A Second Beginning.
Yahiko Myogin lifted his head and watched the back of a man saunter steadily away. His dull chocolate eyes drifted slowly following the casual sway of the man's suit jacket, the arrogant gait of his steps. The man's coat was impeccable, as dark as the night and as luminous as the reflecting light bouncing off the scattered puddles on the street. To this modern Tokyo crowd, the image was as common as a housefly, but to him it was unreal, a vision of déjà vu seen as nothing more than a torment and a taunt. Was it only hours earlier that the image used to describe him? Wasn't it embedded within his being like the very soul of a man? He, Yahiko Myogin, descendant of a samurai!
His lips folded into a grimace as the stranger's silhouette blurred beneath the watery sheen of his tears. That thought was foolish. It was true, that prideful image had once embodied him but now, in this moment, in this split dissection of his life, the role of the successful business man crumbled away as his world faded quickly behind the darkness of his eyes. His stomach suddenly lurched. Violent compulsions rutted his body then pried open his jaws clawing from the inside out the remains of his meal.
The vomit burned as it up heaved along the worn expanse of the pavement. Parts of it splattered the rippled edge of a trash can with orange rice and soggy broccoli. Like an abstract painting depicting filth and failure, the smell was horrific, the sight, revolting.
Yahiko's breath shuttered heavily while he wiped the drizzling mess from his lips. They were no longer proud, no longer stretched with the happiness he once enjoyed, the happiness he may never enjoy again. He sighed then clattered back against the damp wall allowing its rough brick to guide him to the ground. Once seated, he immediately noticed that the surrounding wetness seeped into the back side of his suit. He could feel its fingers spread into the dark imported fabric as the weight of the night tightened around him. It could have choked him if he let it. Like the hand of a vengeful lover, it could have killed him.
Yahiko groaned deeply while he rested his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. The worn man didn't see the young woman until her voice broke through his thoughts.
"Are you alright, Mister?"
Yahiko raised his eyes and squinted.
The girl was around 16 or 17. She was short like he was, scrawny too. Her tattered rags of mismatched colors and patterns convinced him that she was of the street, just as poor and alone as he was those many long years ago, a past he rather not remember.
"Well?" she asked. Her eyebrows scrunched into a knot as she stared down at him with her fists on her hips and a question in her eyes. "You don't seem it."
"Young lady," he said softly. "You don't have anything to worry about here. I'm just taking a little time to rest and then I'll be movin' along in a bit. Now, why don't you get movin' along too, alright? The night has only begun, after all." His smile was bitter, his eyes cold. "It's New Years and you know you shouldn't be out with an old geezer like me, not on a night like this."
Immediately, Yahiko's head returned to his hands as he deftly noted that his diction was starting to slip away. It dissolved as the words congealed within themselves turning into gray lumps of matted syllables. Through the haze, her voice returned. It surprised him.
"Are you sure?" she said after a moment. "Are—"
"Yes!" he said sharply. He stopped then swallowed heavily. He was always polite. He never spoke out of turn. What would he say, if he could see him now, that man? Yahiko shook his head and tried again. "I mean, yes. Yes I am, Miss."
"Oh," she paused awkwardly. "Are you drunk?"
What do you think I am? He thought bitterly.
"You seem drunk."
Maybe ill is a better word.
Yahiko looked up at the girl then made a face once he realized how close she had come. She was leaning over him like he was some lost puppy. Her eyes felt like knives. "Don't you have somewhere else to be?" He asked irritably. Like a brothel, or something?
His annoyance shattered into disgust as his hand unexpectedly landed into the pool of vomit. Yahiko groaned and wiped the mess on the side of his pants. As far as he could tell, his suit was ruined and at this point, he just didn't care.
"I need to go home," he said pointedly. "Please, just leave me alone."
Leaning against the wall, he tried to use it as support as he struggled to rise to his feet. The attempt was unsuccessful as immediately he lost his balance. Soon, he found the girl clinging to his side like a lost child, or in this case, a girl-scout pushing for a badge. He gritted his teeth.
The girl's slight arms successfully steadied him, even as he tried to wiggle away from her grasp.
"Maybe, you need a little help."
"No!" he argued. "I don't need anyone's help. I am perfectly fine."
"Oh you are just as stubborn as my old man," she answered knowingly. "Ain't you have someone to take after you?"
Yahiko looked down at the girl as she began to walk him down the alley. He tried not to see the image of another young woman. He tried not to see how her coat fluttered in the wind as though she was running instead of walking away. He tried not to imagine the other man to whom she was headed, another man that wasn't him.
For a moment, he didn't know how to answer. Maybe the truth is easier, he thought. It certainly was more final.
He opened his mouth and the words tumbled out. In the air, they sounded flat and bitter. "No," he said. "I don't have anyone. Not… not anymore."
"I see," she said softly. "Well I guess I should help you tonight then."
Abruptly, Yahiko pulled them to a stop at the end of the street. "No," he said flatly.
"But—"
"But nothing. I don't need your help." He hiccupped.
"It wouldn't hurt none—"
"Yes," he said eyebrows raised, voice tight. "Yes, it will. I haven't sunken so low that I need your pity. Leave me alone."
The silence that followed was heavy. In a moment of struggle, Yahiko pushed himself away from the girl's support and began walking down the street. The girl watched him wearily, waiting as his strut turned into a stumble and his stumble into a well anticipated fall. Pathetic. Silently, she shook her head and moved forward to gather him up once more.
Getting him back into a supported standing position, the girl looked down at his lowered head. She waited patiently until she saw his free hand thumb despairingly towards the opposite direction.
"It's that way," he said defeated. "But if you do anything…" He left the threat hanging. He was too tired to finish it.
"Understood," the girl sighed.
As they walked away, he voluntarily pointed her in the direction they needed to go. He registered the dangers surrounding his actions with the girl. Even in his drunken state, he knew all too well the possibilities that could come from her knowing his address. Kids were dangerous and they had cunning and a certain intelligence on their side. They couldn't be trusted, not on these streets. Rarely did they ever work alone. He hadn't. Was she yakuza? A gang member? He didn't know. Slyly, he tried to feel where her hands were and waited silently for them to pick their way into his pockets or slip into her own. Either option would result in misfortune, his not hers.
He was halfway unconscious by the time they made it to his front door. Somehow, her soft voice worked through the haze of his mind.
"Keys?" she asked.
Yahiko's mind groggily locked onto the slight thread of conversation.
"Your keys, Mister?"
"It's Yahiko."
"Yahiko, then… I'm Tsubame. Where are they?"
"In my right pants pocket," he mumbled.
The girl reached across her body and shoved her hand between the folds of his pants pockets. Yahiko heard the keys jingle softly as he felt the appendage dodge in and out trying to untangle them from his wallet and the beer tabs he collected from the bars that night. He closed his eyes when he felt the wallet crawl out and fall to the floor. Time marched slowly as he waited for the inevitable to come.
After a breath of a pause, a pause that was weighed down with much desire and need, Yahiko felt himself tilt briefly towards the floor as his human cane bent to retrieve the wallet. He watched with twisted satisfaction as the girl eyed the metal snaps and crinkled leather. He could easily tell the moment when she was suddenly swept up with her list of "What ifs" and the "You shouldn'ts." Her eyes were eyes he knew all too well. He too had possessed them at one time.
To Yahiko's ears, the silence hung heavily until suddenly the girl's small hand reached back into his pocket. Between its slender fingers, the wallet was held firmly until they planted the missing item back into the tangled nest it originally had come from.
"That, Sir, is a mighty fine wallet you have," she said awkwardly. "It sure is mighty fine."
"That it is, young lady," he said softly. His eyes were distant and troubled, his mind thoughtless with humbled surprise. She had done the unexpected like someone else, a man with red hair and patient violet eyes. What would he think if he saw him now? Disappointment? Shame? Yahiko whimpered softly, the proud descendent of a samurai, heir to the sakabatou and its tattered message.
Retrieving the keys from where they had also landed on the floor, the girl quietly unlocked the door and walked Yahiko through the small apartment until they reached the entrance to his bedroom. She pushed its door open with her free hand then waddled across the room sitting the helpless man on the unmade mattress. She tried to ignore how cluttered the room was or marvel at the expensive equipment that lined the walls. Yahiko smiled softly at her curiosity. Watching her made him feel old and tired.
As her eyes moved from the room to the man, the girl began to back up silently, eager to exit. She whispered a good night and then hesitated at his wish for her to wait. Wearily she watched as his hand plummeted into his pants pocket and brought out the wallet.
"Naw, Sir. It was a pleasure. A girl knows when she sees a man in need…" her voice trailed off when he lifted a heavy hand.
"Please," he offered tiredly. "It's Yahiko and you deserve something."
Wordlessly, he gave her his last twenty and then thanked her. The bed moaned with his weight and a small smile ghosted across his face as he watched her steal across the bedroom. He was asleep by the time she had reached the kitchen. Only then did she see the note on the dining room table.
In the morning, Yahiko found the twenty dollar bill on the kitchen counter with his keys on the table lying next to the note left by his wife. Though he would always look, he would never see the girl again.
Just an idea - Calla