Disclaimer: I do not own Kingdom Hearts, Final Fantasy, or any other game/movie/song/book/TV show that may be mentioned
Steps. All of life is steps. Whether it is the step out of the door to go to school, the step into your car as you drive away, or the calm, measured step into your grave, it all boils down to the steps you take and the steps you don't take. Maybe I am being too serious for the first part of this story is lighthearted. Most authors, men and women who are far greater storytellers than I, start out their stories with a lighthearted beginning to counteract the deep emotional tragedy that occurs later in the story. But I digress. The purpose of this portion of the story is to explain my beginning and maybe find out where it all went wrong.
My life wasn't always so bad. I was a popular kid, accepted by most. Of the many cliques, groups, clubs, teams, and gangs in school, I did not belong to a single one. I did, however, fit one of the outdated classroom stereotypes established in the seventies and never really expanded on: the class clown. Many people today would not believe me if I told them how I used to act, who I used to be.
Experiences reveal who you are. Before I experienced life as it truly is, I was a regular child. I went to high school, was part of a band (not a very good one), was reasonably fit though not overly muscular like those stupid jocks, and had a beautiful girlfriend who loved me. I can't believe I still remember her after all this time. Her name was Namine. I found her to be beautiful, though many of the meaner kids at school would disagree with me. She was an innocent artist. Maybe that is what I found so appealing in her. I always hated school with its pointless tasks, its unfortunately proclivity to enforce stereotypes and cast away the downtrodden, the depressed, the poor, the unattractive, and all others turned away by those "perfect" kids who always looked down on those who were different than the socially accepted norm, and I especially hated how the "system" out these "people" on a pedestal. Though I was accepted by these people, I despised them.
Namine stayed pure despite all of the evil influences around her. She just wore a simple white dress most days, almost to emphasize her difference from the rest of the girls whose outfits became more and sluttier as the years went by. Don't get me wrong, I am no prude. That doesn't mean I like it when girls give it away for free, acting like the tramps the girls have been told to accept, even admire. Namine was an artist, as I have previously mentioned. She drew the most amazing pictures. She said that creations should capture what the artist is feeling at the moment. She mostly drew her surroundings, sometimes she drew people but only people she liked. One time she drew me. I liked it but she said that she was too close to the subject to draw an accurate likeness.
I tried to incorporate what she had said about art into my music and my writing but neither of those was any good for me. She was my little artist, as I used to call her. You may wonder why I haven't described her physical appearance. There are many reasons for that I suppose. First and foremost being that she wasn't that attractive. She didn't even wear that much make-up, just a little eyeliner to bring out her beautiful eyes. I didn't care about that. I loved her personality. I know, a cliché, but it's true. I also loved that she understood me better than I knew myself at the time.
It is hard for me to speak about her even after all this time, not only because she was my first love but also because at the time I didn't organize my thoughts very well. What I have to work with is a confused jumble of feelings, half remembered memories, and fuzzy, unfocused dreams.
I do, however, remember a few blissful days of my past life. The first day I met was a day like any other. I woke up late thinking of the latest prank to pull on the horribly incompetent teachers. I had decided to cough real loudly anytime my history "teacher" decided to talk. It went down very well but I saw her sitting there quietly, not laughing. That was the first time I saw her face especially the way the light reflected off her pale white skin making it glow. It looked best when she smiled which was not often enough for me. I instantly felt a small feeling of shame when I saw her. I felt like I was a child compared to her serious demeanor.
I think I changed that day. That wasn't the first time we dated. She was shy and it took me a while to get her to believe that I was serious about wanting to be with her. Our first date was private. We didn't go to a movie, a restaurant, or the park. We went to her house and we looked at her private art album. She was into realistic art. She said paintings and drawings should capture a moment in time. The perfect paintings should crystallize the intricate subtleties of that moment in time. I tried to write a song about that but I find that poetry and songwriting are two skills I may never have.
During the worst parts of my journey I was able to cling to my memories of Namine. That is why it tears me up inside to think of her now. Because of the tragedy that begins my story proper I can never see her again. Many people do not get to experience a single day when their whole lives changed.
Mine was a Saturday.