by Daisy Allen
I wait.
I wait so long it feels like a whole week passes. I try not to watch the clock, but after a while my eyes get tired just from following the second hand around the numbers.
At one point I feel like I dose off, but then I hear her. The sound of her door, far down the hall from mine, sliding open, and then a few second later, her shadow casting against my open door.
I wait for a few moments, my heart already pounding in my chest. Then I slide out of bed, and take the same few steps I did yesterday, to lean against the wall outside the activity room.
Waiting. Again, just waiting.
It's like my whole life has been reduced to this.
Waiting.
Waiting to heal. Waiting to leave.
Waiting for her.
There's the sound of some soft strumming, as she tunes her ukulele. And then it starts.
It’s the song. Ne Me Quitte Pas. She knows. Of course she knows the song.
She was born to play music like this
Music from the soul. Songs of heartache and yearning.
I reply the lyrics in my head, words of promise and hope, of perfect summer days and nights.
Change it to winter, and I'll understand every word of this song to a level that runs deeper than my bones.
I lean my head back, closing my eyes, breathing in her music through my skin.
I have the unique honor and privilege of creating music with some of the absolute best that the world has to offer. Within my own band. Sebastian is a once in a generation cello prodigy. What takes me hours or days to learn, he picks up in a heartbeat. Marius revolutionizes how the world views the viola, and Brad can make grown men cry with a single pull of his bow.
I am blessed every day to have the very best at my fingertips. And they inspire me every time we perform.
But this woman.
She’s given me something I've missed for long.
The element of surprise.
She plays this instrument, this joke of the music world instrument, and creates stories of utter humanity. Out of songs I’ve heard a thousand times, she makes them new again, makes them hers.
It takes everything I have not to go in there.
Go in there and tell her - you're healing me. With every single note, you're single-handedly making me whole again.
The song ends. and I know it's time to go again.
I linger, hoping someone will intervene and bring me face to face again with her.
I know she's not ready.
But when she is, I'll be here.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Noémie
Another evening, another delivered note
Another night of no sleep until I give in.
These songs, these songs of my childhood, that make up my DNA, how does he know them, know their effect on me?
I don't know.
But with scribbled pieces of paper - something is happening.
The image of his face grows clearer. I might've only seen him for a few moments that day he came into my room, but it's like the lines that shape him in my mind are becoming more detailed. The green in his eyes are more pronounced, like they've been run through a color filter. Tiny creases appear along the very corner of his eyes.
The reflection of gold from the strands of hair in his long fringe.
It's like I've seen it all before, and it’s coming back to me. And if he’s to be believed, I guess I have. Somewhere. Sometime.
And he's building it all back in my memory.
Or better yet.
He's making me draw it myself, stroke by stroke, note by note, conjuring from a past we shared but only one can recount.
Who is he?
And when is he going to come back for me?
***
“How do you feel today, Noémie?” The psych resident asks me, as she does at the start of all of our weekly sessions.
“Good. I think.”
“You don't know?” She leans forward, her forearms on her knees, peering at me. Not harshly, caringly.
“No. I mean, I'm not sure.”
“What are you not sure about?” she prods. She’s good at that.
“I feel like I know everything, remember everything. But I guess I don't. You don’t know what you’ve forgotten. It’s weird.” I shrug.
“I guess it can be very confusing for you.”
“It is.” I nod and stare out the window. These sessions are voluntary. They thought I might like someone to talk to, to try to help navigate my injury, my amnesia. Someone to help me deal with having a giant black hole in what I remember about my own life. I don’t know if she’s helped, but it’s good to have someone to vent to. “Do you, do you think you can retroactively create a memory? Something that never happened. Can you create a memory of that?”
"I don't understand, how can you remember something that never happened?"
"I don't know. But... suddenly, I feel like. I feel like I've known someone my whole life. But I have no recollection of them."
"Maybe you have met them, you just don't remember?"
"No, a person like this, I couldn’t ever forget. Maybe I've just always known him, I just didn't know I did.”
“Maybe. Or maybe there’s something in your brain telling you that you want to know him now.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Jez
It’s dark. Anca is asleep in the seat next to me. She’s hugging her bear. She loves that thing. She’s still so mad I tried to hide it from her yesterday, I don’t think she’s let it go all day.
The car is going so fast, I can only just make out the moon peeping out through the tree branches.
Whoosh, whoosh, whoooooosh. They’re saying to me as they whizz by.
I’m glad they’re out there and I’m in there.
It looks cold and lonely out there. It’s nice and warm and toasty in the car.
Mom and Dad are talking about something in the front. Mom’s saying something, loud, like she’s yelling at Dad, but they’re both laughing.
It’s probably about someone at Mom’s work or Grampa saying something silly. They like laughing together about that.
The song in my ear phones ends, and press repeat.
It’s a French song. One off Mom’s old cassette tapes that I used to hear her sing. She has a beautiful voice. Maybe I should ask if she will sing along with me playing cello again tomorrow. It’s been a long time since we did that. Maybe we’ll pick a song Dad likes and can make a surprise concert for him. He’d like that. Of course, Anca will have to be given something to do, maybe she can introduce us. Give her a chance to wear a pretty dress.
I’m sleepy.
We’ve been in the car for a while, we must be getting close to home.
Maybe I can just close my eyes and have a quick nap.
“Mommy?”
“Yes, Jez?”
“Wake me up when we get home okay?”
Okay, baby. You get some sleep.”
Mommy reaches out to pat me on the leg.
Dad turns around and gives me a quick smile, “Sweet dream, Jez. Don’t worry about a thing. We’ll keep you safe.”
I fall asleep to the sound of their whispers.
Warm. Safe. Happy.
I open my eyes, and I’m back in my white room. My pillow is soaked; from sweat, from tears?
It doesn’t really matter.
I just squeeze my eyes tight, and try to fall back to sleep.
Back to my dream.
[R6] CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Noémie
"Your mom called today," Paige tells me, about an hour after she’s been here. She’s spent the time catching me up on her love dramas and how her Dad wants her to start thinking about working for him next year. She still thinks that’s pretty funny.
"Mom called you?"
"Yeah. She didn't want to disturb you in case you were sleeping. And um, I think she wanted me to be the one to tell you."
"Tell me what?"
"The
y, um, they're probably not going to be able to come visit next week, like they planned.” She crunches her face up, probably annoyed she had to deliver the bad news. “I’m so sorry, I know how much you were looking forward to it.”
"Oh." The room suddenly seems darker, like someone's accidentally leaned on the light dimmer, throwing sinister shadows against the walls. I’d been counting the minutes until my family were going to come from Maine. They'd only been to visit once before, right after I was in the hospital. And even in those few days, everything was easier. "Did they say why?"
"Yeah, um, your mom and sister couldn’t get vacation time off like their boss had promised. Something about one of the other workers having to take some sudden time off for sickness."
"Oh." I nod, trying to understand.
"I'm so sorry,” she says again. And I know she is. She’s always been a little envious of my family and loves having them around almost as much as I do.
"It's... it's okay," I say, but it’s not. Suddenly the next day and week or however long I’m stuck here seems that much harder.
"Hey, I'm sure they'll sort something out and come over soon."
"Yeah, sure." I wave off her attempt to comfort me.
"Aaannd, you might not even be here in a week!" Her voice is louder and higher pitched now, like she’s trying to lighten the mood just with her perkiness.
"Yup. Maybe."
"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."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
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.
The singing ends as abruptly as it starts. And in the silence, I'm sure she can hear my breath. But I don't care. It's time. I step into the room, her back is turned to me, and my shadow is cast against her, a me-shaped silhouette, like she is being enveloped by me. I wish.
Her shoulders heave with her deep breaths, her fingers still pointing to the ground where her ukulele lies.
And there's no more time.
"You are astounding," I say. Knowing whatever word I use, it's not enough.
She spins around, surprised but not scared.
She must have known I've been listening all this time. All these days. I take a step forward and my shadow grows smaller, almost fitting completely against the line of her body
"Hi," I say. Like I've said it a million times. "I'm Jez.”
She looks up at me, her eyes scanning every inch of my face, like she's trying to build a 3D copy of it in her head. I don't say anything and just stand there and let her look at me. It gives me the chance to stare at her in turn.
She looks exactly the same. Save for a thinning of her hair on one side, it's like we're back sitting in that side alley three months ago.
And all I'm wanting to do is kiss her.
Her eyes travel back to mine and she licks her lips.
"I remember," she says.
My heart leaps into the air and somersaults. Pumping blood in all directions.
"You remember? You remember me from that night?" Why didn’t she come and tell me?
She drops her eyes. "Oh, no. I... um, you told me your name was Jez the other day, when you came into my room. I mean I remember that." Oh. And my heart plummets. "But...” She lifts her chin and we lock eyes again. “I think I must remember you from somewhere else as well."
I can’t help but smile. There’s something so vulnerable about her, I remind myself to be gentle. I wish I’d thought to do so that first time I went into her room, but I hadn’t known what was going to happen.
"Do you want me to tell you?"
She doesn't answer and just bends slightly to pick up her ukulele and cradle it under her left arm. Each movement is precise, fluid, gentle.