast and furious. My fingers become numb as they glide over the taut strings, chord after chaotic chord.
Will I remember what I played here tonight? Can I recreate it in the calm of my bedroom later to write down the notes on a pad?
Probably not. But I don’t care. This isn’t about later. This is about now.
The tears stop and my emotions come out in sound. My fingers bring me around to a building chorus, a loop. And somewhere, out of nowhere, my voice joins in.
I sing.
I play and sing.
And I make it alright that I’m feeling the way that I am.
For the first time in the longest time, I feel like I know who I am. I’m not my memories. I’m not my forgetfulness. I’m just how I feel, dictated by nobody or nothing but what is inside me in this very moment.
Then, just like that it’s all over. I drop my arm down by my side and the ukulele slides from my fingertips.
I stand, like a statement to the empty room. I am here. Breathless and all.
The blood in my ears pound, and it’s a comforting sound. A dull thudding, to contrast against the frenetic chords of my song. I take a long, deep breath and tell my heart to calm.
“You are astounding.”
A voice calls to me from the door behind me; I spin around and he is there. He looks just like I remembered. Not from the other day, but from the portraits of him that I drew in my brain.
Every line, perfect. Like a god come to life.
He steps toward me and I surprise myself when I don’t step back.
“Hi,” he says, but he doesn’t hold out his hand. We’ve done that all before, maybe.
“I’m Jez,” he says. And his voice is beautiful.
And I say the only thing I can think of.
“I remember.”
JEZ
She’s on fire.
I knew writing nothing on that sheet of paper would be the right thing. She doesn’t need me to be suggesting songs to her. It was time to give her her wings back.
And she’s taken flight.
My breath quickens following the frantic beat of her playing. So much emotion, so much feeling. I feel like I’m looking into her mind, and the words are written all over the walls, but in a language I can’t understand.
And just when I think, there’s no more surprise, she sings.
My god.
And all the jumbled words start to make sense. They form into clues revealing her thoughts. Whispers. Promises.
Delivered in the voice of a nefarious angel.