Page 50 of Rock Me

"Loved?"

"Yeah, he passed away about 5 years ago. He had cancer." Her voice is wistful, but not sad.

"Did he ever hear you play?"

"Oh yeah,” she nods enthusiastically. “He taught me everything I know about music. I hear him in everything I play."

Her openness touches me. Her ability to share these things that make up the very fabric of her. She’s forming more and more into this living, breathing, tangible being in front of me, instead of just a memory that keeps me company at night. It makes me want to be a part of it, and the only way to do that is to cut myself open and bleed.

"I lived with my grandparents when I was little as well." I pause. I don't want pity. But something tells me, she will understand. "My parents died in a car crash when I was about nine years old. My little sister and I moved in with them after... they were gone."

"Oh. That must've been hard for you."

"I’m not really sure how I’m here today, to be honest. There have been times, especially in the beginning, I just wanted to join them.”

She reaches out and squeezes my hand and then lets go.

“So, why are you still here?”

I tell her something only one other person knows. “I have a baby sister, Anca. I pretty much do everything because of her. She doesn’t like that. She’s 22 now.” I laugh a little, at how many times Anca tells me to get my own life and stop meddling in hers. “But after a while, it was for my grandparents as well. They made it easier than it should’ve been. They're great. I really miss them. I couldn’t repay them for everything by… causing them more pain.”

"Are they still alive?"

"Yes. They live in Romania. That's where we're from."

She smiles. “Oh, okay, I detect a tiny accent. Not sure from where though. Romania. I’ve only ever seen pictures. It looks beautiful.”

I nod. “It’s the most stunning place on earth.”

“So, that's where you should go... when you get out of here. Go visit them. Go home.”

I haven’t thought of Romania as home in, literally, decades. But something about the way she says it makes an overwhelming homesickness wash over me. I have a craving for the rugged hills and small, warm cottages of my childhood. So much so, I feel a prickling in the back of my eyes that I try to suppress. I give myself a few minutes waiting for it to subside then my mouth opens before I can stop myself. "Would you come with me?"

"To Romania? To visit your grandparents?"

I shrug.

She just grins. "Sure, why not? I always wanted to go to Europe. Mostly France and Belgium but I don’t mind swinging by Romania.”

And my mind ignores the list of reasons why not, and just allows me to enjoy the moment.

I reach over and my fingers stroke up and down the strings of her ukulele, emitting an almost inaudible sound, more like an aura that hangs in the air like an invisible wind chime.

"Do you play an instrument?”

My hand snaps back, involuntarily. And something twitches in my wrist and it suddenly aches.

"Um, I used to."

"Used to? You don't anymore?" There's a frown on her forehead.

"I don't know, to be honest."

I know it’s a vague answer to a pretty straightforward question. But she seems to pick up that it’s not something I feel like talking about. And I’m not. Not yet. Not to her.

"Why are you in here, Jez?"

I close my eyes, and like it often does, the screeching sound of tires on the road echo in my brain. My eyes snap open, the light is usually enough to scare the sound away, but right now, it doesn't. I get lost in it for a second, before she asks the question again.