Page 54 of Rock Me

We both spring apart so fast, there's almost a sound of tearing.

"WHOA, man! Cool it with the lights!" I say as we both raise our hands to shield our eyes.

"To hell with that. Back to your rooms, you two! Damn, like a pair of teenage delinquents!"

Noémie jumps to her feet, her hand wrapped around the neck of her ukulele, avoiding my eyes.

"Nuh-uh! We were just talking," she argues, straighten her clothes.

"That's not what it looked like to me!"

"Yes, sir, we're sorry," I say, as we file out of the room and Robbie flicks the light off.

"Yeah, that's the last time I deliver notes between you. Like I'm the goddamn funny friend at high school trying to get you two together.” He mutters under his breath as he watches me stop at my room, then leads Noémie down the hall to hers.

She turns just as she reaches her doorway, and sees me still standing there, waiting. She lifts her hand in a small wave, and then steps into her room. Robbie comes back into the hallway and shakes his finger at me, and gestures for me to go to bed. I wander into my room, happier than I have been, for longer than I can remember.

***

The nights are always the hardest.

But not tonight.

I press the button than bathes my room in complete darkness. I turn on my side and press the play button on the recording on my cell phone.

The sound isn’t perfect, but it’s enough.

I listen until the end. Then I replay the audio.

And I fall asleep, to the sound of a ukulele and a girl. Singing about love.

***

"And one more time."

"You're serious?" I ask my PT. The complete lack of humor on his face tells me he is.

I lift my arms straight up to the sky and then lower them slowly, inch by inch down against my body.

"Now the bend."

"I hate the fucking bend." I hiss.

"I care, oh so not at all."

One at a time, I bend my arm at the elbow and lift my forearm until it's perpendicular to my body. It's stiff and takes some force and effort to keep it at the angle.

"And down," he says. Music to my ears as I lower my arm back down. "How does it feel?"

"Like a barrel of laughs."

“I'm not sure how many laughs that is,” he says, as he grabs the bands from his bag of terror.

"It's none. No laughs. Zero. Zip. Zilch. Because the barrel has a leak in it."

"That's actually one of your better ones."

"Thanks, I have plenty of time to think them up, cooped up in my room."