GermanyXMute!Reader: Silent Sparrow pt.6

The thick taste of reused air came back at me from behind the surgical mask.  The plastic-smell of the oxygen tanks and the beeps of the many operation instruments seemed unfeeling and out of place to the treasured object I held onto.  Grasped in my blue, latex-gloved hand was the delicate, fragile left hand of my little sister.  The doctors—upon _______'s request—had allowed Gilbert and me to hold her hands while they put her to sleep for her surgery.  

I felt like a rock in a writhing sea of blue frocks and gloves.  While the nurses and doctors swarmed about us, rustling like leaves in the wind, I prayed silently that all would go well.  This surgery could be either the greatest gift possible for ______, or it could be the ultimate false hope.  I didn't want to think of Sparrow's hopes crushed again.  It took her so long to recover from just losing her voice.  Would the almost-reality of regaining it, and then losing it again, be too much for her to handle?
 
_________'s words drifted through my mind's eye, ghost-like and misty, yet still potent in memory.
 
'I've been trying so hard to speak because I told myself I couldn't be afraid and just run away from everything.  Then, I realized I was really running away this whole time.  I was scared, to take this gamble, but…I guess I'm not anymore.'

She wanted this so badly, to speak again.  I prayed again and again as the doctors began to manipulate her delicate throat with intricate silver instruments, hoping with all my existence that she would get her voice back.  

***

Gilbert had fallen asleep in the chair next to ________'s bed, head lolling off the top corner, limbs limp at his sides, and snoring lightly like distant thunder.  He wanted to see her the second she woke up, but standing upright for a three-hour surgery in addition to a night without sleep was too much for him to handle.  I was amazed he had made it this long without falling victim to sleep.

My leaden eyelids taunted me as well, but the only reason I was awake now was because I promised Gilbert we'd take shifts until _______ woke up.

It was the strangest sense of déjà vu.  Once again, __________ was lying prone and defenseless, helpless and fragile on the hospital bed.  Her throat was wreathed in bandages and stuck with so many tubes and machines that it resembled a pincushion.  Once again, there was the hiss of air through her tracheotomy tube, and the inorganic, unfeeling beep, beep, beep, of the heart monitor going on in its slow, measured cadence.  
I stepped closer to the bedside.  I knelt down by Sparrow's bedside and brushed a few stray hairs that had fallen across her face.  Even in an anesthesia-induced slumber, she seemed to smile quietly, confidently.  She seemed assured beyond any fear possible; she trusted so absolutely in this surgery and in the doctors.  

My tired body begged me to sit and rest my head on the mattress and just rest my eyes for two minutes.  But I couldn't do that.  I had to stay strong.  I had to be there for _______.  

Seconds passed like hours and minutes like days as I sat sentinel in the darkened hospital room.  Harsh light filtered in under the door, spreading shadows of passing feet across the floor.  Outside, only the stars shone.  I fancied even the moon was waiting with me, neglecting its duties of lighting the sky to see my little sister awaken.
 
Though the room was serene as a millpond in summer, outside the door, various voices chattering about so and so or such and such, machines whirring and clicking and beeping, and the patting of steps in the hall made one think it was two in the afternoon and not in the evening.  

A slight rustle caused my ears to prick up.  With silent urgency, I took my hand to Gilbert's shoulder and gave it a single, rough shake.  His eyes snapped open, their whites flashing in sharp relief against the darkened room. I motioned for him to sit up.  Slowly but excitedly, he stretched himself into an upright state and trained his face on our little sister.  

I heard the sound of cloth-on-cloth once again, quiet as the rustling of a bird's feathers.  My sister sighed quietly, just a slight release of air.  Gilbert came down by me a kneeled at _______'s eye level.  There was a sense of quiet and honest excitement, as though the same force that buoyed up Sparrow in her sleep was supporting him as well.
 
Amid the gloom, we saw the sluggish flutter of _________'s eyelids.  Her face was fuzzy and distant, as though she was simply asleep with her eyes open, but I saw the same bleary recognition from almost 4 months ago cross her face once again.

She languidly curled her lips into a slight smile.

Gilbert reached under the sheets and grasped her hand, careful to avoid her IV tube.  Gilbert returned her drowsy smile.  I felt mine curl into one as well.  

_________ turned her head slowly to face us, her (h/c) rustling against the pillows.  With slow determined movements, her mouth parted and worked into the once familiar shapes.  

"Hey, guys…"  

***

Gilbert and I sat in the darkened auditorium, eyes fixed on the bright stage.  Ragged, brightly colored costumes and vibrant colors flashed across the stage as our sister and her classmates performed the school's production of Rent.  We could hardly believe that a year ago, she couldn't even use ASL.  Now, she was singing and acting as she had dreamed so long ago.  She had just the other day received an audition request from Julliard.  So much had happened since that day long ago when we thought our Sparrow was forever silenced.  

She had fought a battle few girls her age should have to fight, but she fought hard and won with flying colors.
 
No longer was our Sparrow silent.  

And her song was sweeter to me than any sound on earth.  

Five hundred twenty-five thousand
Six hundred minutes,
Five hundred twenty-five thousand
Moments so dear.
Five hundred twenty-five thousand
Six hundred minutes
How do you measure, measure a year?

In daylights, in sunsets, in midnights
In cups of coffee
In inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife.

In five hundred twenty-five thousand
Six hundred minutes
How do you measure
A year in the life?

How about love?
How about love?
How about love? Measure in love
Seasons of love. Seasons of love

Five hundred twenty-five thousand
Six hundred minutes!
Five hundred twenty-five thousand
Journeys to plan.

Five hundred twenty-five thousand
Six hundred minutes
How do you measure the life
Of a woman or a man?

In truths that she learned,
Or in times that he cried.
In bridges he burned,
Or the way that she died.
It's time now to sing out,
Tho' the story never ends
Let's celebrate
Remember a year in the life of friends
Remember the love!
Remember the love!
Seasons of love!

The End.