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To love someone is to listen to the song in their heart and to sing it back to them when they have forgotten it…
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My world is a confusing place. Time is no longer linear, but circular, with knacks and bends and breaks, threads crossing and entangling themselves into an unclear meshwork of consciousness. Every day, I wake up, and yet keep on dreaming. Reality is hazy, doesn't always make sense to me. I feel lost and frightened and all alone in this strange world, trapped in my mind, lost in darkness.
But sometimes, the darkness is pierced by memories of the past, sweet gentle memories that dapple my shadowy prison with pretty little flecks of sunshine.
Sometimes I remember my job. How I loved it! It was challenging, far from dull or repetitive, with one crises after another. The details are vague now, but they tell me I was brilliant. They tell me I've saved the world. I can't really recall. But sometimes, I do remember some small things. Like team building with my colleagues, who were also my dearest friends. Our weekly night out. The easy banter. The shared fun. The feeling of family. All distant echoes of a long-forgotten past.
But one memory outshines them all.
The first time I met him.
How he wasted my precious time during a crisis situation. How he annoyed the hell out of me. How he made me angry with his arrogant derogatory remarks.
But also, the way he looked at me, like I was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. The way he smiled that silly little grin of his when I told him he'd done well.
The way he kissed me for the first time.
The gravitational pull that made him the centre of my universe.
It took a long time before I finally got over my fears, but in the end I surrendered my heart to him.
And I haven't regretted a moment since.
He is gone now, but he has never truly left.
Because my heart still remembers our song…
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It was the song that the love of a small child had created for us.
He could play, the boy next door. Oh, how he could play! He used to come over every Wednesday and Friday to play, just for me. Those small hands dancing over the sleek shiny keys. Sweet notes he stole from the piano and gave to me.
I was 32, gregarious and in love with dogs. Actually, it was the dog that brought him to me. A tiny scrawny kid, barely 10 years old, with piercing blue eyes that knew far too much for one so young. One day, he stood on my front porch, carefully holding one wildly wagging dirty dog. I took in two renegades that day. My dog, who had ran away from my back yard for the second time, and the kid, who had run away from home for the fifth time.
Originally, he had only intended to return the dog to its rightful owner. Eventually, and after much gentle persuasion from my part, he ended up washing the dog, staying for cookies and tea, and spending the night in my guest room. It would only be the first night of many. I offered him a place to retreat when his home life sent him running away, and in turn he offered me a most unique friendship.
As tight-lipped as he was about his personal life, as loquacious he was about any other topic. Sure, it took some time for him to get comfortable around me, but once he had, I could nary keep him silent for more than 5 minutes. He had an insatiable curiosity, and a brilliant mind able to absorb and process any information with lightning speed. And he was incredibly good in fixing whatever ailing stuff I owned. Those hands would dismantle and reassemble anything I offered him, more often fixing them than not, and extremely rarely breaking anything permanently.
I was in awe of those hands.
Not just for their uncanny ability to communicate with any stubborn piece of household equipment.
But especially for their gift to coax the most beautiful melodies out of the battered old piano. An old piece of heritage. Never properly cared for. Used for little more than decoration and sentimental value for decades in our family.
And now sparked to full blazing life by a gifted child's nimble hands, slender fingers flitting over the keys in a graceful dance dictated less by notes and metrics than by a boundless spirit.
Pouring his soul into a song…
He could play. Oh, he could play…
They took him, but they can never take away his song…
-
The old woman seemed lost in thought, a dreamy look of happiness on her wrinkled face, gnarled fingers gently tapping the wheelchair's armrest to a phantom song.
"I never knew Rodney played the piano…" The pretty blond woman sitting in front of her said softly, staring unseeingly at something past the blooming garden herself.
The ghosts of past memories shattered when a petite nurse gently coughed to draw her attention back to the present.
"Sorry." She apologized, "I was lost in thought for a moment…."
The nurse smiled back: "No problem, doctor Carter. But it's almost dinner time, and I'd like to get her freshened up a bit before that."
Doctor Carter nodded "Sure. Thank you for letting me talk to her. She's very sweet."
The nurse smiled fondly as she brushed a stray hair out of the old woman's face: "Yes, you are a sweetie, aren't you?"
But the old lady was still trapped in memories, listening to a distant song of the past.
The nurse sadly shook her head: "She's off again. You were lucky she had one of her rare moments of clarity exactly when you spoke to her. If I may be so bold to ask, did you happen to mention her husband?"
Dr Carter replied: "Actually, no. I came to inform her about the recent death of dr. Rodney McKay, but I never got further than asking if she remembered him."
"Oh, but she does!" The nurse said softly. "Him, and her late husband. However little else she may remember, she still knows about them. I first thought he was her son, the way she talked so fondly and proudly about 'her' kid. But then, I heard her story about how she and her husband got married to a song Rodney had written especially for them. She still loves that song, you know. She cannot describe it or hum it, but somehow, I think she can still remember. She always tells me it's their special song. The song that bonded their lives…"
For a moment, all three woman were quiet, each wrapped in their own thoughts.
Then, the nurse excused herself and wheeled the chair away.
And so, Samantha Carter remained alone, seeking comfort in an exquisitely beautiful sunset.
Remembering a magical song…
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Stargate Atlantis, its characters and all related entities are the property of MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, Gekko Productions and The SciFi Channel. Story created for entertainment purposes only. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made.