Lucky In Love- A Sam and Luna Fanfic

Lucky In Love - Story 3, Chapter 29

The image above was done by my talented boyfriend, @JayJay_1985. This is a visual representation of Mazzy insulting Michelle and Doug in Spanish. I thoroughly enjoy it haha. His Instagram is tlhsullyofficialrevised, and he posts other amazing work there. Check it out!

 Enjoy this chapter, wonderful readers. It's rather bittersweet; much like a melancholy bliss. :)

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SULLY'S POV

"Does my baby want to play the piano?"

I recall having lifted my head to meet my mother's soft, kind brown eyes. Her eyes were always soft; never a sharp quality to them. If someone had to scold my sibling and I, it was rarely my mother.

It always saddened her to see her children's eyes fill with tears. She always told me that eyes are the windows to the soul, and to have them swimming with tears made her want to cry as well.

I was standing at the base of the piano, reaching my chubby fingers to the sky to be picked up by my mother. I had seen her playing the piano many times before; it was much like a safe space for her.

One of my oldest memories that I can recall of hearing my mother play was when I was five years old. Alex and I shared a room at the time, and the soulful sounds of Pachelbel's Canon in D drifted through the open door.

In spite of myself, I found myself crying. I hadn't realized just how beautiful music could sound, and though I was raised in a musical household, I hadn't realized just how much music can play with emotion.

I thought back to the memories I had of listening to music, and they were always happy memories. Dancing with my mother and father in the living room to Mick Swagger, being introduced to my first toy piano. The list goes on.

It was then that five year old me realized that music truly does affect emotion.

Alex's voice drifted from the bed next to me.

"Are you crying?" They sounded confused, unaware of the exact emotion I was feeling at the time.

You'll understand when you're older, I wanted to say, but I only responded with a "no, I'm not crying", wiping at my dribbling nose.

My mother picked me up and onto her lap by the piano. I gaze at the array of keys. This isn't my first time having played the instrument with her; it's become an almost ritual thing for my mom to play the piano with me.

My mom would place her hands atop mine, guiding my fingers along the keys. I got a feel for them, and every time I'd sit upon her lap, the keys would feel more and more natural under my fingers.

She played a gentle, upbeat tune that day: Mary Had A Little Lamb. She swayed along to the music, and I giggled as my mother gently nibbled upon my ear.

"You're an expert, Sully!" My mother congratulated me. "Before you know it, you'll be playing on your own."

I remember having nodded my head enthusiastically, though it didn't register in my brain that "playing on my own" insinuated playing without my mother, and I hated the idea of playing the piano without my mother beside me.

My mom was overjoyed with my enthusiasm, and set to work on actually teaching me how to play the instrument. It took me some time to grow accustomed; something about playing without my mother's hands to guide me felt unnatural. However, I quickly mastered my first song: Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.

Though I was young, my passion had ignited, and I was devoted to learning as much as I could. At the age of eight, I asked my mom to teach me Pachelbel's Canon in D. My mother seemed taken aback by the request, cautioning me that the song was rather advanced. I reassured her that I was ready, and she began teaching me.