Thing was, I could have gotten a job as a pianist at a fancy restaurant, but I was afraid someone might take a photo or video of me playing, and my parents would get wind of my location. It was illogical, but I didn’t put anything past them.
My father saw me as a traitor to the cause. I was a minion of Satan now and he’d do anything to make me pay, including twisting the truth and having me committed. He just couldn’t tolerate Nana leaving everything to me, a sinner.
I was aware I’d developed some degree of PTSD having grown up in a strict, loveless household so I was anxious to get out of here and somewhere less conspicuous. I’d contemplatedcalling my lawyer–he’d helped me several times over the years–but I’d gotten used to taking care of myself.
As I waited for Pooh Bear to show up, I resigned myself to staring out the window. It was afternoon and a few small flakes floated on the breeze as if they were tiny ice-fairies, dancing and spinning to the music only a few could hear. I moved my fingers over the bed to the opening adagio of Vivaldi’s “Winter”.
I sank deeper into my mind, remembering what playing felt like: the smooth and cool coated basswood of the keys against my fingertips, the sturdy stool supporting my body, the echo and minute vibrations of the music penetrating my body and getting the blood flowing. I’d been born with music inside of me, and the mental image of my keyboard was fresh in my mind as if stamped into my soul.
I moved on to the largo of the piece, the mental cords soothing me. I’d gotten so lost in my own head that I hadn’t realized an hour had passed. The lost time stemming from my music was the only way I’d survived the years when I couldn’t physically play and everything seemed so hopeless.
The touch on my shoulder jerked me to reality and I frowned at the man standing over me. It took me a moment to realize it was Pooh Bear, his big green marbles doing a once over on me.
“Sorry I’m late. I had to find you some clothes seeing as the hospital accidentally-on-purpose disposed of what you were wearing,” he said.
I deepened my frown, not ready to talk yet and aggravate my tender throat.
“Oh, they didn’t tell you?” He scratched his beard peeking out from his mask, the whiskers looking well-kept and super soft. I was willing to wager his kisses were just as smooth.
I rolled my head against the pillow.
“In any case,” he started and held up a plastic bag. “I bummed some off of a friend that is closer to your size. I would have loaned you some of mine, but you’d end up looking like a baby wearing a sack.”
I poked his belly through his jacket.
“Don’t you start. We will finish the battle later. Right now let's just get you out of here.”
I offered him a thumbs up because hospitals were depressing, and I wanted to leave. I took the plastic bag from him and stumbled into the bathroom, sure to hold the back of my gown closed. If he wanted to see my ass, he was going to have to work for it.
The clothes he’d brought me were all very nice. There was a pair of J.Crew jeans and a Brooks Brothers long sleeve sweater along with Converse sneakers that were one size too big, but would work for the time being. The boxer briefs were new in the package. The fact that he’d gone out of the way to not only help me, but to buy new underwear was sweet.
It took me longer to get dressed than I’d expected, the activity exciting my lungs and sending me into a coughing spell. It was a reminder that I had a long way to go until I was better. I collapsed on the toilet and pulled my mask down to gulp in air, my throat screaming, my lungs aching.
“Are you okay in there?” Pooh Bear asked through the door.
I tried to respond but another round of hoarking stole my words. As my breathing settled, so too did the coughing and when I was ready, I stepped out of the bathroom. He spotted me and shot up from the chair, scanning me.
“Thought you might have perished before we even got you out of here,” he said.
I shook my head and said in a strained, raspy tone that was barely more than a whisper, “Not getting rid of me that easily.”
He chuckled behind his mask, the corner of his eyes pulling up. “I’ve been going easy on you because you're sick, but you won’t be forever.”
I tossed him an I-don’t-believe-you look and slipped into the jacket he held out for me like a gentleman. I gave him another thumbs up to let him know I was ready.
We walked at a snail’s pace to the elevator because I didn’t want to get overly excited and start coughing everywhere again. I only had so many lungs I could hoark up, after all.
“You sit here in the waiting room for a few minutes, and I’ll go pull around the car. It’s cold out and the parking garage is a bit of a walk for you.”
I nodded and plopped my butt into the closest chair, the walk sapping my strength. Burying my face in my hands, I zoned out, searching for the musical chords of my soul between the coughing and cries of babies in the waiting room.
Only a few more months, I told myself. Then I was free to play in front of the ceiling-to-floor windows of my Nana’s living room, with no one to threaten me. In hindsight, a little pneumonia was nothing compared to growing up in the Fernandez household.
The gentle touch on my shoulder let me know Pooh Bear had brought the car around. It was strange, but sometimes I felt as if I were skipping around in time, unsure of where I was, or exactly what day I was currently in.
When I was in the passenger’s side of his car, I sighed into the seat, the blast of heat warming my permanently frozen bones. He didn’t say much on the drive back to his place and I wondered if he considered me a nuisance. He could have just left me at the hospital with no phone and no way to contact him. Buthe hadn’t and had presumed I’d be staying with him. I wasn’t going to question it because I needed his couch to crash on.
He pulled his car into a little garage and cut the engine. I put a lot of effort into getting out and followed him as he led us through an interior door. Everything was vaguely familiar, and I stood in front of the staircase that seemed impossible to climb.
