Dancing In The Rain
Today is always here, tomorrow, never -Toni Morrison
The end was near. He could feel it, sense it with his entire being. As a man who had lived his entire life in the shadow of death, the impending doom was impossible to ignore, and so glaringly obvious. The others didn't see it, they didn't want to. But it was inevitable, their deaths, they had to be, there could be no happy ending in this tragic fairy tale. Happy endings were too neat, too perfect.
The night was still in its blackness, but it was stormy, turbulent, the gloom was darker than the night. They all slept under the misguided notion that tomorrow would be the end. And it would, but not the one they anticipated, not the one they were invariably dreaming about at this moment. They had lost so much, come so far, it was impossible to think that now, now when tomorrow would not bring another journey but a confrontation, a battle, it was inconceivable to them that after all the pain, the blood, the death they would fail.
And it amazed him that after everything, after the grief, the heartache, the loss, naïve idealism had managed to live on inside them, this idea that tomorrow would be better, that tomorrow would be right.
When it wouldn't. It was the only truth he was absolutely certain of, the only truth he knew they would find.
He understood their reluctance to let go of their hope, understood their need for it. Just because he had long ago abandoned the notion that things will get better didn't mean he didn't understand why some people would hold onto such a useless idea. Their lives were meant to be long, meant to meaningful, meant to be lived. The only way for them to find the strength to continue each day was to believe that their efforts would mean something, that they would be rewarded in the end, that in the end they would live. Because surely a right world, a just world would not send six strangers on such a perilous journey, a journey where they would all lose, all suffer, surely a logical world would not send six strangers on such a journey if they were all going to die in the end. Surely that couldn't be true, because that would not only be tragic, it would be useless.
But what his comrades did not understand was that all death was useless. Even if they died at a ripe old age with their family surrounding them their death would still be useless, meaningless. And he, well he had always known he was going to die, always. He had always known that tomorrow might be the end. He woke up each morning not thankful that he was alive, but angry, angry at a world which would make him wait knowingly for his death, angry at a world which told him he was going to die, yet kept him alive anyway, let him wake each morning to a world, to a life which would never really be his.
And that was cruel, painful, knowing what you wanted, craving it so desperately that you could taste, feel it even, but painful because you were meant to die. And it would never be yours.
And so he was awake when everyone else had gone to sleep hours ago, he was awake and alone simply because he refused to spend his last hours alive blind to the world. Because he knew he was going to die, and they would too. And that would be the end to their epic story. The end, because good didn't always prevail over evil, sometimes good people died, because the world wasn't just, the world wasn't logical.
The world wasn't right.
And then he heard footsteps and the rustle of fabric as she sat down next to him and whispered his name in curiosity, concern, and a hint of something else. And he turned, meeting those eyes that still shined blue, even in the darkness. And he smiled in a way only a doomed man could, he laughed in only a way a man resigned to his death could in the face of fate's bitter irony.
No, the world wasn't right. Because tomorrow they were all going to die and she was what he wanted.
"Miroku-sama are you alright?" She asked quietly, innocently, truly concerned.
"I'm fine" was his rather curt and abrasive reply. Perhaps it was the fact that he was not at all alright that caused him to so uncharacteristically snap at the girl beside him, or maybe it was the fact that he hated to lie to her, for any reason. Whatever the case was he was sorry the minute the words came out of his mouth, because at the harsh tone of his voice her eyes widened, and she flinched, obviously hurt by his callousness.
She made to move, but he put his hand on her arm, effectively stopping her as she stared down at his hand in confusion.
"I'm sorry" and he was. Because tonight would be his last, hers as well, and this was not how he wanted it to go, he did not want her walking away from him hurt and he didn't want to be alone. Not tonight.
Not ever.
"It's alright" she quickly said, waving her hand as if to forgive his early remarks, "tomorrow-"
"I don't want to talk about tomorrow" he had spent his entire life thinking about tomorrow, right now, now when she here with him and only him he wanted to only think about now, this moment, and nothing else.
"Okay" she said quietly, a sort of sad smile on that beautiful face. For all her naïveté, all her innocence, she was far more perceptive, far wiser than she was given credit for. They lapsed into a comfortable silence, neither feeling the need to talk, so he took the time to study her, memorize her, because he was sure this would be the last time he would ever see her looking so peacefully beautiful. And that was what he wanted to remember, her peacefulness, her calmness, not the rage, the violence, the blood.
Him falling for her was destined, it had to be, only a man like him would be fated to fall in love with a woman who was destined to love another. That's the way his life worked. He wanted to live, yet he was destined to die. He wanted her, yet she was destined to love someone else. It made sense in the dark and twisted place that was his world.
She was so beautiful, so carefree. She woke up every morning knowing that today would be better than yesterday and to a man who waited each day for his death, there was nothing that could stir his heart more than that.
So she became a part of his hell. The hell that made him face each day knowing that others could be happy and he could never be, the hell that made him fall in love with an amazing woman and watch her fall in love with someone else.
Suddenly he frowned as a thought occurred to him. She was in love with someone else, and somewhere in the deep recesses of her mind she sensed that tonight would be her last, why was she not with him? Why was she instead here, sitting alone in the dark with a man who at best was her comrade?
"Why are you here?" he asked suddenly, breaking their silence, unable to keep his silent questions silent.
"What do you mean?" He could see the confusion in her eyes, and perhaps the faintest trace of hurt. Why would she be hurt by such a question? Unless…
"Why aren't you with him?" He hadn't wanted to ask the question, he hadn't wanted to ruin this moment where she was his. But he had to know, had to know why she was here, because he deserved it. He had wanted her for so long, forever it seemed. And now she was here and he wanted, needed to know why. Why now? Why now when tomorrow they would be dead?
And she smiled, smiled in that simple way she so often did, smiled as if the answer was so obvious it was funny that he could not see it. And she laughed.
"Because I want to be here" she emphasized, grasping his hand in her own, "with you." Still holding his hand she moved closer to him until her hip bumped his, until her cheek rested against his shoulder, and his hand lay entwined with her own in her lap. She looked up at him, he could feel her breath on his cheek, see the flecks of color in her eyes, "but you already knew that" she finally said before closing her eyes and falling back to rest against him, in peace.
And he smiled. Because in that one moment he had known. His fingers tightened around hers in an unconscious effort to hold her to him forever. But that was of course impossible, because forever ended tomorrow.
"Look!" she suddenly said, as she jolted into an upright position to point up to the sky. Startled by her sudden exclamation his eyes quickly sought what it was that had caught her attention, at first seeing nothing but the blackness of the night. But then he saw it, the bright white flash which streaked across the dark sky. A shooting star. Only her. Only she would see a shooting star on this night.
She turned to him excitedly, giddy even. "We have to make a wish" she stated resolutely, as if it were a rule, mandatory. It was ridiculous really, but he found himself charmed by her child like excitement. So he nodded his head in acknowledgement and opened his mouth to speak. But he was silenced by the feel of her small, cold fingers against his lips.
"If you say it out loud it won't come true" she said, but the excitement was gone now, replaced by sadness and fear. She stood up, turned her back to him, and he knew what she was going to say.
"It won't matter though" she began tiredly, dejectedly, as if she had already given up, as if she had already seen the end, but she couldn't. Because he was the one who was supposed to see the end, he was the one who was supposed to know. Not her. Never her.
"Because tomorrow…"she whispered, not able to make herself actually say what tomorrow would bring. And then he stood up too, because if he could do nothing else, if he could not prevent what he knew, what she knew, would happen tomorrow he would at least give her these moments. This brief happiness that they both needed so desperately.
"What did you wish for Kagome?" He asked brightly, dropping the usual honorific he addressed her with. Now was no time for formality to stand between them, now he was a man, and she was a woman. She looked at him then, an expectant look in her eyes, a question, Can we really do this? her eyes seemed to ask. He nodded, because they could, for this brief time, pretend.
And then a drop of water hit his head. It was cold, and wet. He held out his hand as more drops followed in that first one's path, and looked up, smiling wryly at fate's sense of humor. You pick now to make it rain? His mind screamed as the water started to fall in steady rhythm. It would have been funny, had he been in the mood to laugh, but really he wasn't.
But apparently she was, because she picked that exact moment to break into a hysterical fit of laughter. And he stood there, getting wetter by the minute and watched her laugh as she too was drenched in fate's newest scheme to screw with his life.
"Why are you laughing?" Clearly she was insane, she had to be, to be laughing now. And then she spread out her arms, lifted her face to the sky as if to savor the rain.
"Because I wished for the rain" she said on laugh, and then she began to move, slowly and methodically, as if she was moving to music only she could hear.
"You wished for the rain?" It was unbelievable really, such a strange wish, ridiculous, illogical. But then again he had realized long ago that she was anything but logical.
"Yes" she said as she continued to sway in the rain, "I wished to dance in the rain" she finished on sigh. And well that, that made more sense. Such a poetic wish, romantic, completely her.
He walked up to her, aware that she had not noticed his movements as her eyes were still closed. Which was why it made it all the more sweeter when her eyes flew open in surprise and then joy when he pulled her into his arms and began to dance, with her, in the rain. Her arms quickly settled around his neck, her head fell to his chest, and they danced, together, in the rain.
And for the first time in his life he was content, happy even. His whole life had been spent in a perpetual state of fear, anticipation, dread. He had always known he would die, he had always known that he would never find a life he could live, had always known he would be burdened, imprisoned by the inevitability of his death.
Yet tonight he found freedom in the fact that tomorrow he was going to die, and right now he was dancing in the rain with the woman he loved.
And even as he was tasting that freedom, enjoying it, he was angry. Right now he hated the world for denying him all the moments he could have, should have, had with her before now. He hated the world for making it rain thousands of times before, but not letting him dance with her until now, until now when it would be the last time.
"What did you wish for Miroku?" was the whisper he heard from somewhere within the folds of his robes. He was tempted to lie and say nothing, because he knew the truth would only ruin the moment, the truth had always had the uncanny ability of being true, and painful. But he had lied to her so much in the past, lied to save himself the pain, save her the grief his doom stricken words would create.
But then she looked up at him, those hypnotic blue eyes filled with curiosity and love, for him, always for him. How had he missed it before? But he knew already the answer to that question.
Because it had been easier not living when she had loved someone else, because it had been easier, safer, believing she was never meant to be his.
When in fact she had always been his, had always been destined to be his.
"What did you wish for?" She asked again, this time a whisper, a hope, a plea.
"Tomorrow" he finally said, dipping his head with the words, "I wished for tomorrow" he breathed across her lips before capturing them with his own. And it was nothing like he had dreamed, he had dreamed of passion, of heat. But he tasted rain, and the sweetness that was her and he could only savor, slowly, gently the delicate lips he had seen so often in his dreams.
He brought a hand up to cup her cheek when he finally pulled away, his thumb lazily caressing her lips, as if to trace their shape, memorize them.
"Tomorrow" she whispered, a dazed sort of smile on her face. Yes, tomorrow.
Tonight they had danced in the rain, and tomorrow, well then maybe tomorrow would finally be his.