Disclaimer: I do not own Sailormoon, as it is the property of it's
respective owners. I claim absolutely no credit for any of the
characters in this fic.
Will You Remember Me?
By Skylark
Rated PG
----------------------------
I think it could have been worse. No - I know it could have been. What
do they always compare you to... those poor, starving children in
Africa or India or someplace like that. But at least their lives were
fairly straightforward. Eat, work, sleep... they may have been utterly
miserable but nonetheless they always knew exactly where they were in
life.
I know, I'm being selfish again. I shouldn't, I really shouldn't...
but I can't help myself. It's like one of those times when somebody
offers you an absolutely mouth-watering chocolate. You know it's bad
for you, but it's impossible to resist... Sorry, I'm getting off track
again.
It's just that sometimes I want something so badly I can't think of
anything else. You know the deal. I get the faraway eyes, the vacant
expression, even the drool. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the
night and realise I'm even dreaming *literally* about it.
Sure, I knew what I wanted. I wanted a lot of things, I still do. I
wanted world peace - how often has that been said, I wonder? I wanted
everlasting happiness, friendship and honesty. I wanted eternal love.
Who wouldn't? But of course, I had to be realistic. It was obvious
that none of that would ever happen - at least not in my lifetime.
Maybe in several million years time when humanity might be all but
wiped out of existence, but not now. Never now. The present world I
lived in was full of imperfections. You name it, it had already
happened. War, sorrow, violence, drugs... they were everywhere. In
every country in the world, just about. When I was little I used to
block my ears every night as my parents listened to the newsreaders on
TV. I never wanted to hear about all the horrible things that occurred
with each passing second. I hated it, really I did. I still do.
Where was I? Oh, yes. My dream was to be a singer - I had often
pictured myself standing high on a stage, waving to an adoring crowd.
I used to imagine I had a million devoted admirers calling my name,
wanting my autograph and throwing me compliments left and right. I had
no doubt my determination would have been enough to put me on the road
to fame... there was only one small, barely significant detail I
couldn't overlook. I wasn't exactly the world's greatest singer.
Actually, truth be told, I was pretty pathetic as far as vocal skills
went. Not that it was exactly a requirement in this age of remarkable
technology, but to me it felt wrong to pretend to be more than I was.
Those imaginary fans of mine had loved me for who I was, not an
artificial image or a false concoction invented on a whim.
I tried telling myself that it probably wouldn't have been worth it,
anyway. As they say, fame is flitting. Fleeting, I mean. I would
probably end up worse off in the end. But I longed for stardom all the
same. That was what I dreamed about every night, fantasies of being
loved. Being envied, even. There it was, my selfish streak again. But
maybe I wasn't being quite as selfish as I assumed. Perhaps I really
wished for fame as a device to help me achieve my long-term goals.
Yep, the unachievable ones. It just didn't make sense.
It drove me crazy, this unfulfilled ambition of mine. I had not the
slightest clue what to do about it. I'd never put any thought into
what else I wanted to do with my life, and as the final few years of
my schooling approached, I found myself falling into despair. What in
the world would become of me? I felt so young and vulnerable, knowing
instinctively that I was not nearly ready to be cast into the harsh
world of reality. Though it was still years off, I realised I would be
able to cling to my parents for only so long. Then I would be truly
alone, and that I dreaded more than anything else at all.
On the odd occasion I went into rather philosophical moods in an
attempt to find out why I longed for success so much. Perhaps it was
because I felt lonely already. I had friends, certainly - and I had a
wonderful love for my parents (well okay, so my mother got on my
nerves a little) - but there was always that emptiness within my heart
that never left me. What was it I needed? I evidently thought I needed
to be constantly surrounded my people, ever the centre of attention.
Me, in the spotlight.
I mused that it may have been the result of my being an only child.
Maybe my parents had given me too much attention, could that be it?
Though it peeves me to be falling back on stereotypes yet again, it
might have well explained my tendency to be somewhat selfish in my
ways of thinking. But maybe desire was a good thing. Desire is, after
all, the foundation of determination and persistence - and that in
turn leads to achievement and victory. Being miserable would never
lead to anything useful, of that I was certain.
So I dreamed on, making my ambition widely known.
***
Yet as the months passed slowly by, I quickly came to realise
something was missing. I felt... lost, for lack of a better word. Lost
to myself, just another lonely girl in the midst of millions of
others, all waiting for something to come along and set us apart from
the rest. Or perhaps we were just looking for a friend. Someone in who
to confide all our troubles and fears, who would be there simply to
*listen*. I often felt that way, I know. There were times when I just
needed to blurt out my feelings to whoever happened to be in the
vicinity at the time, hoping they'd understand me just a little. But
of course I held my tongue, too afraid of what they might say. People
make such rapid judgements based on as little as a single word or
action. I was scared they'd defile me, cut down my opinions as quick
as - well - anything quick.
In a huge city like London, it was hard to imagine oneself as an
individual. I'm sure you know the feeling - simply being overwhelmed
by the busy monotony of everyday life. It's the feeling of having no
control over your destiny. I felt pressured into accepting the
opinions of others simply because there was nothing else to accept.
Society is strange that way.
Oh, I'm doing it again, aren't I? I'll try to stay on track.
***
He was simply *there* one day. He was sitting inconspicuously enough,
alone on the end of an old bench at the hectic subway station. I was
on my way home from school - I swear it was only by a coincidence that
I sat down next to him. I'd been too preoccupied to care for much else
than my test result that day. I had passed - barely. As I waited
miserably for the train to arrive I thought of how my mother would
react yet again. I love her, really I do - but at times she and I find
it hard to get along. And then, envisioning her angry face wasn't such
a difficult thing to do.
But eventually I had to stop wallowing in self-pity and look up from
the ground. It was only then that I noticed the man seated on my left.
For a while, I could do nothing but stare. Here was a guy who seemed
to be the picture of sadness. He sat hunched quietly over, his head in
his hands so that strands of hair spilled forward to hide his face.
Apparantly staring intently at the ground, his despair was as obvious
to me as if I had felt it myself. I guess I did, in a way - though
only over a test paper. But this person looked as if he had lost the
world. Maybe more.
I don't think he saw me gaping - he was too lost in his world of
misery. Almost eerily, I found myself feeling overwhelmingly sorry for
him. Why should I have cared? He was only another in the sea of
billions. Didn't this kind of pain hit everyone sooner or later? Yet
somehow, I knew it didn't. Whatever this man had been through - I
certainly never wanted to experience it. Perhaps... perhaps I should
have said something? Ignored him? I was at a loss for the right thing
to do.
But it was then that my train pulled up to the platform, and I found
my desicion made for me. Once again. Did I really have no control over
my life? Perhaps the man felt that way too. And I'm sure he didn't
like it either.
***
He was there the next day, and the next. The seat beside him was
always empty, but I didn't sit in it again. Always the same, always
wrapped up in that deep sadness I had noticed the first time. As the
days went by, he didn't seem any happier, only barely content to go on
living within his own little world. I often wondered what he was
thinking, during those minutes at the station. It made me curious, I
admit - and strangely, also rather guilty. Who was I to pry into the
lives of others, just because I felt like it?
But intrigued, I *had* to find out more. Though at first I ordered
myself to ignore him, I found my eyes drawn to his seat more and more
with every passing day. I must have been the only person who noticed
him at all - the other masses simply walked on by or stared off into
nowhere while awaiting their trains. It wasn't as if they were
deliberately ignoring him, only that their eyes seemed to pass him
over without registering his presence. Strange... my attention was
becoming focused on him like an arrow to a eyeball... Or was it
`bullseye'?
Still, it occurred to me that he may have been sitting there for
longer than even I knew. How could I know that I hadn't passed him by
before, like all the others? Who knew how long I had been catching the
train while letting my eyes deceive me? For all I knew I might have
been exactly the same as the rest of the crowd. Perhaps it was only
because I had sat in the ever-empty seat that I had noticed him. Or
maybe I was different from the rest.
Even as the idea occurred to me, I pushed it scornfully to the back of
my mind. Me, singled out? What a joke. It was what I longed for every
minute of every day, but it was never going to happen. Fame was not
easy to come by, and I had no illusions as to my chances of success.
- Do you know, I just thought of something. Throughout all the times I
saw him there, I never once saw him catch a train...
***
Well as you would guess, the months went on - each seeming longer and
more hectic than the last. Exams came and passed without any
remarkable change, and I still found the time to marvel over the man
at the station. A million questions were dancing around in my head by
this time - some of them only mere observations. Not that there was
much to observe - for I had still not seen his face, always hidden by
his hands and the hair that spilled carelessly over them.
Nevertheless, I hesitated to break the spell that seemed to hang over
him - I guess I was scared I might somehow make it worse. That would
be disasterous. I even felt uneasy about the empty chair to his right
- something almost repelled me from going near it. I could even have
said I was afraid of something - something inevitable - and I knew
without a doubt it was something I would once again have no control
over.
He never noticed me - if indeed he was aware of anything outside his
own thoughts. It upset me, in a way. It was becoming clearer and
clearer to me that I wanted to see his face - just once. I wanted to
sit down and talk to him, discuss what was hurting him so much, ask
all the annoying questions which were continuously hovering around in
my mind. And maybe I would be unselfish.
For I wanted to help.
***
But just as I made up my mind, everything fell apart. One otherwise
perfectly normal day turned suddenly into ruins. Approaching the train
platform after school, I knew even before I got there that something
had changed. With a deep, sinking feeling in my stomach, I made my way
through the throngs of people, not even knowing why I felt so
depressed. And there it was, staring at me as if mocking. I found
myself faced with not one, but two empty chairs. I had expected only
one to be vacant.
It felt wrong, somehow, to see only a gaping hole where there ought to
have been a person - one man in particular. My heart had already been
low, but now I thought I could barely feel it altogether. It wasn't
sadness - not yet - only a queer kind of meaningless gap which ought
to have contained more than numbness. Whether or not it was because of
this that made me sit in his chair, I don't know. I suppose it didn't
matter - as I sat, the feeling of wrongness only increased. It simply
wasn't *right* for me to sit here - not now. Not after *he'd* sat in
this very same place. Not after I'd gazed at his hunched form for
countless days and sympathised with him even though I hadn't a clue as
to what he was so upset about. Not after all this.
Feeling more alone than I had in quite a while - which was saying
something - I remained seated for a few minutes, gazing vacantly off
into space. I was aware of my train pulling up to the platform, yet
for some reason couldn't bring myself to move. Obviously I cared about
the mysterious man more than I had realised, but I couldn't understand
why he should be so strangely anchored in my mind. Indeed, even as I
sat here now I could imagine him still sitting here, lost and alone.
Just like I felt now. But also, I could readily see him in a glad
state of mind. I could easily picture him talking, laughing and acting
the fool as if he were the happiest man alive. I didn't need to see
his face to know that he was capable of this, though one would have
found it hard to imagine from the way he had first come across to me.
I wished once more that I could have the chance to talk to him, but
something told me he wasn't going to come back again. He'd been here
too often, too precisely - I doubted he would miss a single day,
although why he had wanted to sit alone at the platform in the first
place had always been beyond me. No, he wasn't coming back. Which left
the question - why was I sitting here? It had been a sudden impulse of
mine, a whim, and now I was left awkwardly pondering the reason.
Because, you see, the chair was perfectly normal - even if my
instincts told me something was wrong, I was pretty sure it didn't
originate from the chair. If there had ever been anything unusual
here, it had left with the man. Perhaps it was all only my
overreactive imagination running wild again, but it seemed a little
too pronounced, too vivid to be only a careless notion.
Finally, I caught on. There was something strange still lingering
about this area, all right - even though the man had left. And it was
not the chair in which I reclined - but the one beside it. The one I
had sat in when I had first noticed him. The chair towards which I had
earlier harboured an uneasy sense of forewarning.
Now, I thought at last I understood. It had *always* been empty, save
that very first time. It was as if something was deliberately causing
it to remain bare. But why, and until when? There must have been a
reason. Perhaps whatever was driving people away was waiting for
something. Or *someone*. Like me.
Now that I'd got that idea in my head, it wouldn't leave me. I didn't
like it. In frustration I stood, checked my bags and headed for the
open doors of the train. Then, slowing my pace a little, I looked
back. I had to. An old lady wearing furs and beautiful jewellery had
just seated herself at the place I had left. Where *he* used to sit.
Where he *used* to sit.
Involuntarily, my feet came to a halt. I was dimly mindful of my train
pulling away, but I doubt I would have caught it anyway. I could feel
my heart beating quickly as it did - now I would either have to face
whatever it was that lurked within the chair, or simply wait and try
to ignore it. My first reaction was to opt for the latter - I was
positive that once released, the `chair-thing' would never go away.
I'd never felt quite so positive about anything before. Yes, I was
scared of it, though I had absolutely no idea what it was. Even
thinking about it made me feel once more like there was a hand guiding
my every move, ordering me about like a chess piece. I didn't like
chess, and I didn't like the idea of having my life being somehow
preordained. That's what it felt like, right then.
But I was smart enough to guess that if I left then, the chair - and
whatever haunted it - would simply go on existing. Sooner or later I
would have to face up to it. At last, after what seemed an age, I
changed my mind. I slowly walked over, and sat down.
***
And it was just a normal chair again. I would have laughed - I did
laugh, in fact, which earned me a rather angry glare from the lady on
my left. I didn't care.
Still, I knew something had changed, though whether for good or worse
I wasn't certain. Just the act of my sitting down had seemed to cancel
the effect of the `chair-thing', but there was something else, too.
Racking my brains, I tried to figure it out. Could be tricky.
Well, I had always been pretty sure that the empty chair had been
something out of the usual - just not as important as the other one -
though it wasn't important any more, now that it no longer was
continuously occupied. And they both had something to do with Kunzite,
who might have...
"Kunzite??"
"Young lady, if you're going to act like a fool, kindly do it
somewhere where the rest of the public doesn't have to see you!" It
was the old woman beside me, reacting to the manner in which I had
suddenly jumped to my feet and punched the air triumphantly. Actually,
I couldn't blame her -however, it didn't stop me smiling.
"Sure!" I grinned even wider. "I'll be off then, shall I?" With that,
I rushed away from the woman's gloomy frown, running lightly down the
length of the platform toward the exit. I no longer cared about my
train. And I definitely didn't care about what people thought of my
actions. Not any more. Because now I remembered.
I still didn't know why he was sitting there at the station. I didn't
even know whether he recalled anything. All I knew was that somehow
the chair had set off my memories - perhaps some random enchantment
had caused it. Maybe he himself had done it - because the chair was
next to him. The chair had been empty. So if he remembered... he still
wanted me! Still needed me! And there *was* someone in the wide
universe who would notice me. It pained me now to think of how blind I
had been until the last minute or so. But even without my memories, I
had been drawn to him - and I hadn't even seen his face.
Now, seeing his face was the first thing on my mind. Of course, I
could find him easily enough now that I remembered how... he wasn't
that far away, at any rate. It was strange to feel so light and worry-
free for once - for at least in this lifetime it was the first time I
could have said that I didn't need to worry about the burdens of
mankind. That would come in it's own good time. For now, I had a goal
to accomplish.
***
I caught sight of him on the low bridge a few streets away. He was
looking down into the water listlessly, seeming if possible to be even
more depressed than at the station.
If I had been running fast before, this would have to be a personal
record of mine. For a moment I thought the speed of my dash might even
lift my feet off the ground - to tell the truth, I wouldn't have been
surprised if it did. But of course I came to a rather exhausted halt a
few feet short of my goal, almost tripping over my own feet in my
eagerness to at last break the ice.
"Kunzite!" Out of breath and panting, his name came out a little
desperately, but he turned. I was about to fling my arms around him,
yet something made me hesitate instead. I'm not sure why - perhaps it
was something in his expression that stopped me.
I honestly don't think my explanations can do him justice. He looked
even more handsome than I remembered. White-blonde hair and acute eyes
of silver stood out the most from him - a sharp contrast from the
everyday faces in London. But since when had I been a supporter of
conformity? His tall, muscular body showed even now the signs of a
warrior's instincts - it was in the way he stood, the way he held
himself, even when relaxed.
Now, when he laid eyes on me, I think he winced. I began to feel a
little more uncertain of myself - did he hate me? For doing nothing?
For waiting so long without a word? Or was it something else?
I didn't know what to say. For one brief, tense moment we stared at
one another. I'm not certain what Kunzite was thinking, but I was
waiting. Waiting for an answer to a question that had never been
asked. But I'm not so good at holding my tongue under stress, and it
seemed now was no exception.
"Do you remember me?"
For the longest time there was silence, and the sharp, grey eyes
remained locked into mine. As the endless seconds dragged past I drew
in a shaky breath and held it. Eventually, Kunzite's eyes dropped to
the ground and he shook his head as if to clear it of lies. His reply
was plain and simple. "No."
Though his voice was as sweet as satin or silk (or something along
those lines), it was the answer I had been dreading. But he didn't
turn away, didn't leave. I guess in hindsight this alone must have
meant something, but I was panicking by now, attempting in vain to
accept his answer.
"What - what do you mean, you don't remember me?" I blurted out in
astonishment and exasperation. "Me! Mina! You know - you must know!
You have to know something - maybe you don't realise it yet, but -"
I cut myself off short as the object of my fascination raised a hand
in my direction. I was amazed to see it shaking a little. "Hold on...
Mina." My name sounded so wonderful on his lips, it was impossible to
imagine that he might have forgotten it.
"Yes..." he continued, and here my heart soared in hope. "Yes, no, I
don't know!" To my surprise, the man I knew as being so strong and
sure crumpled to a heap on the ground before me. It was wrong -
terribly wrong. Just to see him in such a state nearly broke my heart,
but I could find the courage to do no more than remain standing there,
trying in vain to find something to say. How ironic that my throat
seemed to choke up with tears at that moment. And so I remained
silent, though a good deal of my brain was screaming at me to bend
down and comfort him.
"You're the reason I was going to end it all." he murmured into his
hands, strain sounding in his voice.
I thought my ears must have deceived me, but still could not manage to
find my tongue. 'End it all...?' Those words instead echoed through
my mind. I dearly hoped they didn't mean what common sense told me
they meant.
"But now you won't let me have even that small victory, will you?" His
shoulders began to shake with the effort of holding back tears.
"Because I can't bring myself to leave you alone, if there is still a
chance... You, the girl who haunts my dreams, make this the last
vision!"
And at last I think I understood, and was moved beyond explanation.
Kneeling down, I reached out and took his hands, holding them away
from his face. Finally I managed to find my voice.
"So I'm a dream, hey?" I asked him, smiling. "That sounds interesting.
Well, I don't know what I did in all those other dreams, but surely
if I have to poof off as soon as you wake up, you'd want this to be a
really good one, wouldn't you?" I leaned down so that my face was
directly opposite his and blinked. "So cheer up!"
It seemed to me then that something clicked in his expression, but now
that I'd started, the words kept pouring out. "I mean, you must
remember *something*, don't you? That's good - do you remember our
promise? That we'd never forget each other, even if it *is* only
through something as vague as a dream. At least I know you haven't
broken it - I don't think you'd ever do that. I know I wouldn't."
I sighed. "But I understand. If you can't remember, you can't
remember. I still don't really know why I did. But wait, I'm boring
you, aren't I?"
During the course of my outburst I had become more and more caught up
in what I was saying and had paid no attention to the man in front of
me. Now, I found I had once again run out of things to say, and my
eyes traced their way back to Kunzite. I watched in bewilderment as a
peculiar expression crossed his face - a moment later, the man who had
seemed so sad and gloomy a few seconds before burst out laughing.
"Now that's the Mina I know!"
This was the last thing I'd expected. "Huh?"
Kunzite rose to one knee, then slowly stood, never letting go of my
hands. He winked. "It seems to me that I've been doing everything
wrong, haven't I? So let's wipe the slate clean. Let's see... your
question? I believe my answer now ought be... of course."
Saying that I became the happiest girl alive at that moment would have
been an understatement, of that I'm certain. It was the first time
I'd seen him smile in, well - a lifetime. I beamed back at him readily
enough. "Okay then! Hey - since you're feeling better, why not treat
me to some icecream?"
Considering everything, I think he would have been justified to
protest. Still, he let me drag him off at a run down the street. When
we passed the subway station, he stole a quick glance at it and
smiled.
"You know, Mina. You'll promise me something, won't you?"
"What?"
"Will you remember me?"
***
And yes, I still want to be a singer. But it doesn't mean everything
to me any longer. Once, I clung to that dream because I hoped fame
would bring me the love I needed. Now, I have something better - I can
be loved and love in return.
I still believe that some dreams are simply too wonderful to ever come
true. That doesn't keep me from living in hope. I'll always be
dreaming, and I'll always remember. I suppose I never really forgot
Kunzite - he lived in my heart for all those lonely years. But then
again, my greatest dream came true. Perhaps now we can begin to make a
difference.
And perhaps destiny isn't so bad, after all.
-------------------------------
^^ ... You know, I've always thought that the people who consider
themselves to be selfish are usually the least selfish of them all. It
certainly applies in this fic of mine - I don't think dear Mina could
ever be selfish if she tried!
So, what did you think? I wrote this story at a similar pace to "I'll
Always Remember", as I received several requests for more. Thank you
to all those who emailed me - I hope you enjoyed this story also.
Even if you didn't, I'd love to hear your opinions, criticisms or
general comments. You can email me at jadeskylark@hotmail.com
-- Love, Skylark.
respective owners. I claim absolutely no credit for any of the
characters in this fic.
Will You Remember Me?
By Skylark
Rated PG
----------------------------
I think it could have been worse. No - I know it could have been. What
do they always compare you to... those poor, starving children in
Africa or India or someplace like that. But at least their lives were
fairly straightforward. Eat, work, sleep... they may have been utterly
miserable but nonetheless they always knew exactly where they were in
life.
I know, I'm being selfish again. I shouldn't, I really shouldn't...
but I can't help myself. It's like one of those times when somebody
offers you an absolutely mouth-watering chocolate. You know it's bad
for you, but it's impossible to resist... Sorry, I'm getting off track
again.
It's just that sometimes I want something so badly I can't think of
anything else. You know the deal. I get the faraway eyes, the vacant
expression, even the drool. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the
night and realise I'm even dreaming *literally* about it.
Sure, I knew what I wanted. I wanted a lot of things, I still do. I
wanted world peace - how often has that been said, I wonder? I wanted
everlasting happiness, friendship and honesty. I wanted eternal love.
Who wouldn't? But of course, I had to be realistic. It was obvious
that none of that would ever happen - at least not in my lifetime.
Maybe in several million years time when humanity might be all but
wiped out of existence, but not now. Never now. The present world I
lived in was full of imperfections. You name it, it had already
happened. War, sorrow, violence, drugs... they were everywhere. In
every country in the world, just about. When I was little I used to
block my ears every night as my parents listened to the newsreaders on
TV. I never wanted to hear about all the horrible things that occurred
with each passing second. I hated it, really I did. I still do.
Where was I? Oh, yes. My dream was to be a singer - I had often
pictured myself standing high on a stage, waving to an adoring crowd.
I used to imagine I had a million devoted admirers calling my name,
wanting my autograph and throwing me compliments left and right. I had
no doubt my determination would have been enough to put me on the road
to fame... there was only one small, barely significant detail I
couldn't overlook. I wasn't exactly the world's greatest singer.
Actually, truth be told, I was pretty pathetic as far as vocal skills
went. Not that it was exactly a requirement in this age of remarkable
technology, but to me it felt wrong to pretend to be more than I was.
Those imaginary fans of mine had loved me for who I was, not an
artificial image or a false concoction invented on a whim.
I tried telling myself that it probably wouldn't have been worth it,
anyway. As they say, fame is flitting. Fleeting, I mean. I would
probably end up worse off in the end. But I longed for stardom all the
same. That was what I dreamed about every night, fantasies of being
loved. Being envied, even. There it was, my selfish streak again. But
maybe I wasn't being quite as selfish as I assumed. Perhaps I really
wished for fame as a device to help me achieve my long-term goals.
Yep, the unachievable ones. It just didn't make sense.
It drove me crazy, this unfulfilled ambition of mine. I had not the
slightest clue what to do about it. I'd never put any thought into
what else I wanted to do with my life, and as the final few years of
my schooling approached, I found myself falling into despair. What in
the world would become of me? I felt so young and vulnerable, knowing
instinctively that I was not nearly ready to be cast into the harsh
world of reality. Though it was still years off, I realised I would be
able to cling to my parents for only so long. Then I would be truly
alone, and that I dreaded more than anything else at all.
On the odd occasion I went into rather philosophical moods in an
attempt to find out why I longed for success so much. Perhaps it was
because I felt lonely already. I had friends, certainly - and I had a
wonderful love for my parents (well okay, so my mother got on my
nerves a little) - but there was always that emptiness within my heart
that never left me. What was it I needed? I evidently thought I needed
to be constantly surrounded my people, ever the centre of attention.
Me, in the spotlight.
I mused that it may have been the result of my being an only child.
Maybe my parents had given me too much attention, could that be it?
Though it peeves me to be falling back on stereotypes yet again, it
might have well explained my tendency to be somewhat selfish in my
ways of thinking. But maybe desire was a good thing. Desire is, after
all, the foundation of determination and persistence - and that in
turn leads to achievement and victory. Being miserable would never
lead to anything useful, of that I was certain.
So I dreamed on, making my ambition widely known.
***
Yet as the months passed slowly by, I quickly came to realise
something was missing. I felt... lost, for lack of a better word. Lost
to myself, just another lonely girl in the midst of millions of
others, all waiting for something to come along and set us apart from
the rest. Or perhaps we were just looking for a friend. Someone in who
to confide all our troubles and fears, who would be there simply to
*listen*. I often felt that way, I know. There were times when I just
needed to blurt out my feelings to whoever happened to be in the
vicinity at the time, hoping they'd understand me just a little. But
of course I held my tongue, too afraid of what they might say. People
make such rapid judgements based on as little as a single word or
action. I was scared they'd defile me, cut down my opinions as quick
as - well - anything quick.
In a huge city like London, it was hard to imagine oneself as an
individual. I'm sure you know the feeling - simply being overwhelmed
by the busy monotony of everyday life. It's the feeling of having no
control over your destiny. I felt pressured into accepting the
opinions of others simply because there was nothing else to accept.
Society is strange that way.
Oh, I'm doing it again, aren't I? I'll try to stay on track.
***
He was simply *there* one day. He was sitting inconspicuously enough,
alone on the end of an old bench at the hectic subway station. I was
on my way home from school - I swear it was only by a coincidence that
I sat down next to him. I'd been too preoccupied to care for much else
than my test result that day. I had passed - barely. As I waited
miserably for the train to arrive I thought of how my mother would
react yet again. I love her, really I do - but at times she and I find
it hard to get along. And then, envisioning her angry face wasn't such
a difficult thing to do.
But eventually I had to stop wallowing in self-pity and look up from
the ground. It was only then that I noticed the man seated on my left.
For a while, I could do nothing but stare. Here was a guy who seemed
to be the picture of sadness. He sat hunched quietly over, his head in
his hands so that strands of hair spilled forward to hide his face.
Apparantly staring intently at the ground, his despair was as obvious
to me as if I had felt it myself. I guess I did, in a way - though
only over a test paper. But this person looked as if he had lost the
world. Maybe more.
I don't think he saw me gaping - he was too lost in his world of
misery. Almost eerily, I found myself feeling overwhelmingly sorry for
him. Why should I have cared? He was only another in the sea of
billions. Didn't this kind of pain hit everyone sooner or later? Yet
somehow, I knew it didn't. Whatever this man had been through - I
certainly never wanted to experience it. Perhaps... perhaps I should
have said something? Ignored him? I was at a loss for the right thing
to do.
But it was then that my train pulled up to the platform, and I found
my desicion made for me. Once again. Did I really have no control over
my life? Perhaps the man felt that way too. And I'm sure he didn't
like it either.
***
He was there the next day, and the next. The seat beside him was
always empty, but I didn't sit in it again. Always the same, always
wrapped up in that deep sadness I had noticed the first time. As the
days went by, he didn't seem any happier, only barely content to go on
living within his own little world. I often wondered what he was
thinking, during those minutes at the station. It made me curious, I
admit - and strangely, also rather guilty. Who was I to pry into the
lives of others, just because I felt like it?
But intrigued, I *had* to find out more. Though at first I ordered
myself to ignore him, I found my eyes drawn to his seat more and more
with every passing day. I must have been the only person who noticed
him at all - the other masses simply walked on by or stared off into
nowhere while awaiting their trains. It wasn't as if they were
deliberately ignoring him, only that their eyes seemed to pass him
over without registering his presence. Strange... my attention was
becoming focused on him like an arrow to a eyeball... Or was it
`bullseye'?
Still, it occurred to me that he may have been sitting there for
longer than even I knew. How could I know that I hadn't passed him by
before, like all the others? Who knew how long I had been catching the
train while letting my eyes deceive me? For all I knew I might have
been exactly the same as the rest of the crowd. Perhaps it was only
because I had sat in the ever-empty seat that I had noticed him. Or
maybe I was different from the rest.
Even as the idea occurred to me, I pushed it scornfully to the back of
my mind. Me, singled out? What a joke. It was what I longed for every
minute of every day, but it was never going to happen. Fame was not
easy to come by, and I had no illusions as to my chances of success.
- Do you know, I just thought of something. Throughout all the times I
saw him there, I never once saw him catch a train...
***
Well as you would guess, the months went on - each seeming longer and
more hectic than the last. Exams came and passed without any
remarkable change, and I still found the time to marvel over the man
at the station. A million questions were dancing around in my head by
this time - some of them only mere observations. Not that there was
much to observe - for I had still not seen his face, always hidden by
his hands and the hair that spilled carelessly over them.
Nevertheless, I hesitated to break the spell that seemed to hang over
him - I guess I was scared I might somehow make it worse. That would
be disasterous. I even felt uneasy about the empty chair to his right
- something almost repelled me from going near it. I could even have
said I was afraid of something - something inevitable - and I knew
without a doubt it was something I would once again have no control
over.
He never noticed me - if indeed he was aware of anything outside his
own thoughts. It upset me, in a way. It was becoming clearer and
clearer to me that I wanted to see his face - just once. I wanted to
sit down and talk to him, discuss what was hurting him so much, ask
all the annoying questions which were continuously hovering around in
my mind. And maybe I would be unselfish.
For I wanted to help.
***
But just as I made up my mind, everything fell apart. One otherwise
perfectly normal day turned suddenly into ruins. Approaching the train
platform after school, I knew even before I got there that something
had changed. With a deep, sinking feeling in my stomach, I made my way
through the throngs of people, not even knowing why I felt so
depressed. And there it was, staring at me as if mocking. I found
myself faced with not one, but two empty chairs. I had expected only
one to be vacant.
It felt wrong, somehow, to see only a gaping hole where there ought to
have been a person - one man in particular. My heart had already been
low, but now I thought I could barely feel it altogether. It wasn't
sadness - not yet - only a queer kind of meaningless gap which ought
to have contained more than numbness. Whether or not it was because of
this that made me sit in his chair, I don't know. I suppose it didn't
matter - as I sat, the feeling of wrongness only increased. It simply
wasn't *right* for me to sit here - not now. Not after *he'd* sat in
this very same place. Not after I'd gazed at his hunched form for
countless days and sympathised with him even though I hadn't a clue as
to what he was so upset about. Not after all this.
Feeling more alone than I had in quite a while - which was saying
something - I remained seated for a few minutes, gazing vacantly off
into space. I was aware of my train pulling up to the platform, yet
for some reason couldn't bring myself to move. Obviously I cared about
the mysterious man more than I had realised, but I couldn't understand
why he should be so strangely anchored in my mind. Indeed, even as I
sat here now I could imagine him still sitting here, lost and alone.
Just like I felt now. But also, I could readily see him in a glad
state of mind. I could easily picture him talking, laughing and acting
the fool as if he were the happiest man alive. I didn't need to see
his face to know that he was capable of this, though one would have
found it hard to imagine from the way he had first come across to me.
I wished once more that I could have the chance to talk to him, but
something told me he wasn't going to come back again. He'd been here
too often, too precisely - I doubted he would miss a single day,
although why he had wanted to sit alone at the platform in the first
place had always been beyond me. No, he wasn't coming back. Which left
the question - why was I sitting here? It had been a sudden impulse of
mine, a whim, and now I was left awkwardly pondering the reason.
Because, you see, the chair was perfectly normal - even if my
instincts told me something was wrong, I was pretty sure it didn't
originate from the chair. If there had ever been anything unusual
here, it had left with the man. Perhaps it was all only my
overreactive imagination running wild again, but it seemed a little
too pronounced, too vivid to be only a careless notion.
Finally, I caught on. There was something strange still lingering
about this area, all right - even though the man had left. And it was
not the chair in which I reclined - but the one beside it. The one I
had sat in when I had first noticed him. The chair towards which I had
earlier harboured an uneasy sense of forewarning.
Now, I thought at last I understood. It had *always* been empty, save
that very first time. It was as if something was deliberately causing
it to remain bare. But why, and until when? There must have been a
reason. Perhaps whatever was driving people away was waiting for
something. Or *someone*. Like me.
Now that I'd got that idea in my head, it wouldn't leave me. I didn't
like it. In frustration I stood, checked my bags and headed for the
open doors of the train. Then, slowing my pace a little, I looked
back. I had to. An old lady wearing furs and beautiful jewellery had
just seated herself at the place I had left. Where *he* used to sit.
Where he *used* to sit.
Involuntarily, my feet came to a halt. I was dimly mindful of my train
pulling away, but I doubt I would have caught it anyway. I could feel
my heart beating quickly as it did - now I would either have to face
whatever it was that lurked within the chair, or simply wait and try
to ignore it. My first reaction was to opt for the latter - I was
positive that once released, the `chair-thing' would never go away.
I'd never felt quite so positive about anything before. Yes, I was
scared of it, though I had absolutely no idea what it was. Even
thinking about it made me feel once more like there was a hand guiding
my every move, ordering me about like a chess piece. I didn't like
chess, and I didn't like the idea of having my life being somehow
preordained. That's what it felt like, right then.
But I was smart enough to guess that if I left then, the chair - and
whatever haunted it - would simply go on existing. Sooner or later I
would have to face up to it. At last, after what seemed an age, I
changed my mind. I slowly walked over, and sat down.
***
And it was just a normal chair again. I would have laughed - I did
laugh, in fact, which earned me a rather angry glare from the lady on
my left. I didn't care.
Still, I knew something had changed, though whether for good or worse
I wasn't certain. Just the act of my sitting down had seemed to cancel
the effect of the `chair-thing', but there was something else, too.
Racking my brains, I tried to figure it out. Could be tricky.
Well, I had always been pretty sure that the empty chair had been
something out of the usual - just not as important as the other one -
though it wasn't important any more, now that it no longer was
continuously occupied. And they both had something to do with Kunzite,
who might have...
"Kunzite??"
"Young lady, if you're going to act like a fool, kindly do it
somewhere where the rest of the public doesn't have to see you!" It
was the old woman beside me, reacting to the manner in which I had
suddenly jumped to my feet and punched the air triumphantly. Actually,
I couldn't blame her -however, it didn't stop me smiling.
"Sure!" I grinned even wider. "I'll be off then, shall I?" With that,
I rushed away from the woman's gloomy frown, running lightly down the
length of the platform toward the exit. I no longer cared about my
train. And I definitely didn't care about what people thought of my
actions. Not any more. Because now I remembered.
I still didn't know why he was sitting there at the station. I didn't
even know whether he recalled anything. All I knew was that somehow
the chair had set off my memories - perhaps some random enchantment
had caused it. Maybe he himself had done it - because the chair was
next to him. The chair had been empty. So if he remembered... he still
wanted me! Still needed me! And there *was* someone in the wide
universe who would notice me. It pained me now to think of how blind I
had been until the last minute or so. But even without my memories, I
had been drawn to him - and I hadn't even seen his face.
Now, seeing his face was the first thing on my mind. Of course, I
could find him easily enough now that I remembered how... he wasn't
that far away, at any rate. It was strange to feel so light and worry-
free for once - for at least in this lifetime it was the first time I
could have said that I didn't need to worry about the burdens of
mankind. That would come in it's own good time. For now, I had a goal
to accomplish.
***
I caught sight of him on the low bridge a few streets away. He was
looking down into the water listlessly, seeming if possible to be even
more depressed than at the station.
If I had been running fast before, this would have to be a personal
record of mine. For a moment I thought the speed of my dash might even
lift my feet off the ground - to tell the truth, I wouldn't have been
surprised if it did. But of course I came to a rather exhausted halt a
few feet short of my goal, almost tripping over my own feet in my
eagerness to at last break the ice.
"Kunzite!" Out of breath and panting, his name came out a little
desperately, but he turned. I was about to fling my arms around him,
yet something made me hesitate instead. I'm not sure why - perhaps it
was something in his expression that stopped me.
I honestly don't think my explanations can do him justice. He looked
even more handsome than I remembered. White-blonde hair and acute eyes
of silver stood out the most from him - a sharp contrast from the
everyday faces in London. But since when had I been a supporter of
conformity? His tall, muscular body showed even now the signs of a
warrior's instincts - it was in the way he stood, the way he held
himself, even when relaxed.
Now, when he laid eyes on me, I think he winced. I began to feel a
little more uncertain of myself - did he hate me? For doing nothing?
For waiting so long without a word? Or was it something else?
I didn't know what to say. For one brief, tense moment we stared at
one another. I'm not certain what Kunzite was thinking, but I was
waiting. Waiting for an answer to a question that had never been
asked. But I'm not so good at holding my tongue under stress, and it
seemed now was no exception.
"Do you remember me?"
For the longest time there was silence, and the sharp, grey eyes
remained locked into mine. As the endless seconds dragged past I drew
in a shaky breath and held it. Eventually, Kunzite's eyes dropped to
the ground and he shook his head as if to clear it of lies. His reply
was plain and simple. "No."
Though his voice was as sweet as satin or silk (or something along
those lines), it was the answer I had been dreading. But he didn't
turn away, didn't leave. I guess in hindsight this alone must have
meant something, but I was panicking by now, attempting in vain to
accept his answer.
"What - what do you mean, you don't remember me?" I blurted out in
astonishment and exasperation. "Me! Mina! You know - you must know!
You have to know something - maybe you don't realise it yet, but -"
I cut myself off short as the object of my fascination raised a hand
in my direction. I was amazed to see it shaking a little. "Hold on...
Mina." My name sounded so wonderful on his lips, it was impossible to
imagine that he might have forgotten it.
"Yes..." he continued, and here my heart soared in hope. "Yes, no, I
don't know!" To my surprise, the man I knew as being so strong and
sure crumpled to a heap on the ground before me. It was wrong -
terribly wrong. Just to see him in such a state nearly broke my heart,
but I could find the courage to do no more than remain standing there,
trying in vain to find something to say. How ironic that my throat
seemed to choke up with tears at that moment. And so I remained
silent, though a good deal of my brain was screaming at me to bend
down and comfort him.
"You're the reason I was going to end it all." he murmured into his
hands, strain sounding in his voice.
I thought my ears must have deceived me, but still could not manage to
find my tongue. 'End it all...?' Those words instead echoed through
my mind. I dearly hoped they didn't mean what common sense told me
they meant.
"But now you won't let me have even that small victory, will you?" His
shoulders began to shake with the effort of holding back tears.
"Because I can't bring myself to leave you alone, if there is still a
chance... You, the girl who haunts my dreams, make this the last
vision!"
And at last I think I understood, and was moved beyond explanation.
Kneeling down, I reached out and took his hands, holding them away
from his face. Finally I managed to find my voice.
"So I'm a dream, hey?" I asked him, smiling. "That sounds interesting.
Well, I don't know what I did in all those other dreams, but surely
if I have to poof off as soon as you wake up, you'd want this to be a
really good one, wouldn't you?" I leaned down so that my face was
directly opposite his and blinked. "So cheer up!"
It seemed to me then that something clicked in his expression, but now
that I'd started, the words kept pouring out. "I mean, you must
remember *something*, don't you? That's good - do you remember our
promise? That we'd never forget each other, even if it *is* only
through something as vague as a dream. At least I know you haven't
broken it - I don't think you'd ever do that. I know I wouldn't."
I sighed. "But I understand. If you can't remember, you can't
remember. I still don't really know why I did. But wait, I'm boring
you, aren't I?"
During the course of my outburst I had become more and more caught up
in what I was saying and had paid no attention to the man in front of
me. Now, I found I had once again run out of things to say, and my
eyes traced their way back to Kunzite. I watched in bewilderment as a
peculiar expression crossed his face - a moment later, the man who had
seemed so sad and gloomy a few seconds before burst out laughing.
"Now that's the Mina I know!"
This was the last thing I'd expected. "Huh?"
Kunzite rose to one knee, then slowly stood, never letting go of my
hands. He winked. "It seems to me that I've been doing everything
wrong, haven't I? So let's wipe the slate clean. Let's see... your
question? I believe my answer now ought be... of course."
Saying that I became the happiest girl alive at that moment would have
been an understatement, of that I'm certain. It was the first time
I'd seen him smile in, well - a lifetime. I beamed back at him readily
enough. "Okay then! Hey - since you're feeling better, why not treat
me to some icecream?"
Considering everything, I think he would have been justified to
protest. Still, he let me drag him off at a run down the street. When
we passed the subway station, he stole a quick glance at it and
smiled.
"You know, Mina. You'll promise me something, won't you?"
"What?"
"Will you remember me?"
***
And yes, I still want to be a singer. But it doesn't mean everything
to me any longer. Once, I clung to that dream because I hoped fame
would bring me the love I needed. Now, I have something better - I can
be loved and love in return.
I still believe that some dreams are simply too wonderful to ever come
true. That doesn't keep me from living in hope. I'll always be
dreaming, and I'll always remember. I suppose I never really forgot
Kunzite - he lived in my heart for all those lonely years. But then
again, my greatest dream came true. Perhaps now we can begin to make a
difference.
And perhaps destiny isn't so bad, after all.
-------------------------------
^^ ... You know, I've always thought that the people who consider
themselves to be selfish are usually the least selfish of them all. It
certainly applies in this fic of mine - I don't think dear Mina could
ever be selfish if she tried!
So, what did you think? I wrote this story at a similar pace to "I'll
Always Remember", as I received several requests for more. Thank you
to all those who emailed me - I hope you enjoyed this story also.
Even if you didn't, I'd love to hear your opinions, criticisms or
general comments. You can email me at jadeskylark@hotmail.com
-- Love, Skylark.