I sit there, listening to my own breath, wondering what I can and cannot change.
Anca sighs and pats me on the hand. “Like I said, your choice. But right now, you’re going to get up and drag your ass out here and listen to Brad sing karaoke. And that, my darling brother is NOT a choice. Come on, enough sulking. Time to get back to the land of the barely living.”
She gets up and holds out her hand to me. I sigh and let her pull me to my feet.
“When did you get so wise, anyway?”
“I dunno, sometime around when you were pretending that the dog ate the cake I made for Gramps.”
I blink and try not to react. “Oh, whatever do you mean?”
She punches me on the shoulder lightly. “Yeah right, you left a glass of milk on the table, you ass.”
“Fuck,” I let out a laugh. “Why didn’t you ever say?”
“I was saving it for when I needed something.”
“And that’s now?”
She makes a pained face. “Yeah… please, oh please don’t let Marius sing.”
“Deal. And by the way, the cake was delicious. Totally worth it.” I grin and watch her eyes grow red with anger before running into the other room, my little sister hot on my tail.
Returning to the land of the living.
***
“Here.” Dennis comes up to me as everyone starts to stagger back to their rooms after a marathon karaoke session that ended in one microphone being thrown into the toilet and the HDMI cord cut in two. There’s a folder in his hand.
“What’s this?”
“It’s a file, about the accident. Your accident. About what happened the night the car hit you.”
“Dennis.”
“Jez. It’s time. You’ve spent your whole adult life with me protecting you, making sure you guys are safe, that you guys are taken care of, that nothing can hurt you. Nothing can interfere with your music, your performing. But, if the accident taught me anything, it’s that I can’t be there every second of your life. And I can’t make all the decisions for you. You’re an adult. And I should’ve told you from the beginning who Noemie was. And let you make the decision with all the information. I think we’ve seen, hiding from it, or not remembering, doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen. You should know. So here. Here is everything. This time, make your decision, with all the information. Try to make it the right one, okay. And for the right reasons.”
I stare at the folder in his hand and close my eyes. The scene changing instantly in my mind.
I remember seeing the pedestrian lights change, and stepping off the sidewalk onto the street.
I remember headlights blinding me from the side.
I remember the tires screeching.
And then nothing else, until I woke up in the hospital.
It’s nothing new, I’ve been replaying the scene over and over in my head hundreds if not thousands of times. Sometimes when I’m awake, and sometimes in the dead of dreams.
Noemie said once, there was nothing worse than having everyone else know what happened in your life, and yet have no recollection of it.
How was my experience any different?
There was another side of the story of what happened that night.
But I never wanted to know it. It’s time to see the whole picture.
“Time to take back your life, Jez,” my manager tells me. And I know he’s right.
I take the folder from Dennis and he gives me a grim smile, squeezing my shoulder before leaving me alone.
I wander back to my room, and sit with it in my lap, picking up the decanter from where Anca left it and take a swig.
“Now or never.”
I flip open the folder and see it’s filled with official reports and news articles and tabloid pictures of the scene. There are private photos probably taken by the guys in our entourage of me bloodied and bruised on the bed, the whole band surrounding me, Anca looking tired, eyes red from crying.
My stomach flips and I almost stop. I didn’t want to know about this. I’d been too involved with my own recovery, that I never really thought about the effect it had had on everyone around me.
But it’s not the whole story without them. So I let my heartbeat slow, taking deep breaths before I continue flipping through the pages.
I pull the police report from the pile. Everything, details in black and white.
The date. The location. Pedestrian hit, Jeremy Petrescu. That’s me.
Driver found unconscious at the scene. Severe head injuries to the front and back of her skull. Noemie De Bruyn. That’s her, I remind myself. Noemie was the driver who hit you.
Passenger also unconscious, revived by paramedics at the scene.
Vehicle, car, 2017 Viper Dodge.
Green.
Totaled at the scene.
Patrons at the bar heard the accident and came over, and called the paramedics.
Wait.
Hang on.
I go back and reread the details. No. It can’t be. I flick through the pictures, looking for something to confirm what I have read.
Oh my god.
Oh my god! That can’t be!
I can’t believe it. I grab the papers and run out into the room.
“GUYS! Wake UP! WAKE UP!”
Brad comes running out of his room, Emily follows, tightening the belt around her robe.
“What’s up, what’s going on?”
“I can’t explain right now. Just… get me a car. And grab the others. We have to go, now!”
“Go where?” Brad says, picking up the phone.
“You’ll see!” I yell, running into my room to quickly pack a bag.
“You’re crazy,” he calls after me.
“Maybe. We’re about to find out.”
NOEMIE
My childhood bed in my childhood bedroom is small and creaky.
I can’t turn over in it without waking the whole house, the decades-old mattress sagging under me, and the wooden bed frame moaning as the rusted screws hold on for dear life. It was a hand me down from my older cousin, and probably a hand me down from someone before him.
Except for the bed at the Bellagio, I’ve never known a more comfortable place in my life.
Paige and I spend the first day of our stay here holed up in my room, poring over the hilarious memorabilia of my teenage years. She recognizes some of the people from the pictures in my photo album but the rest is a strange phenomenon to her.