Page 108 of Rock Me

They know.

It was always going to be this song, always.

I pull my bow.

The first note screeches, protesting. Months of rust clinging to movements.

I ignore it.

I play another note.

The bow moves more smoothly, my elbow bearing the brunt of these first few movements, my wrist still wary, stiff. The tuning is off, but I don't care.

I'm playing.

I'm playing the cello.

My fingers press down on the strings, the pads causing a deliriously satisfying deep tremor in the sound. The vibrato echoing my jagged breath. I pull the bow faster, my wrist pushing through the pain, to flex and bend. Taking point, dictating the sound.

The song takes form.

Johnny Cash's arrangement of Nine Inch Nail's Hurt. My anthem of hope, of recovery, of reclaiming of self.

I just play. Ignoring the hesitant notes, the accidental screeches, the fumbled melody.

I just play. And the gaps in the perfection fill up with the broken pieces of my soul.

And I just play. Play until the tears from my face drip unashamedly onto the wood of the instrument.

Until my fingers feel raw and torn.

Until the pain in my wrists is from fatigue not injury.

Until every lyric I sing along in my brain becomes the reality.

Until hurt is just a word.

I drop the bow when I'm done and it clatters onto the marble floor, the hairs pulled loose in the chaos, tousled, used.

The cello slips down my body gently on its end piece to lay on the ground, spent.

And I stand, towering over it, master once more.

I can play.

I walk over to the bedroom door and press down on the handle gently pulling it toward my body and peering into the dark room, expecting to see a moonlit silhouette asleep on the bed.

But she's awake.

Sitting on the floor at the foot of the bed, her knees bent to her chest, her head tilted, staring out the window, the lights dancing in the white of her eyes.

She doesn't move as I approach her. Not even the rise of a breath.

I reach out and touch her cheek. It glistens. I lift it to my mouth, and taste it.

Saltwater.

She turns and stares up at me.