Mute Songbird (boyxboy) -Complete-

First Day

I walked through the busy halls, nervous but excited too, or maybe that was just anxiety that I refused to acknowledge. My first day had gone a lot better than I'd expected, honestly. I know that everyone's probably just too busy dealing their own lives to bother with me but still, new schools are NO fun. Just trying to find your way around when everyone is moving on autopilot could probably qualify as an Olympic event.  I glanced down at my messenger bag and slipped my fingers into the back pocket to make sure my introduction letter was still there. It was.

Choir was next and then just one more class, history, before I got to head 'home'. Mom was going to pick me up since her new job didn't start for another week.  She was ripping through boxes at a feverish pace, trying to get everything settled. She was a pro, really. This was our fourth move in the last three years and she had a system. I did too, but first I had to make it through the school day. Easier said than done.

Where was 204?  Shit, I had definitely missed it. The halls were almost empty now, everyone already in their classrooms and all that was still ahead of me were double doors heading outside. I turned and careened into a boy bending over at the water fountain. Where had he come from? I panicked when he stood, he was a solid 6 inches taller than me, maybe more. He smiled though instead of hitting me so that was a good sign? I guess?

"Hey. Oh, you're new, right?"

I nodded.

"Lost?"

There was no easy answer to that. I lifted my schedule and pointed to choir.

"Oh, you're in luck. Follow me." He opened a door that I had missed, probably because the windows were blacked out and it looked more like a storage room from the hallway than a choir room. "Hey Mrs. Clark, one of the exchange students is with us!"

He crossed the room effortlessly and took a seat on the bleachers while I wondered why in the world he thought I was an exchange student. I smiled at Mrs. Clark and handed her my letter.

"Welcome, welcome. I'll sign it after class. Have a seat."

Not good, not good at all. She was going to ask me questions and I was going to look like a freak. I sat in the very front, below most of the guys.

"Okay.... Asher" she said, glancing at the paper "what part do you sing?"

I stared, panic swelling in my chest.

"Mrs. Clark, I don't think he speaks English" my hallway guide offered and I didn't know whether to laugh or cry because it got me out of the jam I was in.

I heard a few of the other students saying that I should, that they'd been in a class with other exchange students and they spoke English, but Mrs. Clark shushed them.

"Alright Asher, why don't you just watch today, alright?"

I nodded my head happily and opened the song binder I'd found on my seat, curious as to what they would be working on. The class passed quickly and I focused on following the printed music as they sang. It was the only way I could learn it, but somehow with enough repetition and being able to see the patterns, eventually I would be able to join in.

It was a cruel joke, really, but I wasn't about to argue. It had been months after my stroke before we figured out I could do it. It was my mom's birthday, oddly enough, and I'd sort of stolen the show. I could remember it clear as day; looking down at the cake, the candles, me planning to try to hum along. Instead I opened my mouth and the words came out, almost as effortlessly as they would have a year prior. By the end of the song I had been the only one singing and my mom had stared at me so long that the wax from her candles had dripped all over the cake.

Of course, that singing had led to other doctor visits, more scans, more therapy. After the great revelation and thousands of dollars funneled though the system though, nothing had changed. Except that I, in the privacy of my room, start trying to sing songs I had known before my stroke. After a few weeks I got brave and tried singing along to the radio. It was harder, somehow. The songs I'd known beforehand seemed more ingrained or perhaps were stored in a different part of my now damaged brain. Sheet music had been the missing link, and now I could sing something after only a few run-throughs if I had the music.

I'm not really sure what I would have done without singing. It gave me some freedom, some escape from the relentless pressure of disappointing everyone. It also gave me a way to express myself. If I was sad, I had albums for that. Happy? Well, fewer albums but yeah, there were songs for that too. So I sang for myself, and I sang for my parents who needed to feel, for just a moment, that I was okay.

And I was.... mostly.

Sort of.

Barely.