Graduation Day

Mother still has the pictures Hikaru and I made in grade school art. They hang framed in a special place in her office, side by side. We heard our teacher from that time once praised those pictures as being indicative of the artistic talent that runs in our family, but they're not much to look at, really. Just a couple of collages two seven-year-old kids made with autumn leaves and paint. They aren't even that different, really—even if our styles of execution differed, we always chose the same subject in those days—except that Hikaru's is maybe a bit more symmetrical than mine.

That, though, is a secret we alone share. As far as anyone else knows, that slightly more symmetrical picture is mine and my slightly more abstract one is his, because that's what the names say. No one else knows that back then each of our seven-year-old selves signed the other's picture as his own. We just let them believe that the picture that says Hikaru was made by Hikaru, and the one that says Kaoru was made by Kaoru—and pick them apart accordingly, digging deep for what each one reveals about us that we alone know is not true.

Somewhere along the line we lost track of our original reason for doing what we did. Maybe we had intended to reveal the truth to Mother as some sort of cruel joke, after she proved she couldn't tell the difference between our work, but we either forgot or couldn't bring ourselves to do that after all.

Maybe our reasoning wasn't as clearly formed in our minds as all that, and it was just a phase we went through, trying our best to convince ourselves we were interchangeable. A very long phase. . . .

I don't even remember what we were trying to prove anymore. But I'm not sure I mind things staying as they are, either. I haven't yet. Or, at least, not enough to change the way things stand. Maybe someday I won't be able to stand my picture being confused for Hikaru's any longer and the truth will come bursting out of me, but that hasn't happened yet.

—= o =—

The last day of class and the cherry blossoms are just starting to pop. The bright pink of the buds hasn't quite faded to the pearly white of open blooms, but the sky behind is cloudless blue and almost convinces you of spring's warmth.

He raises his digital SLR in one hand, holds it steady, and takes a snapshot of a nearby branch.

"So, I guess this is it," she says at his back. "I know I've only been here three years, but somehow it feels like I'll be leaving behind an eternity."

"Speak for yourself. This is the only school I've ever known."

He sneaks a shot of her looking up at the blossoms before she turns to him, her mouth forming a tiny, thoughtful "o". "That's right. It must be like a second home to you and Hikaru, for all the time you've spent here."

"More like a first home."

She doesn't quite hear him mutter that behind the camera, or else pretends not to. She's smiling for him now and he shoots another picture. Hands clasped behind her back, the suit can't completely hide her femininity. Not if one knows what to look for, anyway. She's smiling, but he can't help but think there's something sad in that look, or maybe nostalgic, something that can only be seen through the filter of the camera's viewfinder, or on the preview screen.

Or maybe he's just seeing what he wants to see. It wouldn't be the first time. He doesn't really want to think about leaving this place behind either.

As though reading his thoughts, she says brightly, "But at least we'll be seeing each other at college."

That's right, he thinks. They made it into the same university. Even if they end up sharing no classes at all in common, they'll at least be on the same campus. "I'm gonna have to make sure we keep in touch."

"I'll hold you to it. By the way, do you have any idea what you want to study?"

He raises the camera in front of his face again. He feels more comfortable speaking the truth behind that mask, even if it is just about inconsequential, impersonal things. "I dunno yet. Probably business. Or art. Maybe both. It's kind of expected. . . . What about you? Hey, I want to get a shot of you with your diploma."

As she holds it up, he says through a smile: "I'm gonna 'shop in a pith helmet and monocle and make you Dr Fujioka, world-renowned paleontologist."

She snorts and sticks out her tongue at him for that—which he gets in the shot. She probably doesn't know it, but that's the cutest picture he's taken of her yet.

"Dork. You know I'm going to study law."

"Of course. Like your mother."

She seems taken aback. He doesn't know why she should be. "That's right."

Feeling self-conscious suddenly, he turns his back, setting up a shot of the school building, shining white in the cloudless blue sky behind the lace pattern of cherry buds on the branch. The words seem to throw themselves from his mouth:

"Hikaru wanted me to ask you if you want to do something together before classes start—"

"Hikaru?"

"Yeah. You know, we should go somewhere, the three of us. I think it would mean a lot to him—"

"To him, or to you, Kaoru?"

He goes still under the shiver that runs up his spine, even though it isn't that cool here with the sun shining on them. "Well, we'd both like to treat you to somewhere nice to celebrate our graduation—"

"That wasn't the question, though, was it?"

He starts. She doesn't tiptoe around the issue, but just like the lawyer she wants to study to be, she won't just come out and say it either, and by now he should know her well enough not to be surprised that she can say such accusing words so sweetly.

But something twinges in his gut at her question. She already knows the truth, so why does she need to hear it from him?

She doesn't mean a lot to him, he thinks. She means everything. And that's the problem.

He laughs to himself. It eases some of the pain when he says, "But what about you and Hikaru?"

"What about me and Hikaru?"

He raises the camera—it's an automatic defensive move now—but she won't let him. She knows his tricks too well. Her hand pulls his arm down, turns him to face her, and he's sure she can read everything clearly on his face. Why does she even bother asking? "I was asking about you, Kaoru."

He was going to lie, but the way her brown eyes are trained on him, he suddenly can't do it, and the truth just sort of . . . comes out.

"Yes. It would mean a lot to me."

She smiles.

"There. That wasn't so difficult, was it?"

It's so simple it's abysmally difficult. It's so hard like he can't even express, like the simplicity of the blue sky above them that looks like it's all just one color and yet is so deep he can't even fathom it, can't even render it in paint, in words, in pixels. . . . What would it even prove if he could?

"It doesn't matter, though, does it? You and Hikaru already look so good together." On the countless dates they've taken, the photographs he's taken of Haruhi in her girly dresses leaning on his brother's arm, Hikaru's furtive glances during club, during class. . . .

"Do we?" she says. "You know, you and I probably wouldn't look any different."

Either one would do. . . . But he's heard that song and dance so many times before. He's sick of it, because the last person he wants to hear it from is her. No one wants to hear that he's interchangeable. Doesn't she get that yet? His jaw hurts, and he only realizes it's because he's been clenching it too tight.

"I know you've tried really hard to get us together," she says when he remains silent. "Like asking me out on that date when you planned to send him instead all along."

He tries to smile it off, but he can't even force one at the moment. She doesn't know what her words do to him. She can't know how much she's hurting him, like something is breaking inside all over again, like when he watched her with Hikaru on their first date but so much worse. And he can't understand why—why that should be the case when a part of him has been wanting to hear words like this from her since that day. It's just that he's gotten himself too far into this lie to have that right anymore.

"That was three years ago," he says, like that's some sort of excuse.

She sighs. "You always have his best interest at heart, don't you? You must really love Hikaru, if you can sacrifice so much of your own happiness for his."

"He's my brother," he says quietly. And my twin at that. It's only natural.

"I know. But . . ."

She struggles for words, eventually settling on: "You can't make something grow when there was never a seed there to begin with. No matter how hard you try."

And all he can think is, no, something's grown, just not what I wanted. Well, maybe he had wanted it, but all the effort he expended these past three years—it was for something that was never going to come to fruition.

And now he's hearing this thinly veiled confession he's been waiting for, and he can't remember a time when he actually got exactly he wanted—and wanted to take it back so much.

"I think you owe me a date, Kaoru," she says, claiming a debt that's three years old, and all he can think is how fortunate she is to be an only child.