Page 41 of Rock Me

He copies down the letters I dictate and holds it up, sounding out the words.

"’Nee mah kwitte paz’. Would you look at that? I can speak frenchie."

"Yeah, you speak French as intelligibly as I write it, right now."

"Well, then, I deserve a thumbs up for trying."

I hold up my hand, my thumb pointing sideways, while my other fingers curl into an ugly array of talons. But it’s something.

"One day at a time, man. One bloody day at a time." He pats my legs, reassuringly. “Hey, why don’t you try this for some motivation? Use your ding-dong like a squeeze toy, bet you’ll be grasping that thing so tight you’ll be able to pull it right off in no time.” He throws his head back and I’m pretty sure the whole floor can hear his deep, belly laugh.

"Just go deliver the fucking note, Potty Mouth Postman."

He gives me a wink before he strolls out of my room like he owns the whole damn place.

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.