GermanyXMute!Reader: Silent Sparrow pt. 5

It was as though the piano became _______'s lifeline.  She practiced it every day for hours and hours.  Life seemed to have its own accompaniment now.  Every task had its own piece playing beneath it.  Whenever _______ wasn't within eyesight, we would wait for a few minutes and, sure enough, small chords and scales would start to echo through the house.  

Sometimes, Gilbert and I would sneak into the sitting room and watch our Sparrow practice her music.  Usually, she was too focused to notice our entrance.  That was how we liked it best.  The concentration and determination written on her face as she completed set after set of scales and arpeggios were encouraging to us.  Our Sparrow had not given up hope, not by a long shot.  In her own sweet and determined way, she was going to fight on in her battle against silence.

Sometimes, she would see us loitering by the doorframe and pause in her practice to smile at us.  We usually made an excuse to move along and let her continue.  We knew how important this instrument was to her.  We would pass away and continue to clandestinely watch her fluttering attempts to play.

One day, she invited us in to listen to her play a piece.  I remember looking at Gilbert, eyes wide.  She had never before invited us specifically to hear her play.  We followed behind her as she walked over to the piano.  

The song was a simple tune, not too difficult in rhythm, but she had evidently been working a long time upon it.  It had a pleasantly upbeat feel to it that made me want to tap my feet as she danced her lithe little hands across the keys.  When she finished, we applauded vigorously.  She blushed a little at the praise and signed "Thank you" to us.  
A certain light was in her eyes as she walked back with Gilbert and me to the living room.  It reminded me of the look a soldier gets when they see the tide of battle turning: the light of joy and perseverance, the light of hope.  

***

"Excellent job, _______," Roderich praised as Sparrow finished her assigned pieces.  Her face glowed under the encouragement.  Every day, that glow in her eyes, absent or glazed over for so long, grew brighter and brighter.  The piano had proven to be a greater help for her bouts of somberness than anything else.
  
"Let's work on some Weber and, if you'd like, we can do a few by Voxman."  Sparrow nodded eagerly as her piano instructor pulled out a few bundles of sheet music.  From what I could see from the couch facing the piano, the notes were less simplistic now, and were beginning to overlap and roll across both hands, rather than just one at a time.
  
"Try to work on phrasing a little more. Your rhythm is very good, but there's more to music than just playing the correct notes."  Roderich smiled at ________ over his thin glasses, "I'm very eager to see how well you improve by next time.  You've done wonderfully thus far."

_________ beamed, and signed to him, 'Thank you so much.  I'll practice every   day.'  I translated her message to Roderich.  His severe purple eyes softened as he saw, and—through me—heard her determination.

"I know you will do wonderfully," he encouraged one final time.  With that, he picked up his black portmanteau filled with sheet music and took his leave.
  
"You sounded amazing today, Sparrow," Gilbert crowed the second Roderich left.  He loathed every minute "that damn aristocrat" was within a sixteen meter radius, but for ______, he tolerated it.  He knew how important these lessons were to her.
  
"Indeed," I added, "you sound better and better every day."

________ flashed a brilliant smile and replied 'Thank you,' to both of us.  
Gilbert, ever enthusiastic to the point of lunacy, pronounced, "This calls for a celebration!"

A dense knot formed in the pit of my stomach, "You don't mean…"

"Oh, yes, West," Gilbert winked roguishly at me.  

________ knew exactly what Gilbert was implying.  Her eyes glittered with excitement as she signed broadly, 'To the kitchen!'

My siblings dashed off to do their favorite—much to my annoyance—celebration activity.  They had named it Cookbook Roulette.

I sighed as I walked over to the kitchen.  I didn't begrudge them their fun so much as the mess that inevitably followed.  The last time they had played Cookbook Roulette, I had to scrap chocolate syrup off the ceiling.
  
Already, the clanking and clattering of bowls, whisks, and measuring cups were resounding throughout the house.  I winced, partially from the noise, but partially with dread.

As I entered the tile-floored, white and gray kitchen, I couldn't help but smile.  I hadn't seen ________ and Gilbert goofing off like this in weeks.  _________ seemed so genuinely happy, laughing and making faces at Gilbert who was attempting to balance a bag of flour on his head.  I could let them have their fun this one time.        

As I thought this, a huge fog of white suddenly plumed from the countertops.  White powder had found its way onto everything.  _________ and Gilbert emerged coughing from the flour bomb looking like ghosts, they were completely coated in the ground wheat.

My suppressed annoyance erupted into unmitigated anger.  "I hope you two are planning on cleaning this up!  Because if you're not, I'm imposing a ten-mile training run!"  If my lost temper had any effect, it appeared to be only comedic.  Gilbert had erupted laughing, and Sparrow—though silent—was laughing mutely alongside him.

"What's so funny?" I roared once again, indignant at their refusal to listen.  If I had wanted any of this, I could have just had Feliciano come over.  

Gasping noiselessly, ________ struggled to sign, 'Look in the mirror, Ludwig.'

Taking her advice, I walked over to the semi-reflective surface of the window overlooking the now-flour-covered stainless steel sink.  Instead of my regular reflection staring back at me, I saw instead a white, specter-like semblance of myself.  I had not been exempt from the devastation of the flour explosion.  

I glared back at my family, unable to see what was so hilarious about it.  Once again, they simply exploded into laughter.  

My dignity a little sore from the laughter, I stormed off to leave Sparrow and Gilbert to their messy endeavors.

***

The results of the evening were as follows:  a three-pound bag of flour wasted, the kitchen coated in its previous contents, a rather nice chocolate torte, and a pleasant family run after a good two hours of cleaning.  

I held the door open as Gilbert and _______ sauntered into the house, sticky and smelly from the two-hour run.  "I hope you two learned your lesson," I harangued them as they began to remove their running shoes.  

"Of course, West," Gilbert replied cheekily.  "We learned that next time we need to make something more moist.  That torte was a little dry."  

________ giggled at Gilbert's sassy comment.  Would these two ever listen to me?  I felt like I was trying to teach Italy how to fight all over again.

"Just shower up and try to keep the kitchen in order next time," I conceded.
  
'Sure thing, Ludwig,' Sparrow signed as she skipped up the stairs.  I knew she at least didn't like to make a mess, and she really would try to not make one.  Gilbert… I knew I just had to ask "when" rather than "if".  

I couldn't help but pull a smirk as I slid off my well-worn running shoes.  I guess, in spite of myself, I slightly enjoyed the chaos this evening.  We as a family hadn't had such a "normal" reaction like this evening in a long time.  I had lost my temper for the first time in a long time, Gilbert had blatantly sassed me, and ________ had just been joking for the first time since the accident.  

Maybe this evening wasn't a total loss.  If the kitchen had to suffer a casualty for us to be ourselves, then maybe, it was worth it.  Maybe.
  
***

         I walked in the doorway, the large bags of groceries teetering dangerously as I balanced them awkwardly.  A tune was reverberating through the empty house.  It seemed slightly familiar.  The strong downbeats and syncopated rhythm tickled my memory teasingly.  Curious, I placed the bags down on the counter somewhat unceremoniously and walked towards the sitting room.

Sparrow had progressed exponentially in her piano studies.  She had breezed through classical music and had begun to seek out contemporary pieces to play.  Pieces she might have sung at one point.  

Three distinct chords beat out against the piano, followed by a scurrying of notes on the upper octaves of the keys.  I could almost tell where I had heard this piece before; the suspense of not knowing was driving me insane.  

I walked towards the source of the music to see _______ playing vigorously.  She was so focused on what she was playing that my presence went unnoticed.  I had never seen her quite so focused.  Her brow was knit with an intensity that I hadn't seen before, and there was almost a look of ecstasy on her face as she pounded the keys.  

Like the work of some puck or pixie, the words of the song dawned upon me.  "Five-hundred twenty-five thousand six-hundred minutes~" I sang quietly, recognizing the tune I had last heard _______ sing.  

Sparrow's head whipped around upon hearing me.  She looked at once shocked and embarrassed to see me, as though I had interrupted some clandestine wrong-doing.  But the shock faded away to a self-conscious grin.  

"That was beautiful, _________," I praised.  She smiled a little more genuinely.

'I guess,' she signed shyly, swiveling herself on the piano bench to face me fully, 'I missed that song a lot.  Playing it is pretty wonderful though.'  

I reached over to pat her shoulder.  "You played it beautifully."  
'Thanks, brother dear,' she signed back.  

I smiled at the term of endearment.  "Come on, do you want to help me with the groceries?"  

'Sure,' Sparrow signed as she sat up to come join me.  

***

"Seasons of Love", "Defying Gravity", and "Giants in the Sky" were among a few of the songs that now floated through the house each day.  Each chord and phrase seemed to breathe with Sparrow's soul.  She smiled more genuinely than ever, and her eyes lit up brighter than ever before.  She could sense the battle was in her favor, and she could see victory turning towards her.  

Gilbert even took up singing some of the lyrics to the songs ______ played.  He'd even roped me into a few duets.  There was a continuing air of comfort and normalcy that was settling over us.  We were all beginning to find our rhythm again.  

________ seemed to glow, almost like she had been basking in the sun.  It was that ineffable joy she always possessed prior to that fateful day at the mall.  It appeared to have returned.  She had started school again, and seemed to have adjusted well enough to having a translator, a few days she would come home feeling down, but she mostly came home bubbly and smiling, just like she used to.  

I was glad she was so much happier now, and I couldn't thank Roderich enough for all his help.  Naturally, he accepted the praise as though it was rightly his to begin with, much to Gilbert's chagrin.  

One day, _______ was playing her piano while I sat listening.  The song was one of her classical pieces, Moonlight Sonata.  I closed my eyes to listen to the gentle pulsing of the notes, rising and falling like the waves of the ocean.  She had become so skilled in her brief time of playing.  Her playing was truly musical now.  It was as though she could weave magic with the black and white of the keys and the music.
  
I remember her stopping half-way through a series of eighth notes to ask me something that I had almost forgotten about.  

'Ludwig,' she signed, 'I think I've finally made my decision, about the surgery, that is.'

I was a little surprised by the suddenness of her response.  "What do you think?"  I asked her, trying to hide the edge of worry that always haunted this thread of conversation.  

Two signs determined her answer, 'I'm ready.'