notes so this is my first Anohana fic. Enjoy!
so this is august, ten years later;
It is Anaru who meets Tsuruko first, on a rainy day in April. The rain is heavy as it strikes the asphalt, drumming loudly against the pavement. Anaru splashes in every other puddle along the roadside and lets her rubber boots squeak as she makes her way home. She hums under her breath as the tune mingles with every beat of raindrop that falls; it becomes an orchestra of sorts—a gamut of imaginary music notes that ring purpose with every phrase the wind sings. For a little while, it feels beautiful, and Anaru feels so, to be dancing in music. And she doesn't notice the other girl until a large drop mars her lens. She wipes it with her finger before looking back up.
The other girl she sees is a few meters in front of her and holds a pink, Hello Kitty umbrella in her left hand, wobbling with every step she takes, as though balancing on a scale, as though stuck in another spectacular world that Anaru had trouble identifying. As Anaru gets closer, however, the girl turns around, as though she had been expecting her. Anaru herself is so startled she takes a step backwards and lets her glasses slide right off the bridge of her nose. For a moment, the two of them do nothing but stare at each other. And finally, the other girl speaks:
"You're wet," she points out.
Anaru looks down at herself and feels her face grow hot. Pink dusts across her cheeks and the breath she swallows is hard to push down. And to her surprise, the strange girl holds out her umbrella so that it shields the both of them from the rain.
"We can share it," she suggests, and Anaru's strangled breath dissipates.
"Thanks," Anaru whispers. She steals a glance to her right. She has straight hair, she notices. And she does—it's short but straight, and Anaru can't help but feel ridiculous and embarrassed at her own red, scraggly hair. "I'm Naruko," she bursts out suddenly. "Anjou Naruko. Anaru, really. You can call me Anaru. Everyone but my mom does."
"Tsurumi Chiriko," the other girl says. "So I guess... Tsuruko?" She laughs a little bit. "That's neat. How you arrange the names. I've never done it before."
"Yeah," Anaru says, and forces a smile; pretends that the name thing really had been her idea in the first place, even though it really hadn't. "Hey," she says suddenly. "What were you doing, before?"
"Hm?"
"You know," Anaru mumbles, and tries to imitate the way Tsuruko had been walking before. "You were walking all wobbly before. Are you injured?"
Tsuruko blinks at her. "No."
"Oh," Anaru says, and feels even more stupid. "What were you doing?"
"Pretending I'm walking on glass," Tsuruko says, and takes another step forward. One foot in front of the other. Anaru watches, interested but not really.
"Is it fun?"
"You can try it, if you want."
Anaru watches her for a little bit longer. "No, that's okay," she says.
Tsuruko doesn't look at her, keeps her gaze focused on her feet instead. "Okay," she replies.
And for a moment, there is something Anaru sees in Tsuruko's eyes—a world; one that had already provoked the cruelty of whispers by morning's end. And yet, it was a world that was intriguing—a world that crushed all senses of normality with the decisiveness of a fatal blow to the gut.
But at that time, neither of them had known it just quite yet. Neither of them had discovered, and neither of them had any intention of doing so. It wasn't important. To Anaru, Tsuruko's voice was something that floated around the sky without ever touching the earth, until the sound went stale and all that was left of it were vapid chords to a song that no one recognized anymore.
It wasn't important. (Their mistake was thinking that it would never be.)
.
"This is Jintan," Anaru says, pointing to a dark-haired boy wearing red. "And that's Poppo, and that's Menma, and that's Yukiatsu. Everyone, this is Tsuruko."
Tsuruko smiles politely. Poppo jumps around her and sprinkles grains of rice over her head, yelping like a puppy. Menma's eyes glitter she and reaches for Tsuruko's hands so she can read her palm and tell her of all the good things that will happen to her in the future.
"And you're going to get married," Menma gushes, "riiiiight here!" She runs her thumb across Tsuruko's palm and squeals.
"Are you even doing it right, Menma?" the boy named Jintan says in disdain. "You told me I was going to get married last week, and the only thing that happened to me last week was that I fell in that mud puddle Poppo dug up!"
"I'm doing it right this time, I know it! I was looking at the wrong line for you, Jintan! Anaru, Anaru, let me read your palm, too!"
"No, thanks."
Tsuruko smiles. It feels a little bit exhausting, a little bit strange. It's not a bad feeling, but it's different; Tsuruko isn't sure if she likes different.
"I'm sorry I'm the only sensible one here."
Yukiatsu's voice is taunting, almost. Tsuruko is drawn to it almost immediately, and she turns around to look at him. Yukiatsu has his arms crossed across his chest, looking far too mature for his age. "I apologize," he says to Tsuruko, "for their ridiculousness. They're always like this, so if you're going to stick around for long enough, you're going to have to get used to them."
"I will, then," Tsuruko tells him. "It's not a bad kind of ridiculous." She looks back at Jintan and the others. "It's kind of refreshing, actually. A refreshing kind of ridiculousness. I suppose that's why you're still here."
Yukiatsu studies her. "I like you," he tells her. "You're different."
"I hope that was a compliment."
"It was," Yukiatsu says, and sticks his hand out. "Matsuyuki Atsumu."
"Tsurumi Chiriko."
They shake, and Anaru stands by; smiles.
.
"Anaru, you like Jintan?"
Anaru splutters. "I—I what?"
Tsuruko has her face in her hands, her elbows on her knees. The sun beats down on them, and Anaru is positive that she can see the heat waves dancing around. "It's not hard to tell," Tsuruko says. "Yukiatsu knows. You look at him a lot."
"Yukiatsu is a know-it-all," Anaru complains. "He notices too many things about everything. He needs to poke his head out of my business."
"So it's true, then, about Jintan?"
"I—I didn't say that!" Anaru wails. "Jintan—" she cuts off abruptly. Tsuruko waits. "Jintan wouldn't like me," she whispers, and dangles her feet. Her toenails are painted pink and blue today. The other day, they were purple and red. "I'm not pretty. Jintan... has someone else he likes."
"Menma," Tsuruko says absently. Anaru flinches; somehow it hurts a lot more when it's said out loud. "Menma is cute," Tsuruko says. And it's true; Menma is like a rainbow. Menma brings hope, a message of happiness and love that everyone sees regardless of anything else that happens. Menma outshines them all. "There's no reason why Jintan wouldn't like her."
Anaru is quiet. Her fingers tangle in her hair and all of a sudden she's very aware of the glasses sitting on the bridge of her nose. Tsuruko's gaze flickers to her and lets her fingers drum against the wood beneath them.
"So what about you?" Anaru swivels her head to face Tsuruko in an attempt to swing the conversation so that Tsuruko is in the spotlight. "Do you have someone you like?"
"I like a lot of people."
"No—I mean," Anaru pauses. "Do you have someone you like in the way that I like Jintan?"
This time, it is Tsuruko's turn to be quiet. Tsuruko thinks of Yukiatsu. Yukiatsu is like lightning; sharp, piercing, potent. People tend to fear lightning the most. It hides, and then it strikes, suddenly and loudly, with the power to drill into the ground of spark deadly flames. Lightning can black out an entire day in a mere instant. But lightning is a discharge of electricity. Yukiatsu is energy—a more quiet kind of energy, but energy nonetheless.
And then Menma comes to mind again.
"Tsuruko?"
Tsuruko lets out a breath. "No," she says.
Anaru watches her. Slowly, she leans. Tsuruko stiffens at the contact at first, but relaxes. Anaru's shoulder is light but warm against her own.
Anaru, Tsuruko thinks, and slowly, she leans back. Anaru is like rain.
.
At Menma's funeral, Jintan is not present. Neither is Yukiatsu.
Tsuruko stares at Menma's photo for the longest, and wonders if Anaru is somewhere in the crowd, crying.
.
The next time Tsuruko sees Anaru is when Yukiatsu's arms are wrapped around her shoulders.
"You're an idiot," he is saying to her.
"You're the bigger one," Anaru sobs, fingers curled into fists. "I hate you. I hate you. Let go of me."
"If you want me to let go, say it like you mean it, you silly girl."
Tsuruko turns around so she can't see. Her head is reeling. Her face is pale and her lips are pursed.
"I like you,"a younger version of Yukiatsu plays inside her head. She remembers the moment as though it had been just a couple of hours ago. "I like you."
"I like you too," Tsuruko whispers.
.
The day Tsuruko puts on her first pair of glasses is the day Anaru takes hers off and puts contacts on instead.
.
"Tsuruko. Hey."
"Yukiatsu."
"You're applying for this school, too?"
"I suppose."
"I suppose, huh? What kind of answer is that?"
"A normal one."
"I see."
"You don't look any different than you used to. Going for the same look as always, Mister Know-It-All?"
"I suppose. You've grown your hair out. And you're wearing glasses."
"Yes."
"It looks good on you. Long hair. I'll have to get used to the glasses, though. Anjou doesn't wear her glasses anymore, though. What a shame. She was kind of cute with them."
"...Who?"
"No, no one. ...Hey, Tsuruko?"
"Hm?"
" ...It's nice to see you again."
Pause.
"Yeah. You, too."
.
(Oh. Anjou was Anaru, wasn't she?)
.
Shadows dance across his features when she asks him.
"It's for my girlfriend," Yukiatsu tells her flippantly.
"She must have long hair," Tsuruko says in reply. She doesn't look at what he's holding out to show her.
"You have long hair, don't you?"
"She's not me, though."
Yukiatsu chuckles, and puts the accessory back. "Yeah," he tells her. "She isn't."
"Hm."
They walk out of the shop ten minutes later. Yukiatsu holds a blue ribbon in his fingers, and Tsuruko pretends that all of what he had just said didn't hurt.
She was stronger than that. She would be stronger than that.
And she would keep telling that to herself, until she was sick of hearing it, until she no longer believed in herself any more than she already hadn't.
.
"You don't know anything! You don't know how I feel!" Anjou screams at her.
At that moment, Anjou becomes Anaru again. Somewhere inside Tsuruko feels relieved to know that the two of them hadn't really changed, after all.
.
It's been a while. Anaru digs out her old phone book and blows the dust off, flips through it, and finds a number. Slowly, she takes the phone in her hands and dials.
"Hello?" the person on the other line says. The voice is feminine. Anaru wipes at her eyes with her arm and sniffs loudly.
"This is Anjou."
The line is silent, but Anaru's heart beats in her throat and feels like a stone.
"...I have caller ID."
Anaru laughs, and remembers how good it felt.
A few hours later, her mother finds her on the floor, asleep. Old cardboard boxes are laid out everywhere, and the phone is clutched in her daughter's hand, something she hasn't touched since she'd gotten the cell phone. It's a good feeling.
.
It is raining.
"...What are you doing? Oh, wait, let me guess—"
"Pretending I'm walking on glass."
"You haven't changed at all, huh? Is it fun?"
"Neither have you. And yes, I suppose it is. You can try, if you want."
"Okay," she says—and she does.
And oddly enough, it is.
Owari
2011.09.05