When I was a girl, I would love to paint. I had many artistic endeavours which I still pursue today but painting has always been so personal. I was enamored with the way that colour could cause emotional reaction. It became an outlet for energy that was tightly bound within myself to preserve the ideals of our family. I was allowed to paint scenery. Birds. Flowers. Fruit in a bowl. It was dry but I could still express myself through them. When I was not allowed to smile, the humming bird did it for me on canvas. When I couldn't cry, a rose wept its petals.
I had a portion of the family garden to set up my workspace. My mother would take tea with prominent members of our community in the same space. I was seven and I was on display. It was my duty to be polite, quiet and well-behaved. I was to remember their names and greet them accordingly. Once I had mispronounced the name of one Monsieur Dubois. The gentlemen thought it was cute and smiled at me for the attempt. I knew better than to think I would get away with it when I saw Mother flash me a sharp glance. In the evening, we practiced pronouncing his name over and over. I was enrolled into French lessons with a private tutor. A lack of interest found me making no effort. I was admonished. She said to me coldly, "I am not a fool, Michiru. I will not have my daughter make me look like one." So her solution was that I would learn French or I wouldn't paint. I was convinced I would implode without an outlet.
Voila! Je parle francais. Je m'appelle Kaioh Michiru. Enchante. Like she just now crept from the shadows of this room I can hear her whisper, don't forget to smile...
I have to stop looking at myself in this mirror. It's my mirror but it betrays me by adding a coldness to my eyes that won't soften. I look in and she looks back at me all judgment and disappointment. Did I fail so terribly?
"Michiru?" Hands land on my bare shoulders and squeeze gently. I hear her but I am not paying attention. Transfixed on the image. "Hey. Just stop now. Look at me." I can feel myself shiver, chilled by the night air. Had I lost track of so much time? I can feel Haruka press lips to my ear and say, "I just want you to let it go for now. I know its hard." Her hand is on the mirror and tugging it from my grasp. It slips through my fingers and when I disconnect I am crashing through the surface of an ocean. Gasping for air. The shock sends the mirror out of my lover's hand. It hits the floor but doesn't shatter. I would have hit the floor too had she not caught me. Instead, we sit at the foot of our bed and she cradles me. My head is nestled against her chest where I can hear her heart and the rhythm of her breathing. It eases my anxiety. She's caressing my hair gently. "I just want you to say something..."
"I was drowning."