Finding Truth Amid the Clutter

by Canopy4

As Sora cleans out her locker, she spends the time reflecting on the past and meditating about the future. Sora understands that she must find the strength to delve into her past and decide what she wants; however, going through with this action requires

Finding Truth Amid the Clutter

Disclaimer: I don't own Digimon.

Author's Note: This story was a bit of a cleansing process for me. I just went through a period of depression and suicidal thoughts. Then I understood that I'm not going to get beaten by myself.  I've come to the conclusion that I need to get rid of the junk that was cluttering my life. And this story is my way of letting go. Romance should be accepted as is. I didn't realize I put hints in this story until one of my friends pointed it out to me. I think I just showed friendship; read it as you like. I'd also like any comments on characterization when you review. Did you sense anything from these characters? Did you feel I had them react in typical fasion? Thanks!

Dedication: This is to everybody I've offending this year.  I know I've been a brat lately.  Sorry. I don't know how you put up with me. Special thanks to "The Gang", and the other members of the Awesome 10.  Enjoy!!

title Finding Truth Amid the Clutter /title

     My Chemistry Notes. Did I really waste an hour every day writing you?  What about the countless hours I spent attempting to understand you? I think schools should refund all the time I wasted.  It doesn't matter anymore though.  I'm done with school.  Well, for a short time anyway.  Regular school is officially over but my Saturday classes will resume next week. It's not my choice to go to these classes but if you even want to stand a chance when trying to get into a university, you have to go to Saturday classes.

     The great thing about not going to school every day is the sense of liberation flowing through one's veins. I'm all set to enjoy my freedom and leave behind nine months of personal torture that yields little gain.  I am preparing myself for three months of rejuvenation until I remember I have the responsibility to clean out my locker.

     "It won't take long," I reassure myself. Despite my return to the dimly lit hallway that contains my locker, I am in high spirits.

     This is mainly because I remind myself that Mimi is holding her annual "Party Splash" this weekend. Mimi, in typical fashion, is inviting all of her closest friends to accompany her family's private beach house. Pampering, snorkel lessons, surfboards and a mini cruise are all provided. Only a fool would turn it down. The thought of this weekend is enough to bring a smile to my face.

     That is until I open my locker and view the space I use as my personal garbage heap.  A normal person walks away from a trash avalanche.  However, I embrace it. I don't enjoy pawing through junk. Yet I felt that if I didn't determine what is worth saving amongst this sordid refuse, then I won't be able to muster enough honor to face the future.

     "Sora?" interrupting my thoughts is a low, comforting voice.

     I shove stray amber strands out of my eyes. "Hi Yamato."

     "Our last exam ended more two ours ago.  What are you still doing here?"

     Gesturing with my right hand to the mess that inscribes me, I heave a sigh loaded with exasperation. "Cleaning"

     My companion leans against the locker adjacent to my own.  "All of this came out of your locker?" The question comes with a hint of disgust.

     "Mmm-hmm."

     "Sora, there about a ton of garbage swallowing you there." 

     "I think that's a gross exaggeration Yamato."

     That amazing, notorious wry smile appears on Yamato's face. Many a girls work hard for it. "I know," says Yamato. "It's just that I always thought of you as this organized perfectionist. Now that I've found out you have a secret, messy demon inside of you, my dreams and believes have been shattered."

     A smile escapes from me. "Most people don't really know me or anything about me."

     Yamato's frail frame slinks against the locker until the seat of his navy pants connect with the tiled floor.

     I know one thing about you, Ms.Takenouchi. You're filled with deep thoughts and powerful secrets.  Sooner or later, you're going to explode.  Now why don't you tell me a little bit about what's going on inside you."

     Fiercely, I shake my head no. "Too personal," I respond, sliding a while binder and a decorated notebook closer to my body.

     "Aww, come on Sora.  Give me something so when the police find your imploded body, I'll be able to tell them something."

     "If you feel the need to tell the police officers something, which let me remind you Yamato, that reason has never convinced you to cooperate with the authorities before, feel free to tell them that I, Takenouchi Sora, just completed the worst year of my life."

     "Care to elaborate?" questions Yamato.

     "Yamato, I really have to clean this mess up."

     In response, Yamato grabs the black garbage bag and starts stuffing it with old papers as if the bag is a plump, succulent turkey.

     Yamato is sitting there, mechanically shoving papers into the bag.  His cool, gentle eyes are fixed on me.  I doubt he'll let me get away without telling him what's on my mind. He has that intensity about him. I should tell him; Yamato and I are friends.  Besides, the boy's getting his pants dirty for me.

     "I guess my problem stems from the very beginning of the year.  I had such high hopes; I mean, I came off this spectacular first year.  Why shouldn't I be excited?"

     I pause and bite my lip before continuing. "But I should have known better.  You can't have too much success or else people start to hate you."

     "Huh? Sora, nobody hates you."

     "Yes. Do you know how many times I hear, 'Sora, don't be so loud' or 'Geez Sora, can't you loosen up? Where's your personality?' Too many to count."

     Yamato fiddles with a paper clip." I'm curious to know why don't you live by your rules."

     "Easier said than done.  It's nearly impossible to live in society without giving up your identity, I guess goals don't help that much. Look how many things I failed at. I failed at student government, drama, poetry, and schoolwork in general. Hell, the only thing I'm good at is sports and even that has to be put on hold."

     I'm stunned by how much power I hold in my voice and how aggressive I attack the rules. Even more surprising is that I crumble against the opposition.  Minutes tick by and Yamato's mouth remains frozen, the corners turned slightly downward. I seem to have that effect on the opposite sex. We continue cleaning in silence.

     "What goals?"

     "Come again?"

     Yamato clears his throat. "You said you had goals that you wrote down in the beginning of the year. I want to see them."   

     "I never said that."

     "Yes you did. At least, I inferred as much from what you were subconsciously saying."

     Playing mind games with Yamato always proves to be a titillating challenge. He's such a pro at them that most people don't stand a chance against him. I open up the white binder that lies next to my foot and pick up the only piece of paper that has resided there since the beginning of the year. Once crisp and starch white, the paper which holds my thoughts is now limp with age.

     It was childish of me to write these things down on paper. Once ideas leave you and go out into the world, they are no longer yours. They have the power to turn against you. They have the power to destroy you.

     Slightly trembling, I hand Yamato the worn, folded paper. I urge my hand to draw back and place the paper back in the binder, but my hand refuses. And when my paper trades hands, I'm washed with a wave of relief. Yamato won't let the words turn against me. He knows what I'm going through and Yamato will help me.

     Yamato, carefully unfolding the paper, reads the list.

     "One: Have a 4.478 GPA

      Two: Lose ten pounds

      Three: Improve backhand

      Four: Be on winter dance committee," His voice is steady.

     "Five: Work more hours in the shop

      Six: Work on serve

      Seven: Improve writing skills

      Eight: Win Student Council Board Elections," Yamato gently lowers the paper.

     "Do I really have to keep reading this?"

     "Not if you don't want to."

     Yamato slowly speaks. "I must be a dolt. I don't understand why a girl as beautiful and talented as you thinks she needs to measure up to other people's standards."

     "Yeah, you are a dolt. I'm not beautiful or talented." I feel like screaming and punching a hole in the wall. 

     "I'm average at best. It gets hard to enjoy being average every single day."

     That's just the tip of the iceberg. I hate myself for being, so ordinary. I'm dying to break out and go loose, but I can't seem to break out of my mold.  So instead my existence is consumed by being average.  I hate that word. It sounds like a disease. Average.

     "Anyway, it's not as if you could remotely understand the pressures I have. I deal with being a teenage girl. I'm constantly a victim of double standards. Here, girls are constantly forced to look like finished works which roll off a conveyor belt. Differences are a rarity.  Meanwhile, the more different and rough a guy is, the sexier he is." The truth, which is often ignored, easily slides off my tongue

     "Yamato's eyes grow larger with each word I utter. "Sora, you're not going to do something desperate are you? Are you turning to harmful alternatives like, uh..."

     "Bulimia? Anorexia? Self Mutilation?" I supply, "I've thought about it, but believe me, I couldn't do it if I tried. Somebody would notice. I don't have enough time; I'm too tired."

     "Good. I think you're just so pretty the way you are," smiles Yamato, shyly taking my own hand into his own.

     I sound off with a nervous giggle. "Thank you Papa." Yamato, appreciating the joke, gives a throaty chuckle accompanied by lots of rolling of the eyes and the removal of his hand from my own.

     Damn. I kindof like the feeling of his hand. But really.  Yamato is simply stepping in and filling the role of Father for a few minutes.  We're too close for anything to occur. And what Yamato said was straight out of a book. I've got the looks only somebody's mother could love.  Still, it was warm hearing it from

a male my age. An attractive male my age.

     Once again, the awkward silence descends upon us. We concentrate on removing the trash upon the floor. The rubbish, which was one so dominating, is now pitiful and dramatically reduced in size.  I have Yamato to thank for this. He viciously attacks the trash in a methodical yet unorthodox way. I glance at him from the corner of my eye.

     Yamato, catching my eye, sticks out his tongue in a playful gesture.

     "Get back to work servant," I say with mock sternness.

     "Yes ma'am," comes the automatic reply. The response is accompanied by the removal of old worksheets. Then he reaches for my adorned notebook, sitting next to my white binder.

     "Don't throw that out," I say automatically.

     "Huh? Sora, it's your old Physics notebook. You'll never need it again."

     "I might. Put it down. Please," I beg. Yamato, sensing the panic in my voice, sets my precious notebook next to my right foot. He never takes the steely blue eyes off the cover.

     "Hearts," he says thoughtfully, "Nobody draws hearts unless they are for somebody. So answer my unspoken question."

     Slowly and steadily, I choose my words.

     "I draw hearts for my future Romeo. They're for my fated Prince Charming who will take me away into the sunset. But they're also for anyone who wants to be loved."

     Once more, Yamato studies the detailed cover. "I want that one to be mine please." He points to a dinky, unimpressive blue ballpoint pen, isolated in the upper left corner.

     "I'm curious to know why."

     "Because it's simple and natural. Just the way true love is," speaks Yamato.

     His words sing to my soul. What an amazing answer to an amazing phenomenon. I doubt Yamato knows how profound his statement is. But Yamato and I are on different tracks. While I continue thinking about love and all the bliss it brings, Yamato's on another train of thought. One that has to do with my troubles and me.

     "Sora, why did you become so interested in sports?"

     "I'm interested in seeing where this is going. Please continue," I say dryly.

     "Bear with me here Sora," begins Yamato, rolling back onto his haunches. "Okay so you started playing soccer when you were in fourth grade."

     I send flimsy amber strands flying with the shake of my head. "My entry into the soccer world began when we were in second grade. I only became a decent player in fourth grade."

     "So you skills greatly improved by the time you were in eight grade.  And you just kept improving. I've seen you play and you're nothing short of amazing. But then suddenly you quit soccer and run towards tennis. I'm confused here."              

If Yamato thinks he's confused there probably isn't a word to describe how mixed up I am. God, I'm the one living this floundering life. But I can feel my defensive spirit rise up in me, even though I want Yamato's advice and comfort. He doesn't understand me and anything he says is pure speculation. I don't

want assumptions. I want results.

     "I dunno why I became so interested in soccer. All that happened too long ago," I say in a low tone.

     Yamato begins clicking a mechanical pencil as words tumble out of his mouth. "Yes, but you're old enough to remember why you quit. You're old enough to remember why you started playing tennis. Do you recall the emotions that lead you to soccer?" The clicks increase as Yamato gains momentum. "It was your release, your way of letting go of all the problems you had at home and all the troubles you had inside. But adolescence gives you a whole new set of difficulties that you never thought about. So when soccer couldn't let you escape, you switch sports."

     There isn't going to be a Band-Aid large enough to cover the wound Yamato just opened.

     "Maybe I just like sports," I pant. It feels as if I'd just been punched in the stomach.

     "Maybe," Yamato's snort is doubtful as he sets the pencil down. At that moment, I am raw defense.

     "Look, nobody will believe you if you repeat this little conversation. They know me better than that. What are you trying to prove?" I growl.

     "Sora, people also know me as a person who's above lying. I'm not going around trying to convince anybody anything."  Yamato tears his eyes from mine. "The only person doing that is you."

     Without a word, I turn away from my honest friend and concentrate on removing the few scraps of paper left on the floor. Yamato has no business demeaning my interest in sports. Not everything a person does has deep psychological meaning.  What happened to a place where people could just do things because they want to? I want to go back in time so I can return to the days of naivety.

     But maybe he's right. Perhaps I'm too afraid to face my inner fears and myself so instead, I bury myself in activities and other people's lives. Perhaps I'm consciously avoiding my problems. Could it be that I had a bad year because I buried myself in trash?

     "Good observation," says Yamato. Guess I said that last part outloud.

     "Hey Sora?"

     "What?"

     "Sorry."

     "It's 'kay." Obviously it isn't but I'm not going to have

Yamato beat himself up over this.

     "No, it's not. I feel like shit."

     "Yamato, you're fine. Don't worry," I draw a shaky breath.

"What you said was like a wake up call. Even though it's not entirely accurate," I pause long enough to shoot him a look, " I've been so busy dodging my problems that I didn't notice them sneaking up on me."

     Yamato nods. "Sora, I hope you know that whenever you have a problem with your family, I'm always there for you."

     "How did you know it was family?"

     "Don't worry, I'm not spreading rumors," teases Yamato, "I just happen to know that family troubles are the biggest demons in our life. They're also the hardest to confront."

     "Spoken like a man who knows what he's talking about."

     "Let's just say I learn from my mistakes."

     "Yeah."

     "So do you want to talk about it?"

     Another sigh escapes from me. I must be setting some kind of record for the most sighs in a conversation. "No, not really. I want to but it's just too. I just..."

     "So you're not ready. That's cool." Yamato finishes.

     I give Yamato a smile. It's not often in life that you meet understanding people.

     "What about Taichi?" he asks quietly.

     "Taichi?"

     "Yes, the boy who's my best friend. The boy who's the captain of the soccer team, the same boy who has a permanent seat in Detention each week. And," Yamato slyly adds with a wink. "The same boy who you drew hearts for on your Physic notebook. At least some of them anyway."

     Damn. This guy knows me inside and out.

     "Whaddaya want to know? On again, off again. Nothing new there."

     "What do you feel?"

     "I feel like I want some stability in my life.  All my friends abandon me."

     Yamato's eyes blink icicles. "Us?"

     A stiff nod is my reply.

     "Oh. We didn't do much to help you when you fell down."

     "That's right. You all treated me like my sadness was infectious. I felt like I had to put on this fake happy girl act for you to come around me."

     "Not for me you don't."

     "Thanks Yamato. But I wish I read this three months ago."

     "I wish I could have been there for you. But I had some, uh, personal emotions I needed to check. But I'm here for you now babes," Yamato clears his throat. "We all are. And that's what matters right now. All of us are here. Forget about all that other crap in the past. We have so much to look forward to."

     I smile softly. "Thanks."

     Yamato leans forward and wipes unshed tears. "I'll always be here. Taichi will always be here for you. Mimi too." I swallow hard at the last part.

     Yamato puts a concerted look on his face." Sora, Mimi's moving to America isn't abandoning you. She's going to miss all of us terribly and we're all going to miss her."

     "I know," I say softly.

     "And we're not going to lose contact with her. Nobody's going to let that happen. We're going all be together, ten years from now. Mimi's even throwing that cruise thing this weekend for us."

     I laugh. "Only Mimi would have a vacation destination for her friends. What are we celebrating this time?"

     "Who knows? It's Mimi, we don't need a reason to have a party."

     "But it'll be fun to see everybody again...two days after I saw them."

     "Yeah, I can't wait to see how everybody's changed in 48 hours," jokes Yamato. "There's Koushirou, you, Joe."

     "You, Mimi."

     "And Taichi," Yamato pointy says.

     I swallow. "Yeah, Taichi."

     "Do you like him?"

     "Good question." Yamato, content with this answer, smiles and hoist himself off the floor.

     "What plans do you have for the rest of the day?" he asks as I haul myself up.

     "Well, I have a date with the T.V. and a microwave dinner.  You?"

     Yamato brushes the seat of his pants, removing all the dirt from it. It doesn't matter if he does or not; either way, it's a good view. "Band practice. Pack for the little get together this weekend. Nothing big."

     Yamato grabs the trash bag and hurls it into the garbage can without much effort. "C'mon," he says while I gather my important belongings, "I'll walk you home."

     "You don't have to do that. I live twenty minutes away from you." I protest.

     Yamato opens the heavy doubles doors that lead out to the world and away from this prison disguised as an institution for higher learning. "Yes I do. There are too many people running around with perverted fixations." We walk down the stairs and into freedom.

     "Aww, Yamato, have you gone soft?" I joke, leaning against him as we walk down the street.

     "Naw, I'm just more aware of what's going on," he blushes.

     I smile softly. "My knight in shining armor."

MDC