Page 25 of Rock Me

"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.