The Forgetting Read Online Free Page A

in.”
    Sitting on my hospital bed, chatting about normal things, I started to feel better. Maybe the reason I’d survived was because I was meant to be a great oboe player like Richard Woodhams. As soon as Ella and Toni left, I flicked open the latches on the case and looked at the three pieces of gleaming rosewood that lay nestled in their blue velvet bed. I fitted them together, dug out a reed from the little case I kept strapped to the inside lid, and stuck it in my mouth to wet it. When it was ready, I slid it into the top hole.
    I closed my eyes and breathed out into the instrument. My fingers moved on pure instinct; I had been playing the oboe since I was ten and there was not a fingering I didn’t know. It was like an extension of myself, and whenever I wasn’t playing, I always felt a little incomplete.
    The music swirled around me like a tangible thing. It drowned everything out, and the sudden touch of a hand on my shoulder jolted me so hard, the reed banged against my teeth. “Ow.” I looked up to see Maureen smiling at me.
    â€œYou’re pretty good.” She wheeled the blood pressure machine up to the bed. “What was that, Mozart?”
    â€œNo, Vivaldi. He was earlier than Mozart.” Most people used Mozart as their first guess when it came to classical music. And, to be fair, sixty percent of the time, they were right.
    Maureen wound the blood pressure band around my arm. “You must be pretty serious about it. I mean, you did just have a heart transplant.” She leaned in and winked. “It’s okay to take a break.”
    I shook my head. “No. I can’t. My Juilliard audition is in March.”
    â€œI’m sure you could postpone it. You do have extenuating circumstances.”
    â€œYou can’t postpone Juilliard. It doesn’t work like that.”
    The machine beeped. Maureen squinted at it. “Maybe we shouldn’t talk about Juilliard. Your blood pressure just shot through the roof.”
    I picked up my oboe and started to play again. Maureen half smiled and started the machine again. I was so lost in the music that I barely felt the band squeeze my arm. After the beep, I laid my oboe across my lap. Maureen nodded. “Normal.”
    â€œSee?” My hands curled around the instrument like a beloved pet. “It’s helping me heal.”
    She ripped the band off my arm, chuckling. “Okay, okay. Just don’t let Dr. Harrison see it. She’s not as into alternative medicine as I am.”
    I played well into the night, the sky darkening outside my window. It wasn’t just that the oboe kept me calm. As long as I was playing, I couldn’t hear the Catch.

Chapter Three
    Finally, eight days after waking up from surgery, I got the okay from Dr. Harrison to check out. Maureen gave me my last vitals check before Mom and Dad arrived to pick me up. The thermometer slipped out of my mouth twice as I clenched my jaw up and down. “Stay still,” she admonished.
    â€œSorry.”
    The blood pressure machine beeped. “Whoa. Maybe we need to get your oboe out.”
    â€œThat high?”
    â€œYeah.” Maureen adjusted the band around my arm. “Take a few deep breaths.”
    I concentrated on inhaling and exhaling. In, out… catch …in, out… catch . There it was. In between every breath, every heartbeat. It was so obvious to me. How could no one else hear it?
    Maureen ripped the band off my arm. “What’s going on?”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œWell, you’re definitely anxious about something.” She waved the band in the air. “This doesn’t lie.”
    I squirmed. “It’s nothing.”
    â€œGeorgie, I’m going to have to tell Dr. Harrison and she’s probably going to want to keep you here another day for observation.”
    â€œNo!” I bit my lip and looked down at my lap. The sooner I got home, the sooner I could