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Member
Join Date: Jul 2007
Location: CA currently
Gender: Female
Posts: 7
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A Waltz For The Girl Out Of Reach
Andreas turned from watching the sunset and smiled at the pair entering his room, hiding the flinch in his heart. He’d seen it before, but it never failed to grip him—the new parents anxious and exhausted; the child unresponsive, only their eyes showing glimpses of the memories branded in their minds.
“Good evening,” he said, stretching a hand to the father. “I’m Andreas Schuler.”
“Philip Mathis.” The man took a deep breath. “This…” always the hesitation that begged for help, “is my daughter Elizabeth… Liz.”
“Liz,” Andreas repeated, smiling into the shuttered blue eyes. “I’m glad to meet you. How are you today?”
Nothing.
Mr. Mathis stirred but stayed quiet. Good. Parents tended to talk for these children, which didn’t help.
Nothing was what usually happened at first, sometimes for days or weeks. Maybe he’d get used to it someday, stop comparing it with memories of his sons at this age, but for now it was both frustrating and heart wrenching.
Liz never spoke. When he offered her a toy or book or some food, she took it in thin hands, so small, and sat without further reaction, except with the food. For the first time an expression shaped in her eyes. Furtive, desperate hunger, though she no longer looked starved. Still, she watched him warily and didn’t eat until he gave permission. Then she almost choked herself forcing it down as fast as possible.
Food. Well, that was normal, but not very useful. They were all staving across the border. Food wasn’t going to melt the shell, or it would have already happened. She was still completely out of reach, watching, untouchable, from behind her walls.
“Tomorrow at the same time?”
Andreas nodded. “Please.” There wasn’t much he could say for encouragement, especially in front of Liz. They listened to everything, even if they didn’t talk. And it was far too soon to tell anything.
So he gently settled a hand on Liz’ blonde head, “See you tomorrow, Liz.:
They left and he set about cleaning up. It surprised him how drained he felt after each visit. Usually nothing physically strenuous happened, but always he was exhausted by the end of the day.
He had the next morning off, but the boy who came after lunch threw the most magnificent tantrum Andreas had seen for months. Most of the last hour was spent calming him down enough to send home with his mother.
The room and his nerves were in shambles. It was worth everything when child began to inch from behind his walls, but the work was to get there.
Glancing at the clock, he swore softly. Liz would be coming in barely half an hour and he was in no shape to greet her, let alone the room.
With a sigh, he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. Bit by bit he forced himself to relax. When his muscles were loose he reached under his desk for the case that was always there. Eyes still closed, he flipped the clasps open, put the flute together by feel, and brought it to his lips.
Music had always been a love in his life. Since the fever killed his own family, only the work with these children and his flute kept madness at bay. Days like this, that boy, were the worst.
Someone knocked just as he changed tunes. Already? But his soul was ordered once more; he only wanted to finish the song. Keadle’s music was some of the most beautiful in the world.
“Come in,” he called and continued playing.
Mrs. Mathis had come this time. She held Liz’ hand protectively. Andreas smiled and nodded in welcome, waiting to see what happened. He always tried music, sooner or later. It wasn’t what he’d planned for today, but…
Blue eyes lifted to stare at him. Hair, cropped close by immigration officials several weeks before, shifted as her head tilted to catch the sound.
He blinked. There was something wrong with her hearing. She wasn’t deaf, but certainly had lost some hearing in one ear. Explosions, most likely.
Mrs. Mathis looked at him. He nodded reassuringly and she detached herself from the girl and sat down in one of the chairs by the door. Liz stood alone in the middle of the room, fingers whitening around handfuls of her soft gray-blue sweater.
But her eyes were coming alive. Widening. A foot moved, shifted forward almost six inches. Andreas would have held his breath, if he could have without stopping the music.
Fifteen minutes later she’d come a good three feet closer. Then, for no reason Andreas knew, her eyes closed and her spine relaxed for the first time. Dear God, it was happening. Somewhere, before the walls, music had been a good thing or maybe just part of a life that was still safe.
She took another step but this time to one side instead of forward. Her weight shifted, turned, her skirt swirling around her knees.
Without a word, her feet found their place in the music, faltering at first but on and on until the girl swayed and stepped in a solitary waltz.
He’d never seen a melody wrap itself around a person like that. They moved together, notes and child. Light, graceful, and somehow brimming with quiet passion.
A distant part of himself willed Mrs. Mathis to keep breathing. An interruption would ruin the moment and he wasn’t sure it would ever come back.
Liz paused in her dancing to brush bangs from her forehead. Hesitated, one hand clenched in her sweater, one at her face, then slowly both relaxed to her sides.
Throat tight, he watched her face struggle as if unable to settle on one expression. A sigh lifted her shoulders, a sigh that had to come from her toes, and her eyes opened, swimming with tears she wouldn’t cry.
Andreas lowered the flute and set it in her lap. “I didn’t know you could dance, Liz.”
She dropped her eyes, hands twisting shyly, nervously, in her skirt. “I’m Marian,” she said.
Barely audible, scarcely louder than the moonlight on her head, but she spoke. Andreas could have danced himself. “Marian,” he repeated softly. “Nice to meet you. I’m Andreas Schuler.”
A flicker of wariness passed in her eyes. “I know.”
“Your dancing was beautiful. Thank you.”
She nodded. Hesitated. Licked her lips and let go of the tears. “Papa played that,” she whispered.
“Keadle has always been one of my favorites.”
She smiled a tiny awkward smile, like she hadn’t done it in years. Even through the tears it was a victory. The tears themselves were a victory.
“Would you like some supper, Marian?”
She nodded, blinked and looked over her shoulder, smile fading.
Mrs. Mathis wiped her cheeks hastily. “Go ahead, L… Marian.”
She smiled again during peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.
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