by Daisy Allen
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 my 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 b
ed 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.
What are you going to play? I ask her in my head.
And she replies. With her fingers against the strings.
I recognize the song from the very first few notes. Anyone would. And I'm amazed. The ukulele has become so popular lately, because of the idea that it's easy to learn. But it's so deceptive. Playing it is easy. Playing it well, is downright miraculous.
And what’s happening is just that.
She's attempting to play Rimsky-Korsakov’s Flight of The Bumblebee. No, not attempting, she’s killing it. She's insane. Only someone insane would think to pay this on the ukulele.
Only someone insane could interpret it like this.
I know this piece inside and out, sideways, upside down. I can play it in every key, tone and timing and on four different instruments myself. It’s one of my all-time favorite pieces of music and the band even has our own version, and it brings the house down every single time. Just one minute ago I could’ve told you that I would never hear a version of this song that thrilled me or surprised me as much as playing it myself.
I’ve now changed my mind.
I close my eyes, trying to imagine this mystery woman, bent over a ukulele, her fingers like a tornado over the frets and strings. I can't help but picture myself playing along. A low, deep bass line, with my cello. Fitting together like a hand in a glove. And all too soon, it's over.
But not for long.
She rests for a moment and then the music starts again.
It only takes me a few bars to recognize this song piece as well.
It’s Ram Jam’s Black Betty. She's gone full rogue.
I need to witness this insanity for myself.
I slide out of bed, smoothing my hands over my T-shirt and jeans, and step out into the hall way.
"You okay, Mr. Petrescu?" Toni calls from the nurses’ station. I just wave and take a moment to locate the direction of the sound.
To your right, Jez. And my feet move of their own volition, following the music. Always following the music.
It gets louder as I pass one room, and another and then another. It feels like I've been walking forever. This private hospital isn't like your average ward. Each room is like a giant luxury suite.
White. But giant.
I'm here now.
The music is coming from just behind this door. I lean against the wall for a moment, taking it in.
The ending topples like a cascade of chaotic notes from the instrument. It's thrilling. It's been so long since I’ve experienced something musically new, something musically different. Sometimes I envy the people who hear one of the band's songs for the first time, or experience their first concert with us, because you can never have that again... your first time.
But this – this I'll remember this for a long, long time.
I take a breath and step into the room, forgetting all manners, all etiquette, that I'm encroaching on a stranger's space. In a hospital of all places.
Her back is turned to me, bent slightly over, her shoulder lifting and falling with the movement of her hand on the strings. Her blonde hair is long, pulled into a messy, tangled ponytail. She's dressed in normal clothes, like me, jeans and a T-shirt.
I can't tell much else, except that she's young.
The skin along the back of her neck is taught and pale. We're all pale in here, I can't help but think.
But there's something familiar about her. About the way she tilts her head.
She starts to play another song and her foot taps along to the beat. There's something so welcoming about it, I speak before I can help myself.
"Your... your playing is amazing."
She jumps, her hands stopping immediately and she spins around, her mouth in open in a silent gasp.
And it’s my turn to gasp.
Oh my god.
It's her.
It's the girl in the alley.
No, it can't be.
I must be dreaming. I must have dreamt her into being. Wanted to see her so badly, that I’m hallucinating her. It can’t really be her. Here. Right in front of me.
She's standing up, and stepping back.
It's her. I know it is. I’d know her anywhere.
Say something, you complete buffoon.
"Oh my god, it's you. What are you doing here? I can't believe it's you," I ramble, no control over what I want to say.
My hand reaches out and takes her by the wrist, like it's the most natural thing in the world. And I smile, because, suddenly, everything is okay.
I've found her. She's right here.
Except, she wrenches her hand out of mine and takes three steps back, her eyes suddenly flooding with fear.
"Who are you?" she's asking me, her hand reaching for the call button by the bed.
"It's me," I tell her, confused. "It's Jez," I say, before I remember we never told each other our names. I take a step forward, desperate for her to acknowledge that she recognizes me. What's going on, how can she not remember?
"I'm sorry. I don't... I don't know who you are,” she says, still shaking her head.
Is this a joke? Is she playing? "How can you not...?
"Noémie, are you okay?" Toni says, stepping in behind me into the room.
Noémie. Her name is Noémie. Of course, it is. It’s beautiful and unique. French.
"No. This – this man..” she starts, pointing to me.
"I'm Jez... We're..." I don’t even know how to finish. We're what? Friends? Partners in a urinal crime. "She... she knows me." I repeat, as if that will force her to drop this game and admit she’s just joking.
"No," she shakes her head again, harder this time. "I've never met him before in my life."
Desperate, I look into her eyes, and see nothing that reflects recognition of me in her pupils.
Suddenly nothing is okay again.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Noémie
"I'm sorry, I don't know you," I say again, to this strange man in my room.
This man who’s sucking all the air out of the room. Who he is?
I don’t know him. I know I don’t. But he won't believe me.
I want to tell him, though, I want to tell him, if we had met in the past, there's no way I would have forgotten him. He's the most strikingly handsome man I've ever seen i
n my life. I’m having trouble not staring at him.
"You must! How can you not?! It's me!" He practically runs across the room, leaning in close. Leaning in so close I can smell the gel in his hair, the spice of his aftershave. It's intoxicating. I want to close my eyes and take a deep breath.
But I don't know him.
"My name is Jez,” he says again. “But... you don't know that."
That doesn’t make sense. "I don't know your name, but I know you?"
"From that night... that night in the alley. Remember?"
He staring into my eyes, and I’m finding it hard to tear my own away. He’s making me wish I knew him. But, no. I don’t. I’m sorry, handsome stranger. I don’t remember.
"No. I don’t.” Good. Be firm, Noémie.
"You knighted me. Sir Elbow Jerk? Remember the urinal?"
Oh. Okay. He's crazy. This guy is out of his mind, off his nutter, completely lost every single one of his marbles crazy.
Fucking sexy as hell. But insane.
"I... think you might have me mistaken for someone else,” I say, ignoring the impulse to say that she’s a lucky woman.
"No!" he yells, and his voice is deep and startles me with its force. He moves closer me, intimidating.
And now I'm scared. I flick my eyes over to Toni and she steps forward.
"Mr. Petrescu, let's go, let's go back to your room and let Noémie rest."
"No." He doesn’t move and just stands there, staring at me. Like he’s trying to will me to remember something that he thinks we’ve shared with the power of his mind. If anything would work, I think that would be it. It’s almost impossible to ignore his presence.
"Jez," she says, pulling gently on his shoulder. He doesn’t give her any ground.
"She knows me. She does. How can she not remember?" His voice is raspy, thick with emotion. The look of hurt across his face pierces my heart like an iron poker. I feel for him. I hope he finds the woman he's looking for, that she’s not just a figment of his imagination. She would be a very lucky woman, indeed.
His forehead bunches up and he spins around, like he’s about to storm out of the room. I can’t explain why I half want him to go, and yet, half of me wants him to stay.