Chapter 6
Josh
The earth trembles.
"Josh!"
I try to open my eyes, but I can barely manage it. Just for a fraction of a second, I see Jasmin's round face hovering over me. Her skin color reminds me of November mist, her lips unnaturally red.
"You have to wake up, Josh." Is that panic in her voice?
Once again, I'm shaken forcefully.
An uncontrollable groan escapes my mouth. I try to lift my arm to stop her. "No," I manage to press out. At the same moment, sirens wail, and light flickers behind my closed eyelids. Jasmin immediately takes her hands off me. Where they were just lying, it becomes cold.
"Thank goodness, the paramedics." She exhales in short bursts. "I'll be right back, hang on."
I should nod, but I can't. Once again, I briefly open my eyes and catch a glimpse of her rushing away in my peripheral vision. Her footsteps vibrate the parquet floor. The shaking weakens, and an eerie calm settles in.
I try to feel my body. First my hands, then my arms.
All good, fingers are movable. The right shoulder and neck ache, but not too strongly.
Next, I command my legs. They respond as they should. My heart beats. Breath flows. I smell the scent of old books. I already know that my eyes and ears are functioning.
I'm okay. Nothing serious has happened.
Finally, I can breathe a sigh of relief. A tension I hadn't even noticed leaves my body.
When the paramedic enters the music room, I've almost managed to sit up.
"Good day, Mr. Friedberg." He kneels in front of me and sets down his medical bag. "How are you feeling?" He takes a small flashlight and shines it into my eyes.
A series of examinations follows, where I have to count fingers and rate levels of pain. He bends all my limbs, then I'm allowed to stand and take a seat in the much more comfortable armchair in the living room. From there, he examines the wound on my temple.
"You were lucky in your misfortune," he finally says. "I can treat the scrape right away. The extent of the concussion seems minor, but it still needs to be monitored."
"No hospital," I manage to utter. I can't afford the resulting media frenzy or the forced pause it would entail.
Jasmin, who has kept herself in the background until now, steps closer. "I'll take care of him," she assures with a vehement nod.
The paramedic looks thoughtfully between Jasmin and me.
"If there are any problems, I will certainly call you immediately." My housekeeper seems to have everything under control.
For a moment, he presses his lips together, then he nods. "I'll leave some medication for your headaches here." He rummages in his bag and pulls out four packs of pills.
Jasmin's lips curl up as she takes hold of my medication. She repeats the dosage instructions from the paramedic multiple times. He patiently explains to her what she should watch for concerning the concussion, then turns back to me.
His gaze from his friendly brown eyes turns serious. "You should take these immediately."
Anything to help the headache. I reach for the pill.
"Rest for at least five days. That includes both physical and mental rest. Your brain needs to recover."
"Of course," I say even though it's already clear that I'll hardly be able to manage it. A break is out of the question; time is ticking.
He studies me for a moment longer than necessary. "Very well," he murmurs finally, closing his case. The sound feels like a lightning strike in my head. "If you feel unwell, experience further symptoms, or don't recover within a few days, seek medical attention."
That won't be necessary. I'm young and fit; my body can easily handle such a small fall. "Thank you for your prompt help." I shake his hand. "Jasmin, would you...?"
"But of course." She nods kindly. And even though I haven't explicitly stated what I'm asking her to do, she gets to work. "I'll escort you to the exit." With a polite gesture, she points at the door, and the two of them disappear behind it shortly after.
Tired, I lean my head against the leather support of the armchair and close my eyes. Tomorrow, I'll surely feel better and be able to continue my work.
** *
The following morning starts with a headache. Every ray of light is torture, and every sound is agony. Still, I peel my stiff limbs out of bed and put on a pair of jogging pants. My reflection in the mirror is as gray as I feel. A thick white bandage adorns my temple.
Can I work today? Yes. Because I have to.
Besides, I have no choice but to inform Tamika about my accident. I send her a short message. That should be enough. With sunglasses on my nose and foam earplugs in my ears, I drag myself to the kitchen, where Jasmin is evidently preparing breakfast for a large family. It smells of fried bacon and pancakes. As soon as I enter the room, she abandons all her work and comes over to me.
She looks me up and down, and her hand touches my arm comfortingly. Then her lips move, and she says something.
I apologize, pointing at the earplugs in my ears and then to my head. She turns around to get the medication. She seems to be talking to me while filling a glass with water, which makes me smile. She presses her pale lips together for a moment and looks at the medication packs. However, she appears convinced as she hands me the medicine shortly after.
I don't care. As long as my head pain disappears.
I swallow everything she has prepared for me, and indeed, after thirty minutes and a cup of coffee, I feel considerably better, so I dare to remove the earplugs.
"Good morning again," Jasmin whispers. "Are you ready for a hearty breakfast to regain your strength?" She sounds like my mother used to when I was sick. Strangely enough, it does me a little good.
"Thank you very much, but I'm really not hungry," I say, shrugging. That's not the truth. Rather, the medication has cleared my head, and I want to take advantage of it. "Maybe later."
She looks disappointed. "At least a smoothie?"
I can take that with me. "Sure."
With the grass-green drink in hand, I step up to the piano a little later. For Jasmin's sake, I take a sip as I delve into my notes from yesterday.
I can't remember where I left off.
No matter how hard I try, I can't recall it. It must be related to the accident. I was searching for something on the bookshelf, but what was it?
The more I think about it, the more muffled my head feels. I’ll start with playing what I've already written down on the sheet music. Maybe I'll find the connection that way.
I place my hands on the keyboard and gather myself. I love this moment when everything inside me becomes quiet. There's only the piano and me. Very gently, I play the first notes. They should sound as delicate as possible.
Yes, that's right. The melody carries me away, approaching a tremolo. A brief delay. Now. My fingers begin the rapid alternation between the notes.
And they fail.
They can't keep the rhythm and don't do what I ask of them.
I try again. And fail once more.
Suddenly, I feel something I've never felt before. Instinctively, I glance down.
Indeed. My right hand is trembling, and my thumb feels numb. I quickly grasp it with my left hand, massaging the palm and flexing each finger. As soon as I let go, the trembling returns.
What's happening here?
Panic grips me. It slowly crawls up my spine, clings to my shoulders, and tightens around my chest. Hot chills send cold sweat trickling down my forehead.
My hands are all I have. If they stop working, then...
No. I don't want to think like that. My brain was injured yesterday, and surely there's just a minor glitch up there that needs some rest to fix. Nothing that a few days of rest couldn't heal, just like the doctor said. Or is it a side effect of the medication? Delayed responsiveness is not uncommon when taking painkillers.
I won't be deterred. I don't have to play perfectly to compose, so I can continue. At least until the piece I started yesterday is finished.
I place my hands on the piano again. I want to press a key, but my right hand strongly disagrees. It feels sluggish, and the more I force it, the more it trembles.
There. A wrong note.
I jerk my fingers from the keys.
"Fuck," I exclaim aloud.
"What's going on here?" a voice sounds behind me.
Even though there's no reason for it, I immediately feel caught. I quickly interlock my hands together. My stiff neck prevents me from spinning around. I slowly turn around and spot Tamika standing in the open double doors of the music room.
In her tight leather jumpsuit, she looks like the devil's assistant. How long has she been here? How much did she hear?
Or even see ?
She approaches. "Answer me, Josh." The creases on her otherwise smooth forehead don't sit well with me.
"It's the medication," I say as casually as possible. "It's clouding my mind, making it difficult for me to play properly."
"And why are you sitting so hunched over on your stool?" Her eyebrows arch upward.
"Tamika, please, don't become paranoid. It hasn't even been twenty-four hours since I fell. Naturally, I'm a bit battered all around." My voice is shrill, too shrill. Even I can hear that I'm trying to hide something.
My manager squats in front of me and brushes her platinum blond hair back. "You know I only want what's best for you, right?"
"Of course." I'd love to throw my arms up in the air, but I better refrain from doing so.
With a concerned expression, she reaches for my hands. "What. Is. Wrong?"
Not only her gaze but also her words put pressure on me, too much of it. I can't tell her. Because nothing is wrong. She would just worry unnecessarily. In a few days, I'll be back to normal.
No reason for alarm.
I struggle to rise from my stool. "There's absolutely nothing for you to worry about."
"If that's the case, then you won't have a problem with getting another checkup from a doctor." She looks at me expectantly. "Just to be sure."
To be sure of what? "I just need some rest, nothing more." That's how it is, and nothing else. I demonstratively cross my arms over my chest.
Finally, she nods. "I understand," she says absentmindedly. For a moment, silence takes command of the room, which suddenly feels too small for both of us.
"Alright, I'd like to continue now, if you don't mind." I nod toward the door, making sure she understands what I mean.
She turns away. Thank God!
I breathe a sigh of relief as she crosses the room. When she reaches the doorframe, she stops. "The trembling needs to be investigated," she says calmly, still with her back turned to me.
She did see it after all.
My upper body slumps as if suddenly drained of energy. And this one thought, which I had managed to keep at bay until now, can no longer be held back.
Not even from her.
"What if it's something serious?" My words dissipate like ethereal ghosts in the room.
I did it. I uttered the thing I fear the most in this world.
In slow motion, Tamika turns to face me. Her expression seems strangely clear. "I'll schedule an appointment for you this week," she replies, then leaves me alone with my question.