Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, do not sue.
Waltz
If there exists a form of music that is a direct expression of sensuality, it is the Waltz.
The Waltz is ...sneaking, insidious, disarming, lovely. There is something about it that is irresistible, yet at the same time promising...
Max Graf and H.L. Menken, 1919
-o0o-
The first time Honda had seen her, he knew he was in trouble, big trouble.
The girl slunk behind Katsuya Jounochi, his long time friend and fellow trouble maker, much the manner that of a puppy following its mother bitch around. The clothes she wore were simple, almost tomboyish even, jeans and over-sized shirts, but the face above that slender white neck looked like it would have fit in right at home with silk gowns and princess tiara.
He was fifteen, almost sixteen at that time, the phase of hormones, rebellion and exploration of one's self. If there were anything he knew then it was that Shizuka Kawaii, the younger sister of Katsuya Jounochi, had become one of his crushes...yet again.
Just like with Anzu Mazaki, Miho Nosaka, and a hundred other girls before them that he'd met during junior high, Honda went about his crush with gusto. He gave unmanly shrieks; he sighed; he daydreamed; he planned unthinkable (and impossible) plans with him playing the knight in shining armors, the Rambo that trekked through the volatile land of Burma to the damsel's rescue; and he ran away from homicidal older brother.
In hindsight, it was a bit like checking off a shopping list. These things he had done a hundred times before and probably would do a hundred time in the futures, if it weren't for for the news that had turned up one fine day in the form of a coarse blindfold bound crossway over that pretty face.
He had not seen Shizuka then, but the sight of Jounochi breaking down in front of him was more than enough.
It was as if someone had thrown a rock and broke the tinted glass cover. He stopped then, because it seemed inappropriate, juvenile even.
That was months ago, and since then, Honda hadn't seen much of her except for the fleeting images in his secret dreams or in the brown silhouette of Jounochi's hair whenever he turned the corner, making his hair flew in the ghost of a much longer version.
"It's a crush" He told himself. "Just a crush. Like a hundred others before her" Honda would have believed that too if it weren't for the girl that passed by him on that same day down the sub-station, her long brown tress flew to the breeze that came with the metallic screeching of the train.
Honda wished he had seen her face because then he wouldn't have spent that whole evening wondering if it was her he had seen and not just a bypassing stranger. He spent the next day trying to convince himself that it wasn't her and that he better concentrated on his prep if he wanted a decent grade this semester. At that time, Honda wouldn't know it, but in two weeks, he'd get his paper back with a very big, very red F scratched angrily on it along with a line saying 'would have been better if you hadn't been daydreaming in my class'.
The boy couldn't help it – A radio moaned mockingly somewhere near- couldn't help it...he just couldn't help it.
Honda met her again, not on his own action but by accident. It was with both excitement and dread that his heart drummed as he peered at the girl sitting in one corner of the laminated floor, her back facing the mirror wall and her legs folded neatly beneath.
'What is she doing here?' was the first thought that flashed across his head as Honda unconsciously straightened himself out of his slouch, trying to look taller and older.
Across the room, Anzu was in the midst of a passionate dance, her feet thumping in steps, hands swinging and back stretching into a classical ballet position.
The scene should have been cruel and in a sense, it was. A blind girl admiring a beautiful dancer, perhaps wanting to be the dancer herself. But the look on Shizuka's face, even with the blindfold, was of an intense concentration. Her chin was tucked in, her whole body still, not a hair moving, her hands closed into a circle. Shizuka was looking, watching, gazing at Anzu's every move...by the sound of her footsteps, of her swinging hands, of her whipping hair and the soft rhythm of her breath.
Honda too stayed very still, paralyzed by something so intense, so profound that he was at a lost of what to do. He could have approached her, could have said hello, could have gone to Anzu and gave her her forgotten notebook then left, could have done many things actually but he didn't for if he did, so much as a move, he'd have marked himself as a trespasser on her world, her sanctuary. And that would be the last thing he wanted.
So Honda stood his ground and watched, enrapture, enamored, and in denial, because in his head, a mantra was looping it self. It's a crush. It's a crush. It's a crush.
-o0o-
The digital clock ticked and read 4:30 AM, May 12, Monday, 2008. Honda's eyes were red and glaring absentmindedly at the ceiling. The copper legs of a box dug into his stomach under the weight of his caressing hands and arms. It had been there all of yesterday evening and today morning and in the next two hours, it would still be there as Honda waged war in his head.
Unseen to his eyes, a paper calendar on the wall was marked with red and black ink and angry scratches upon scratches.
May 12, Shizuka. Scratch. May 12, operation. Scratch. May 12, Shizuka. Scratch. May 12, get over it already, loser! Scratch scratch scratch.
The last line was added on, of course, by his bastard brat of a nephew, not that Honda had any attention to pay him now but he would pay and with interest too after this day was over and done with.
The operation had a 50/50 chance of success. He wondered how she was feeling right now knowing that tomorrow her dream would either make or break. He wondered if she slept. He wondered if she still smiled like she did yesterday when the whole group were there to give cheering words.
She smiled. How could she? Knowing that perhaps tomorrow would be the end of her dream?
The clock ticked impatiently, exasperated at its owner's indecisiveness.
Shizuka is a brave girl, isn't she? He thought with a smile, then a frown. And are you?
The clock ticked again, this time joined by the calendar as they nagged in unison. Look at him! What a loser! What a wimp!
You two, shut the fuck up! Replied Honda, initiating a wordless quarrel between man and products of hallucination, lack of sleep, and long time frustration that would go on for hours.
It was only when the clock screamed '7 AM, three hours till operation' in an obviously aggravated voice that the quarrel ended with a stiffening of Honda's fingers, the cool brass wedged between them.
I'm a coward...
His heart fluttered for a moment before he got up, removed the box from its position, carefully wrapped it in brown papers before putting it into his backpack.
Honda tethered between borders of awareness as he removed himself from his room, bathed, cleansed and clothed his body.
He foregone his breakfast and let his feet carried him to the streets, through the corners, though one big roundabout, through the shouting of a man sitting behind the wheel of a screeching car, through the white gate of the hospital, through its vacant hall and corridor until his feet stopped and Honda jerked back into consciousness.
He stared owlishly at his raising hands, closed into a feet and knocking the door on its own. It took two minutes before there was the clicking sound of an open door and a figure stood in front of him.
Shizuka stared at him through the layers of the blindfold and a single word rung in the space between Honda's ears. A loud and echoing 'Shit!'.
He stammered.
"Shizuka...san"
"Honda-kun?"
Honda wanted to run. In fact, his mind had already done so, leaving his zombiefied body to its own device. His head was vacant and his tongue tied. What was he supposed to say? That he was asking her out?
He cursed his own fleeing mind. He was never good with words, never used them that much actually. In his junior high years, Honda had communicated with his fists more than his mouth. He used to be a gangster after all, and gangsters naturally didn't sweet-talk each other into submission. Suddenly, Honda was painfully aware of his plain appearance despite her not seeing it.
Calm down, sonny. Said his right ear, sounding suspiciously like his chain-smoker lazy ass of an old man. Unknit your knickers first before sweeping the ladies off her feet.
Look at you. Grumbled his left ear, sounding suspiciously like his clock and calendar. What a wimp you are! This is your last chance, get it over with already!
And with that, Honda's mind snapped back to its place. It was true. This was his last chance, and hers as well.
"Shizuka-san. I have something to show you. Will you go with me?" He said finally, a ghost of desperation in his voice. "...Please..."
He didn't give her a chance to reply as he took her hands and led her out of the room, out of the vacant corridor, out of the white gate, out of the hospital, and out of the unspoken weight that had been pressing on her over the night.
It was with an immense sense of joy and hope that he noticed that she did not resist, not even once.
They walked through the streets and came upon the old basketball room. Long replaced by its newer and better equipped successor, the room was abandoned to decay into broken glass panes and leaves-littered floor. It was hardly a sight but it would serve its purpose.
Honda pulled out a bundle from his backpack, then unwrapped it to reveal a small music box before laying it onto the floor, careful to stay close to Shizuka all the time. He wound it up with a few turns of hand and in no time at all, the little box was awaken from its slumber, bringing with it a soft melody. The twanging and twinging of brass needles ricocheted off the walls and wooden panes and gradually grew into trilling echoes.
"It's Xanh" He said, turning to her finally. Shizuka froze at this. Xanh?The musician? She thought with both anticipation and anxiety.
For what? For dancing?...-She felt shame first then fear as if someone had revealed her deepest secret, reciting it from her own diary to an ooh-ing and ah-ing crowd- With a blind girl? A blind dance? How can she dance when she was blind?
But Honda didn't give her much time to kindle her own chaotic emotions because all of a sudden he was very close in front of her. She could hear him in a thousand sounds all over, surrounding her like a protecting wall. The wind breezing through his hair and skin, the rustling of his clothes, the thumping from his chest, his squeaking shoes, his tingling presence enveloping her. But above all that, a sound resonated, warm and rich and full of sincerity. A light in her shadowed world.
"Trust me...alright?"
With that, he took her right hand into his own, sweaty and callused, and so very much solid and suddenly she was reminded of how long it was since she last had a familiar touch. His hands guided her and supported her at the same time. Together they took the first step, then the second, then the third into a slow but steady dance. A waltz.
The music flowed, each of its sharp notes imbued with emotion. In the abandoned room, a boy and a blind girl danced together in steps inches away from each other and for one moment forgot about the world outside. A world that demanded more than just sounds and feel and was full of meaningless noises itself.
I'll dance with you, said Honda, not with words, but with his actions, with the way his hand closed around hers, firm but gentle, and his arm pressed reassuringly against her back, whether you can see or not, I'll dance with you.
The music box stopped its turn with a click before rewinding itself for one last time but neither of them paid attention to it, too entranced by each other. For a second, Honda would have forgotten his own nervousness until a voice broke.
"It's beautiful…" Said Shizuka. Her whispery voice stood out loud and clear over a background of melodies and footsteps, prompting a blink from him. The answer came next and although it was only a few syllables, within it was a hidden world, a secret that would stay between them two only.
"Your heartbeat…"
If it was in any normal scenario, Honda thought, he'd have panicked because of what that statement was implying. Was she listening to his drumming heart? To his clumsy internal one-man ballad? Was she peeling away all of his armors? Piece by piece with her curious and involuntarily cruel naivety. Was she looking at him? Without fault, without mask and without any pretense. Just an ugly and down to earth ordinary man. No knight in shining armors, no white horse and no gallant prince. Was she…?
But this time it was anything but ordinary, and accordingly Honda was uncharacteristically silent, not because he didn't know what to say or had nothing to say because he had a million things in his head really, but rather he didn't want to disturb this moment, this serenity that was washing over him.
If Shizuka was truly looking at him, if Honda was really exposed…It didn't matter. Even if she found him plain and ugly, that was fine too. Even if she was repulsed and rejecting… yes, even that. Nothing mattered any more because at that moment, finally free from his own denials, he knew one thing, knew it by heart, by soul.
She got him nailed. Hard.
Honda was done. He was done for, because he was now offering all of him, all of that male bravado, all that retro bland look, that badly cut hairstyle that was supposed to make him look manly (and failed), all of that and more. He was offering everything of him, everything that was Honda, offering on a silver plate that had the word Hiroto scribbled on it. And he knew, one way or another, even if she declined, he was already given, already taken. Already owned by her, heart, body, and soul.
Epiphany. It was funny, almost ironic, but on the other hand it was not. It was comedic but at the same time tragic, and the fact that he, Honda, was the only one who could see it served out to him alone drove the point home.
The beast was defeated, chained down to a girl, by his own hands, by his own heart. The beast was dead. And now stood Honda, just plain Honda, normal person extraordinaire, and nothing else.
Ladies and Gentlemen, he narrated in his head, filling in the silence left after the music box stopped, may I now present you the fact of the year. Hiroto Honda is one-hundred percent, officially, irreconcilably, irredeemably…in love.
As these thoughts processed in his head, Honda said nothing, because there was no need, because this silence said more than he ever could, and with his strong hands, continued to lead her into an endless and soundless waltz.
Just a moment for you and me, ordinary people, no magic, no shadow, no gold, no glister of fairy tales, just you and me, and silence…
…waltzing.
The End
The music for the dance can be found on Youtube. Just search for 'Xanh Stay-gold musicboxversion'. I wrote this when listening to it.
I don't really dance waltz that much really. I'm more the tango type, a lot wilder, a lot more passionate, and more friction. But the waltz has its beauty. It's very gentle isn't it? It's the type of dance that you'd give your sweetheart girl on valentine day. But then again, it's harder now to find a girl that would willingly dance without thinking all sorts of ridiculous and unfounded things about me.
Honda's epiphany was...interesting to write. It's a lot really for the guys when they finally realize that are in love with the girl (not just crushes or playboys screwing around). It's a voluntary and involuntary defeat. You love her. You hate her. You want to curse her for taking away your freedom but at the same time you find no strength to do so in her presence but to grin stupidly (and hate yourself for that). You are lost and there's a big 'Shit' in your mind. It's both a comedy and tragedy and unfortunately you're not the audience so you don't get to laugh. Ah...nostalgia.
Hope you enjoyed that.
Sythe