Disclaimer: I do not own Warmth, much as I wish I did. Since you have probably never heard of Warmth, and this story will make a lot more sense if you've read it, I highly recommend you check it out at http:warmth. I also do not own the song, Two Coins by Dispatch. If you want to hear it, download it. Legally.
I stick loneliness, your lips, and the two coins of your eyes into my pockets.
So cold, the coffee can burns his fingers. Steaming hot only a moment ago, he runs his hand along the aluminum surface, and frost collects like snowflakes on the pads of his fingers. His hands are growing numb from so much cold, so he slips the can into his jacket pocket, can't bring himself to throw it away. It's his stop, got to keep going to work, can't afford to spend the whole day thinking about shivering girls.
The great train lurches to a halt, and Tomu grips a pole for support. He's got to take his mind off that strange girl, but the icy surface of the pole only brings it back. So cold. How could her hands be so cold? As the doors slide open, he shakes his head, clearing his thoughts. No more. He'll probably never see her again anyway.
Well the train skates into Port Henry late Sunday.
Just a block and a half from the deserted train station to the library. Tomu has always loved libraries, it's one thing that doesn't change no matter where you are, like a little slice of suburbia in Sendai. He stacks, mostly, and sorts, and any other grunt work the librarians want him to do. He doesn't mind, as long as he gets to breathe in the books.
He used to devour them, when he was young. Used to go through books like potato chips, just one after another. His life was too boring, at home in New Jersey. No adventure. He needed to live in the books. Fell in love with anime in junior high, always wished he could draw. But he contented himself with reading, dreaming of one day seeing his own name on the cover of a hardbound bestseller.
Sometimes when I'm riding high, feeling fine, you know there's something troubling my mind.
The work is light today, and Tomu isn't thankful for it. He wants to busy himself with alphabetizing a load of books for a few hours, not a thought in his head but the struggle to remember the Japanese alphabet. Instead he's just surveying the shelves, making sure the call numbers are in order. It's idle, and it leaves him time to think. He's not sure if he needs that or it he hates it.
He searches for something else to keep his mind occupied. This morning is off limits. No trains, no gloves, no cold coffee cans, no staring apologetic eyes, just... birthday plans. Tomu's turning twenty-one next week. It would be a momentous celebration, if he had anyone to celebrate with. He'll probably end up sitting on a couch at the comics shop, maybe splurging on some new DVDs if he can afford them, browsing the new manga releases, just like he'd been doing since junior high.
Tomu loves Japan. He has loved Japan since he put down his first manga novel in the eighth grade. Even through high school, when darker things took over, when he claimed his love was a good beer, he knew. He knew his love lay in neat stacks next to his computer, that the best cure for a hangover was a few episodes of Inuyasha, no matter what anybody said about Bloody Marys. Maybe that's why he stopped drinking effortlessly. Because it wasn't alcohol he needed, it was anime.
It became painfully apparent as high school wore on that he wasn't going to college, yet there was no way he could have stayed with his parents. And the moment he stepped out of senior graduation, all the vague worries at the back of his mind became clear: he had always known where he needed to go, and he would do anything he could to get there.
All that time, he thought of Japan as the end. He only needed to sharpen up is language skills a little more, raise a little more money, find the right city, find the right home, find the right flight, and he would be complete. He would be home. All of his problems would disappear.
So I reach into my pocket for some small change.
It's been two years now, a blur of work and books and silence. He's hardly spoken more than two sentences to anyone. Just eat, sleep, coffee, work, write. He's determined to get something out of this exile. If it's not a home, then it's an idea. All he needs is an idea to carry on for a hundred pages, or two hundred, or three hundred, and somebody to care enough to read it.
Tomu saunters up to the reference desk to announce he's taking his lunch break. It's early, not even eleven yet, but Tomu thinks he needs some time, if not to clear his head, then at least to lose himself in a book. He doesn't normally work in reference, so he racks his brain for the girl's name. What was it? Asako? Keiko?
"Saeko-san," he pants finally. She turns around, that red-brown auburn hair still swinging as she lets out a quick gasp. She rubs her hands together for warmth.
I want bones like iron, blood like mercury, so I can tell you when I'm rising or when I'm sinking in.
She knew she had seen him before. She knew that kind face was familiar. And her mind raced trying to place him, how could she have encountered such a man and not remembered? That tight feeling in her chest is back, making her heart pound and her breath come short and her cheeks burn, and she hasn't felt this way in years. Not since Kei.
He looks a bit like Kei, she decides, and she doesn't know if this is good or bad. Just in the way he stands, sort of shifting from one foot to another, always moving, the way he looks her straight in the eye. American, she guesses. American, and cute. Saeko realizes she's been staring at him blankly for a few moments now, and she ought to say something before the blanket of awkward gets any heavier. She opens her mouth to speak, and her words trip over his until they land in a tangled heap. His cheeks flush.
"I'm... I'm taking my lunch break," he stammers out. "I know it's sort of early, I guess..." he's avoiding her gaze now, fingering something in his jacket pocket. Like there's something else he needs to say, but the words aren't coming out. "Would you like to come with me?"
"Sure," she says, almost whispering. "My roommate made umeboshi. We could go eat on the steps outside."
"Won't you be cold?" So he is the first to acknowledge the morning's events. Perhaps, just perhaps, he would understand if she told him. Saeko's embarassment grows as she wonders whether he still has the coffee can.
"I'll be fine."
I stick loneliness, your lips, and the two coins of your eyes into my pockets.