Page 30 of Rock Me

“Open, please.” I want to be able to hear if she plays her ukulele again.

Toni gives me a wink as she leaves and makes a head tilt towards the squishy ball left on my table.

Subtle, Toni.

I spend the next hour playing back the two conversations I've had with that mystery woman in my head. The things we talked about that night, and the conversation we just had.

I play back her words, ‘everything you're remembering? It didn't happen for me. I don't remember. And I don't know you. So please, do the same for me. Forget me. Like I’ve forgotten you.’

I wince every time I remember the look in her eyes, of complete and utter lack of recognition of me. No. I don't buy this amnesia shit. You can't forget... you can't forget something like that night. The connection we had was once in a lifetime.

Even now, I can smell her hair, the way her eyes, tired and slightly bloodshot, reflected the moon whenever she stared up at the sky. The way she felt against my body when I carried her out from the club. The way her neck tilted away from me, when I sat next to her, talking. The way my body grew hard at just the thought of kissing her. Of taking her, of making love to her.

Fuck.

I’m hard again right now, just thinking about it.

After all this time, she still consumes my thoughts. My mind, my body.

How could that be one way?

How could she forget it?

There must be something left in there that will remind her of me.

I absentmindedly reach for the ball, my hand instinctively trying to curl around it. But my fingers freeze; stiff and sore.

"Fuck!" I yell, throwing the ball across the room. My elbow cracks from the sudden movement but I barely feel it as I watch the ball collide with a vase on the window sill and it all comes tumbling down, crashing onto the ground.

"Jez." A voice by the door startles me.

"Oh. Doc."

"What's going on?"

"What's going on is my hands and my arm are fucking useless.” I hold them up as evidence. “You said I'd be okay. You said you would set it so it would heal and go back to normal. Two fucking surgeries, Doc. Were they for nothing?"

He comes over to the side of the bed. "Jez, I told you, that you would have a high chance of a complete recovery. Your left arm broke in two places and your wrist was fractured and two of your fingers were shattered. Your right arm splintered at the elbow. These are serious physical injuries, not to mention your lung and ribs. You have to be patient. It is going to take time."

"How much bloody time? It's been almost three months! And I can't even squeeze a bloody toy without feeling like I'm being pulled on the rack."

He doesn’t reply and takes my left arm in his hands. They're cool as he feels along my joints.

"Look, we took x-rays after we took the casts off this morning, and all I can say is, you have to be patient. And work hard at your recovery. Don’t let the frustration get the better of you. Find something to get your mind off it."

"I'm going stir crazy, Doc.”

He chuckles a little. "I get it, I hear you aren’t that good at sitting still for very long. But you're going to need to find an outlet other than vase demolition. Okay?" He taps on the bed with his hand and then I’m alone again.

I look down at my hands, my arms, pale and weak, thin from the lack of movement and sunlight. Useless fucking limbs.

If I can't play the cello, what the hell am I?

If I can't play the cello, what the hell else matters?

Two hours later when I finally fall asleep, I still don't have an answer.

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