Kissing The Floor
I woke to the side of the bed. Groggily I sat up, and rubbed the sleep from my eyes. A quick (and relieving) glance told me that last night had been one of the more fortunate ones. Sometimes at night I would have to tie myself to the bedpost so that I wouldn't wander around the room and wreak havoc. More than once I'd found my mirror shattered and my hands bloody. More than once I'd woken up with the razor in my hand. How I got to the bathroom and then back to my room, I have no idea. One way or the other, I'd have to get up anyway. Picking up the floor-kissing sheets, I dumped them on my bed. A glance at the clock told me I didn't have classes for a little while. Of course, Yu was already gone, him taking the early classes and all – I expected him to be gone. It was better, at least, this way; something about him unsettled me, and it wasn't just his silence. Sure, his policies for neatness in the dorm room we shared I tolerated, and his little odd quirks I took for granted, but it was something else, something almost supernaturally familiar about him that I just didn't like. Maybe in my last life he was my boss or something. That would've been scary.
One way or the other, I liked him better out of the room. It gave me time to think. Granted, that wasn't something I liked to do – hey, you expect me, Mr. Impulsive-Act-Before-Think to calculate something out? Hell, I had nothing else to do. I might study for that BioChem test, but never mind. I did that last night. I should get a head start on the homework for today but I didn't feel like it. I lay on my bed and patted my pillow. How abused you are, you poor pillow, your master punching you every now and then in frustration. I want to think. I want to remember.
And like a parasite that takes over the mind slowly, torturously, a half-forgotten memory emerges. It is always him. He, the boy – no, man – with the blonde hair and the sad blue eyes. Always, he is wearing a strange outfit of white and blue. Always, he does not smile for others the way he does for me. Something tells me to fear him, but I don't. There is nothing to fear from a lost little boy. Always, I take his hand and we walk down the hall like that. It's a wonder the students on both sides don't talk.
I wonder who he is. I've seen him since childhood, the haunted face coupled with a load of guilt. I don't understand why I take his hand like that. I don't like touching people, after all; it's just one of my own odd quirks. Yu's even worse than me; he doesn't touch anything but paper and his sister. If you ask him to shake your hand, he'll refuse and say something about kendo practice. Yeah, as if shaking hands will hurt your hands. And that boy seems to like holding my hand as well. Maybe in the dream I'm just humoring him or something. He seems kinda lonely. But I won't get into that.
I feel that I did something to him, though. That's always the last scene of the show, when we're walking down these white linoleum halls. Before that, there's a bunch of stuff: seeing a little cat-copy of the boy, probably a little brother; a room with trees, and just watching as Blondie comments softly about the flowers one by one; a cafeteria, where I see him in front, pushing his food around, and then I angrily tell him to eat, and he listens to me. He LISTENS to me. Who is he to do that? Usually people just say "Yeah, yeah, whatever" and leave me alone. Who does he think he is, to think that I would trust him like that?
It pains me that he's not here now. Where did he go? Where is he now? I've seen him in my dreams ever since I was little; why does he haunt me? Sometimes, in the crowd, I'll catch the sight of a blonde head and I'll gasp and shove my way through, only to discover that it's a completely different person. The Blondie in my dreams is almost feminine with a face structure that any lady would die for, but something about him clearly says that he's a guy. And always, I see that it's someone else, and I'm always disappointed. I'll get chills down my back when I'm walking down the street, at night, when I'm the only one walking, and I'll turn and no one will be there. I know my senses are good, you know. I know when someone's looking at you, scrutinizing you. And what enrages me is that he's never there. He's NEVER THERE.
When I'm alone on my bed and something bad has just happened, I feel an ache for him that I've never felt for anyone before. I feel he needs to be here, he should be here simply because I'm needy for him. Selfish, I know, but even more strange than selfish is that I'm pining for a man in my dream. And sometimes, when the moon is high and I'm staring out the window and Yu is already asleep, I can almost see another place, another planet almost, and another moon like this one. Then a sharp pain will seem to come to me, dulled from many years of suppression, and I'll know that I killed him, this nameless boy who I trust, who only lives in my dreams. But even as I twist the knife in his heart slowly, I feel his hand on another dagger, also plunged into my heart, and I feel him mimic me. We perform an act of sacred love. We perform an act of sacred hate. That doesn't matter. What does matter is that we are dead together.