Moineau Rouge

Between us all, one of the only things that connects us is our music. Credits to E.N

Softly, sweetly, the notes cut through the morning air. Its melodies and harmonies tenderly roused the little red sparrow from her deep slumber. She fluffed her feathers, hopped from one foot to the other, and took flight towards the source of the music. It came from a young man. He appeared to be no more than twenty, and yet his fingers glided across the piano keys with the finesse and grandeur of someone who has played for his entire life. Every day she awoke to his music, every night it lulled her to sleep.

 

On one particular day, the pianist played a certain bar, the same notes, over and over. It was as if he couldn’t get past it. She fluttered over to a windowsill to get a proper view of him. He let out a cry of frustration and harsh, loud notes disturbed the flow of the song as he let his anger out on his piano. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. In. Out. The flow of music started once again, but it then started to slow down and waver as he reached that certain point in the song. He snarled then flung his music sheets down on the ground, the music fluttered and scattered. He stormed off to his room, leaving his song unfinished, unwritten. An incomplete work. The little red sparrow tilted her head, confused about why the music stopped. She hopped about and waited but the music didn’t start again.

Where is he? Where is he?

Eventually she decided to find him. She flew around his house till she spotted him through his bedroom window. He was on his laptop and watching the television.

Why isn’t he playing the piano? I want to hear the music.      The music!               Ah, he’s getting up. Where is he going?

He sighed and proceeded towards the door. The sparrow stretched her petite wings, hopped off the branch and started to follow him around the house, from his room to his kitchen, lounge room and garden. She followed him for hours in hope that she’ll hear the music again soon. But she didn’t.

 

After a while, she grew tired. The sun had begun to set, and the sky had blended into a deep shade of burgundy and amber. Her wings had lost their vigor and so she settled on the windowsill overlooking his piano. That way when he returned she would get to hear the melodies once again.

The melodies…

She remembered the flowing beauty of the notes. She remembered the powerful crescendos, the calming diminuendos; the gracefulness of the adagios and the liveliness of the allegros. She just had to hear them again, so slowly she opened up her beak and sung the first few notes of his song. They wavered at first, but gradually as she built up her confidence the notes flowed as surely and sweetly as they did from the piano. She sung her heart out.

 

The notes soon reached the ears of the young man and he recognized them immediately.  He turned off his television and carefully listened. It was coming from near his piano! He quickly ran towards it, knocking over chairs in his haste. When he reached it he looked around but he couldn’t see where it was coming from. No hidden speakers and there was no one outside. He stood there in the centre of the room; his shoulders slumped from the fruitless search. A movement caught his eye. Near the window; a red sparrow? It was singing his song, the incomplete one; he couldn’t help but smile. “Why hello there. What a pretty one you are, have you been listening to me play?” The little red sparrow seeing him smile sung with even more enthusiasm. She closed her eyes and only let the music fill her mind. The young man laid on the ground and just watched her sing. After a few minutes the sparrow eventually reached the part where the young man couldn’t get past. She slowed down, “Even you can’t get past that point, huh?” He sighed and started to get up, but the little red sparrow didn’t want him to go. Not just yet. She thought for a moment.

I don’t want you to go just yet.

Will you only stay if I sing you a song?

A song…

Since I don’t know the rest can I just complete it my way?

With the memories of all the melodies she’s ever heard him play, she sung the final parts of the song.

The young man, upon hearing the bird continuing to sing picked up a spare music sheet without a second thought. “Oh my… yes! It sounds just perfect!” He wrote down each and every note as the sparrow sung, carefully annotating everything possible. When she finished singing, he grinned and walked over to the window to let her in. “Incredible…” She flew into the house, stood on top of the grand piano and fluffed up her feathers in pride.

Do you like it?

“You know, I think I’ll dedicate this song to you sparrow. I think I’ll call it… ‘Moineau Rouge’ .”

 

The two entwining melodies sung into the night.