Page 49 of Rock Me

She bursts into laughter for almost a whole minute and I join her.

"We really sound like a couple of real catches,” she pants, trying to catch her breath.

"Yeah, anyone would be happy to have either us." In that moment, I can't help but think of her boyfriend. And where he is, and if she remembers him at all. Or if I'm the only man who's fallen through the cracks in her memory.

"Jez?"

"Yeah?"

"How did you know I don't like falafels?"

The question is loaded. And I want to answer too much, but I also don’t want to fuck this up and not respect her wishes from before.

"Do you really want to know?"

She doesn't say anything, but there's a longing in her eyes. So I make a decision.

"You told me."

"I did?"

"Yeah. You said if you never had a falafel again for the rest of your life, you’d could live with that. You said that your day had been spent having 30 second conversations with strangers about beans and garlic sauce. It's too bad, though, that you don't like falafels ‘cos I heard Frederico’s makes really good ones." I smile, remembering.

"I told you where I work?'

Damn. Busted. I could lie... but I don't think I ever could to this woman. Not like this. Not to take advantage of her. So I tell her the truth.

"Um, no. You didn't actually tell me that. I, er, I tracked you down. Based on some of the things you said."

"You tracked me down?"

I just nod. I don't know what else to say.

"Wow. Weird. Why?"

"I… don’t think you want to know.” I tracked you down because after knowing you for ten minutes, I couldn’t see a future of my life without you in it. And now you’re here. And I’ll do anything to make sure I never lose you again.

"Jez?"

"Yeah?"

"I think I've had enough of reminiscing again. Let's go back to our pact."

I let out a soft chuckle. "Okay, I can do that."

It's quiet again. But not awkward. It's hard not to get lost in the past, me thinking about what happened that night. And her, trying to figure out it all. If I’m this confused I can only imagine how hard it is for her.

So, I try to make it better

"Noémie, you play the ukulele beautifully. You really, really do."

She smiles, and her hand strokes along the curve of the instrument in her hand with a love I understand as a fellow musician.

"You really think so?” There’s nothing to do but nod. “Thank you. My grandpa taught me."

"Wow, he played?"

"Yeah. When I was little, my grandpa used to take care of me when my parents were at work, and I'd spend the whole day following him around like a little puppy. He had a collection of ukes, but there was one, one special one that he kept by his armchair. It was the only thing he brought with him when his family immigrated here from Belgium when he was 7 years old. He loved that thing."