Careful Where You Stand
By Ukyou
http/www.ukyou. net
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"We live in a beautiful world, you know that?"
"What do you mean?"
He watched as the man intently scribbled in his notepad. He reminded him of John, his head peeking over the top of his notepad as if he would vanish if his whole face were to be seen.
"Well, it's like this - we're all stuck in a dark day, but somehow … somewhere … there's always someone else who is having the greatest day in their own lives."
"Well, I guess that's how it all works out then - every day is someone's one day, is that what you think?"
He lit his cigarette, the silhouette shaped around the blinding daylight from his barred windows.
"I think it's much overdue for it to be my day, that's what I think"
----
Sunday - Of Devils and String
----
It was damp today. He could tell by the raindrops racing down his window. It was like his alarm clock, the raindrops hitting his roof as if the whole sky were falling down into a billion drop surrender.
How was he supposed to know that in exactly a week, he would be dead through the most anticlimactic means possible. His last words, as he lay staring up at a perfectly clear night sky, were along the lines of "Life is beautiful.". The man who heard him say these words wasn't quite so sure if he really meant it, or if it were his last attempt at being sarcastic.
Of course, he doesn't know any of this yet. No, he's far too preoccupied today to think that he is anywhere near death, even though he was constantly reminded every single day that his smoking habit would catch up to him one day. Still, whenever he lit a cigarette, he felt invincible - like those cowboys on television.
His alarm clock blinked a 12:00.
Around it, a wall of other clocks showed a thousand different times.
He put on his shirt and checked the red one - 9:43 - perfection, he was late.
-
He could tell that the café was going to be closed before he got there. It was a Sunday, the one day that it seemed every single person in the whole city would walk. The streets were empty, and his coffeehouse was on the side of a highway. The perfect day to walk across the highway without an umbrella.
He saw a face on the other side of the window. He could tell who it was just by the way he sat in his chair - it was the ever famous John, the literary master worker and the intellectual that he had met one day and had dared to trade philosophy with. John looked back at him, giving a sigh of relief it seemed, and awaited his friend at their usual table.
"Is it possible, Syaoran, that maybe once - and just once - you can settle on a time and finally make it?" John said as Syaoran entered the door. Syaoran looked at him with a small smile, a smile he had given a thousand times previously.
"I mean, it is your birthday - doesn't that mean that you should be at least giving a hint of a real non-fabricated smile?" John then asked, looking worried. He put his notepad down, his pencil still in his hand. "Something's on your mind - and don't tell me it's that girl again."
Syaoran seemed preoccupied with the rain outside though. He liked how the rain seemed to drown out all the usual sounds of the city. He loved the noisy silence of it all.
"Well, Syaoran, what is it?"
He looked at John, taking a deep breath, and finally spoke.
"Have you ever had an old devil bite you in the ass one random night?"
"Well, no, you'll have to tell me how that experience went." John laughed.
"Well, I had this strange dream about this girl I knew in my old hometown, before I moved out. I completely forgot what happened in it, but it was something so powerful that I woke up and felt so guilty about something." Syaoran confessed, still looking out the window.
"Well, guilty about what?" John asked.
"Guilty about how I just never saw her again after that. I mean, it was such a long time ago, but it just still …"
"You loved her didn't you, Syaoran." John questioned, Syaoran's eyes shooting to look back at his.
"It was like … when I was with her, I felt so sure about everything. It was like, I was a feather floating in the sky and I didn't care where I'd end up … all that mattered is that I was flying."
"Then you did love her, why don't you just say it, I mean, you loved her Syaoran."
Syaoran paused for a moment, leaning his head back as if it were the only way he could possibly get himself to think. His thoughts and memories poured before his eyes in a single moment.
"No … it couldn't have been that. It was far too sacred to have been love. No, we were something more than that." he finally said.
"Well, regardless, I'm surprised that in the many years we've know each other that I never heard this story." John smiled. "I don't think I've ever seen you so passionate about something."
Syaoran then told him the whole story. About the girl that had melted his frozen heart. About the time that she had worn the red shoelaces that caught his eye. About the time he had her in his arms and had a thousand possible things to say, and how he said thing number one-thousand-and-one. And about the day he took the train and never came back.
By the time he was done, he had nearly finished his pack of cigarettes.
"And this is what's been on your mind? This one girl that you left at a station ten years ago?"
"Yea, that's exactly it."
"Then maybe you should finally go back and see her again."
"Yea, that's exactly it."
---
Five hours later, sitting on his couch and staring at the phone book across the room from him, Syaoran then thought to himself.
Maybe I should find her …. Just see her again.
But then, like all moment-long thoughts, it disappeared into a wash, just like a blot of watery ink on paper.
Only to come back again.
And again.
And again.
And then he settled it.
He would finally go back and see her again.
Even if it were the last thing he would ever do.
cont
Author's note: I'll be honest, I really do not like this story like my other ones. But I guess it'll grow better, first chapters are never exciting - only the last ones are