Reacquainted
Story By: Gihyou
************************************
CHAPTER 1 - What Happened, What's Happening
"Gooooood morning, Tokyo!"
Yawning, I glanced at the alarm clock. It read "6:00", as I expected. That's when it was supposed to go off, and let me hear that annoying morning guy.
"Another beeeeaaaauuuuuutiful day!"
I checked the window, seeing the overcast skies outside. Frowning, I crawled out of bed, and stumbled to the alarm clock, which I had placed across the room. Every morning, I cursed myself for putting it there. Truth was, I'd never wake up on time if it wasn't there, and I didn't have to get out of bed to shut the damn DJ up.
"Let's listen to one of my favorite American songs this morning, shall we? It's a little ditty by the Backstreet Boys, one of the hottest bands in..."
"Let's not," I grumbled, turning the radio off. Kami-sama, that guy was an idiot. Stretching, I took my shower, making it last a half hour and using up all the hot water in the process. Hot water would return, but only after a while. Once out of the shower, I felt refreshed, ready to tackle the day. Breakfast went smoothly, and, fully dressed and prepared, I set out with a bounce in my step.
Until I remembered what I would be doing. Research, for one of my stories. I was supposed to have a feature on the old ladies' club in Tokyo ready by the end of the day. The ladies were working getting a traffic light in a busy intersection after one of the women had a grandchild killed in an accident. Illogically, I thought, my editor decided I should do some research and try to find out if many accidents happened at the intersection, the severity of said accidents, and whether or not the light was actually worth spending government money on. Knowing I would have to pour over reports of injuries and death, my mood quickly turned bad.
My car was a beat up old Honda, but at least in good enough shape to run the heater. That was good, because it was a cold day. Along the way to work, it began to rain. By the time I reached the office, it was a downpour. My wonderful reserved parking space was near the end of the lot, so I would have to walk a long distance in the rain. I used my newspaper in a futile effort to defend against the rain. Water soaked through and dripped onto my head anyway. The weather seemed to fit my mood.
"Need an umbrella?" said a woman. I hadn't even seen or heard her, so I jumped when she spoke. She held a rather large umbrella, and looked like she wished to share.
"You want me to walk with you?" I asked, hoping she wouldn't catch the surprise in my voice. Women and I did not seem to cross paths very happen.
"Only way you can walk under the umbrella as well," she replied. I shrugged and gratefully accepted. The rain finally out of my face, I got my first good look at her. She was young, I judged her to be a bit younger than me, perhaps the same age, maybe twenty to twenty-three. I had no idea who she was, although something about her tugged at my memory. "You work here?" she asked.
"No, I just like the ambiance," I joked. She laughed, a bit too hard for the gag-worthy quip. Her laugh bothered me, not because it was annoying, but because it was like something I'd heard before.
"Today's my first day," she said. We were nearing the entrance to the office. "I'm the new secretary for Yukyue-san." What a surprise. Yukyue, the head of public relations for the newspaper, was known for picking out attractive young woman to serve as his secretary. His rather lewd treatment of the secretaries, however, assured he was on a constant search. It seemed a shame to be subjecting this particular woman to him. Who did she remind me of? Who?
"People never stay his secretary long," I told her. It seemed a safe way to put it.
"Really?" Her face brightened. "They must get promotions working for him, then, huh?" Well, that was the wrong idea, was what I thought. They usually quit and scored a job as a secretary for someone else.
"Yeah," was what I said. "Great place to start." We came up to the covered area in front of the door. "Thank you very much," I told her. "I should repay for your kindness."
"It's nothing, really," she said. I told her I disagreed and handed her a business card. "Look me up for lunch today. I'll buy. It's your first day, so I can show you around."
She fingered the card, seemingly engrossed in the plain black type. "Sure, Takashi Yamazaki," she said finally, reading the name on the card. The woman bid me good-bye and went into the building. I found myself hoping she would take me up on my lunch offer. She was rather cute. And maybe if I saw her again I could figure out who she reminded me of.
Once I entered the building, catching no sight of her, I realized I hadn't asked for a name. Well, the ball was all in her court if she wanted to see me again.
My desk was stationed in the corner of my floor, right next to the window. It was still cluttered from yesterday. I started my research on the Internet, but quickly realized I would need to visit the library for this one. That could wait. I worked on the draft of the article, hoping to fit the data on traffic accidents into it later.
"Another hot story you've got there, eh, Takashi?" said a familiar voice. Li Syaoran was a rather new writer like myself, but he was being given better stories. Not that I was jealous or bitter. He was a better writer. I assumed that soon he would be able to move onto one of the bigger or better newspapers than the Tokyo Digest. One that produced an issue daily, instead of weekly.
"Right," I said, rolling my eyes. "Nothing like the elderly running around demanding a traffic light to make the creative juices flow and the heart to beat faster in excitement."
He grinned. "Come on. You need a break. The guys are going to start a Ping-Pong tournament. You in?"
"A break?" I asked, standing up. "I just got here an hour ago. I don't need a break." He was still grinning as I began to walk with him to the break room while denouncing my need for a break. "I suppose a break couldn't hurt," I said, pretending to give in, as if I had actually been debating it.
"Right," he agreed. "Never does."
I wondered if maybe he knew the girl who was the new secretary for Yukyue, and so I asked him. Sometimes, Syaoran surprised me with what he knew. He shook his head. "Why?"
"I met her this morning. She let me share an umbrella."
"Well? Did you ask her out, then?"
"To lunch today."
He patted me on the back. "Good man. She was practically asking for you to do so. Who shares an umbrella with someone they don't know unless they're attracted to that someone?" I nodded, although I wondered how he knew that. He'd been going out with Sakura Kinomoto for what seemed like eternity. She was the only girlfriend he'd ever had, and had been good for him. Syaoran had definitely become more light-hearted and easy-going than I had remembered him before meeting up with him again at the paper. They were finally going to marry in two months. He'd chosen me for his best man, an honor I was glad to accept. But what did he know about courtship? He had last had to court a girl when he was eleven years old. Not many of us marry our elementary-school sweetheart, myself included. Crap, that's who she reminded me of!
"Chiharu!" I blurted.
"Sakura's friend, Mihara Chiharu?" he said, disturbed by my outburst. "She lives in the southern part of Japan, now. Can't be her."
"Right," I said quickly. "It's just that the woman reminded me of someone, and I finally figured out who it was. She looks so much like Chiharu."
"A cousin, perhaps? Or maybe, you still miss Mihara," he said, his tone serious.
"No," I said, with conviction. "Not after what happened."
"You haven't had a date since you two separated. I think..."
"My lack of dates has nothing to do with Chiharu," I said icily. Syaoran backed off, his hands up in mock surrender.
"Okay, nothing to do with her."
The break room was the nicest feature of the newspaper. Too bad the public never got to see it. All the usual suspects were there, crowding around the Ping-Pong Table.
"Takashi's in," said Syaoran, settling into a sofa. "We're even now."
"Good," said a husky-voiced middle-aged man. Lijura Kejiro had been at the paper as long as anyone could remember. A man with absolutely no desire to leave for a better newspaper, despite his talent. He was as lazy as they come, and infuriated the editors by producing quality work without really trying. They couldn't fire him, but didn't dare promote him. And that suited Lijura just fine. It meant he could organize more Ping-Pong tournaments. "Takashi's terrible at this game, but he'll do to even out the bracket."
"I'm not that bad," I countered. Actually, I probably was.
The only female writer we had, Machi Konishi, was drawn as my first opponent. She was pretty cute in her own right, although she was five years my senior. Machi was perhaps the best player the staff had. I knew I wouldn't be in this tournament long, as usual. To prevent the editors from picking up on our little games on company time, each game was scheduled one at a time, so only two people were in the break room at once. Our match was in an hour an a half, the last one in the first round. "I'm going to kill you," Machi said to me jokingly.
"Probably," I laughed. "I hope I score."
"With Machi?" said Syaoran, sliding up to us. "I doubt it."
"Who'd you draw?" she asked him.
"Honshi. I'm in the second round for sure." Honshi Kendo was probably the only guy I stood a reasonable chance of beating, which said something about the abilities of both of us. We were both hopeless with a Ping-Pong paddle.
"Okay guys, clear out," said Lijura. "Come back here when your game's up."
"Li, do you ever feel guilty about playing Ping-Pong tournaments when we're supposed to be working?" I asked, only semi-seriously.
He grinned. "No."
I returned the smile. "Me neither."
***************
The library had turned out to be perfect for my research, and I was able to finish in time to return to the office with time to spare before my match. Fully armed with statistics, I piled them onto my desk and began to analyze them before my watch alarm beeped. 10:30, time for Ping-Pong with Machi. This should be quick enough, I thought.
"I'm surprised you even showed up, Takashi," Machi said, when I arrived at the break room.
"Enough trash talk," I said, pretending to stretch, as if it would make a difference. "Let's do this."
The score was close for awhile, but I think she was just trying to make me feel better about the complete domination she laid down in the second half of the game. When it was over, I congratulated her, tennis-pro style, and then threw the paddle down in an admittedly lame John McEnroe imitation. She said, with a smile, that I should be disqualified from the next tournament.
"The way you were scoring on me, I think I've already lost the game in the next tournament," I replied glibly.
My turn in Ping-Pong done for the day, I returned to my story. By the time I looked up from the statistics and the computer screen where my story was written, it was 3:32. No wonder I felt so hungry. At least the story was done, and with time to spare. I noted glumly that the Chiharu- lookalike had not shown up for lunch.
I took a walk around the office in an effort to find something to do before my editor received my story and returned it to me after making a flurry of corrections that would inevitably change the entire tone of the article. I loathed his corrections, but I assumed them necessary, becuase I was a terrible writer. Syaoran caught me walking around, and invited me to his desk. "I believe that girl you met this morning came here," he said.
"No," I said. "She didn't."
"She left this for you. Thought you were too busy to bother. I know better, for you're never too busy for girls," here he had a slight smirk, "but she insisted that she not bother you." He handed me a hastily written note. "She did look very much like Mihara. Damn, it was kind of freaky."
I read the note. 'Sorry I caught you at a bad time. Maybe some other time will work?' It was unsigned. I still had no idea what her name was. "When did she come by?"
"About two hours ago."
"Why didn't you give me this then?"
He shrugged. "You looked busy. Besides, she wasn't going anywhere."
"What do you mean?"
"She works for that jerk Yukyue. Go up and visit her. You're done with your story, aren't you?" I nodded. "Well, what are you going to do around here then? Might as well go up there and at least figure out what her name is."
"Yeah, why not?" I went to the stairs and climbed the two floors up to public relations. Marching with a sense of purpose, I sought out and found the woman. Seeing her again, she did really look like Chiharu. Syaoran was right, it was kind of freaky.
"Takashi-san," she said, a bit astonished to see me. "Did you think of a different time?"
"I was thinking, maybe we should go out for dinner instead." What was I saying? I had just come up here to get her name, and now I was asking for dinner? Boy, I am so smooth. I still didn't have her name. What a buffoon I am. "Ah, what I mean is..."
"You mean tonight?"
"Ah..."
"Sure," she said, smiling.
"Okay," I said dumbly. I turned to leave, then stopped. "How about Yoshi's, at seven?"
"Seven sounds good."
I began to leave again, but then stopped again. "Wait. One more thing. Tell me your name."
"Mihara Hari." I nearly fainted. "Something wrong?" she asked.
"No, no," I said quickly. "See you at seven." I left hurriedly, and returned to Syaoran's desk.
"So, how'd it go?" he asked, cracking a smile.
"Her name is Mihara! She probably IS a cousin of Chiharu."
"And?"
"And? And I can't go out with her."
"Why not?"
"At some point, I'll have to meet Chiharu again. And I don't want to."
"Okay, you have got to tell me what Chiharu did to you. I never found out, it obviously happened when you and I lost contact with each other before we got hired at this paper together. I'm sure Sakura knows, but she doesn't talk about her friends' personal lives to me. Must be a woman's thing. Anyway, she must have done something horrible to make you want to avoid her rather attractive cousin like this."
"Okay," I sighed. "I'll tell you, if you really want to know."
"Definitely, Takashi."
*************
We were seventeen, spending an evening together as usual. Something was odd about Chiharu that night. We'd had dinner, but she'd barely eaten even the salad. We'd seen a movie, and it was a comedy, but she'd only occasionally grinned. So, when we were walking home, I asked her to tell me was bothering her.
"Yamazaki-kun, would you be sad if I had to leave?"
"Yes," I nodded. I found the question to be an odd one.
"Well, I hope we won't be affected by what I am going to say."
"What is it?"
"I am going to America."
Needless to say, I was stunned. Chiharu had never said anything to me about going to America, or anywhere out of Tomoeda for that matter. "What?" That was all I could think to say.
"My dream is to become a champion figure-skater, you know that." It was true, she had said it often. And recently she'd become quite good on the ice, skating to a second-place finish in a competition of girls her age. "Well, an American trainer saw me skate, and he thinks he can bring me to the Olympics in a few years. All I have to do is travel to America. He'll take care of all the initial expenses, and my family agreed to take care of the rest so I can concentrate on skating."
"When do you leave?" I asked, dumbfounded. This news was wonderful for Chiharu's skating career, but not so much for me.
"In two weeks. I've been meaning to tell you, but couldn't seem to work up the nerve."
"Two weeks!" I echoed. "If I hadn't asked, would you have even told me?" I sounded angry and I knew it. Maybe that wasn't fair to her, but a flurry of emotions were flying through me.
"I would have," she said defensively. "I'm sure I can come and visit you. Or maybe you me."
We walked the rest of the way to her house in silence. When we arrived, I gave her a curt good-bye and continued to my house. Two weeks! She'd never said a thing before!
Perhaps I harbored resentment. We tried to make the next two weeks worthwhile, but they ended up feeling like a waste. I wouldn't be seeing her for who knows how long! There was definitely resentment, in fact.
I saw her off at the airport. We exchanged a kiss, but it wasn't passionate. Very lacking in emotion. I was angry she hadn't told me or consulted me on the decision at all, she was angry that I was angry. Chiharu never even looked back to me as she went to the plane.
I saved enough for a trip to Denver, Colorado, where the trainer was, to see her and apologize for my actions. I realized that it was her decision and that I didn't want to lose her because of a silly pride thing that I never got to be involved in the process. I would have encouraged her anyway. We hadn't even written very many letters to each other, and when we did, there was nothing to them. We sounded like pen-pals instead of lovers. I was feeling empty inside without her, so I needed to see her, to try and make everything right again.
That's when I got her last letter. She said she hated the way I was treating her, and that I had caused her to rethink our relationship. She said she'd met a very nice boy named Brian, and that she was happy with him. That was it. There was a picture too. Imprinted in my mind forever. The two of them smiling, sitting at a park. What the hell was I supposed to do with that picture? Why did she send it to me?
I crumpled up and burned that letter, and the picture, but not before, and I'm not afraid to admit it, I dampened it with some tears. Fury and depression raged inside of me at the same time. I ended up not going to the university like I had planned, because I didn't feel like I had the desire any longer. I took several odd and menial jobs for a while before my uncle's friend got me the job at this paper, never to leave, because what other newspaper would want someone who has no English degree, and what else could I do that would pay as much?
*************
"And that's what happened. I don't want to see Chiharu anymore, I've gotten over her. At least, I thought I had," I finished. Syaoran, who had stayed respectably quiet during my story while reclining in his chair, whistled loudly through his teeth. "But now I'm going to dinner with her."
"Her cousin," he corrected.
"Same thing. I can't string her along because she looks like Chiharu. I should cancel dinner."
"At least give the poor girl a chance."
"I suppose I do owe her that..." I shook my head. "It will never work. I can't. I mean, its Chiharu's cousin. Kami-sama!"
"What the hell are you two doing?" Our chief editor, Maraki Desu, stood looming over us. About six foot five and two hundred and twenty pounds, he was a big, intimidating man. Even Syaoran looked a little abashed. "I don't pay you to chat about girls." I didn't have the courage to tell him that he didn't technically pay us to do anything. The owner of the newspaper paid us. "Takashi! Have you finished your draft?"
I thanked myself for having it done. "Yes."
"Then don't bother Li. Bring it to me. What are you waiting for, a formal invite? Go on, wait in my office." I hated when he treated me like a child, yelling at me loud enough for the whole office to hear, but when one writes as poorly as I do and yet can't be fired from a newspaper because he's friends with the newspaper's owner, then I suppose I deserve to be treated poorly. What a sad being I am.
"Yes, Maraki-san." I nodded good-bye to Syaoran, who nodded back, then slipped me a tiny piece of paper when Maraki turned away. I snatched it into my pocket and went in Maraki's office with a printed up copy of my draft.
The note Syaoran gave me said, "Go to the dinner, or I won't be your friend." I had to grin.
******************************
A/N: Well, that's the first chapter...anyone like it?
Story By: Gihyou
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CHAPTER 1 - What Happened, What's Happening
"Gooooood morning, Tokyo!"
Yawning, I glanced at the alarm clock. It read "6:00", as I expected. That's when it was supposed to go off, and let me hear that annoying morning guy.
"Another beeeeaaaauuuuuutiful day!"
I checked the window, seeing the overcast skies outside. Frowning, I crawled out of bed, and stumbled to the alarm clock, which I had placed across the room. Every morning, I cursed myself for putting it there. Truth was, I'd never wake up on time if it wasn't there, and I didn't have to get out of bed to shut the damn DJ up.
"Let's listen to one of my favorite American songs this morning, shall we? It's a little ditty by the Backstreet Boys, one of the hottest bands in..."
"Let's not," I grumbled, turning the radio off. Kami-sama, that guy was an idiot. Stretching, I took my shower, making it last a half hour and using up all the hot water in the process. Hot water would return, but only after a while. Once out of the shower, I felt refreshed, ready to tackle the day. Breakfast went smoothly, and, fully dressed and prepared, I set out with a bounce in my step.
Until I remembered what I would be doing. Research, for one of my stories. I was supposed to have a feature on the old ladies' club in Tokyo ready by the end of the day. The ladies were working getting a traffic light in a busy intersection after one of the women had a grandchild killed in an accident. Illogically, I thought, my editor decided I should do some research and try to find out if many accidents happened at the intersection, the severity of said accidents, and whether or not the light was actually worth spending government money on. Knowing I would have to pour over reports of injuries and death, my mood quickly turned bad.
My car was a beat up old Honda, but at least in good enough shape to run the heater. That was good, because it was a cold day. Along the way to work, it began to rain. By the time I reached the office, it was a downpour. My wonderful reserved parking space was near the end of the lot, so I would have to walk a long distance in the rain. I used my newspaper in a futile effort to defend against the rain. Water soaked through and dripped onto my head anyway. The weather seemed to fit my mood.
"Need an umbrella?" said a woman. I hadn't even seen or heard her, so I jumped when she spoke. She held a rather large umbrella, and looked like she wished to share.
"You want me to walk with you?" I asked, hoping she wouldn't catch the surprise in my voice. Women and I did not seem to cross paths very happen.
"Only way you can walk under the umbrella as well," she replied. I shrugged and gratefully accepted. The rain finally out of my face, I got my first good look at her. She was young, I judged her to be a bit younger than me, perhaps the same age, maybe twenty to twenty-three. I had no idea who she was, although something about her tugged at my memory. "You work here?" she asked.
"No, I just like the ambiance," I joked. She laughed, a bit too hard for the gag-worthy quip. Her laugh bothered me, not because it was annoying, but because it was like something I'd heard before.
"Today's my first day," she said. We were nearing the entrance to the office. "I'm the new secretary for Yukyue-san." What a surprise. Yukyue, the head of public relations for the newspaper, was known for picking out attractive young woman to serve as his secretary. His rather lewd treatment of the secretaries, however, assured he was on a constant search. It seemed a shame to be subjecting this particular woman to him. Who did she remind me of? Who?
"People never stay his secretary long," I told her. It seemed a safe way to put it.
"Really?" Her face brightened. "They must get promotions working for him, then, huh?" Well, that was the wrong idea, was what I thought. They usually quit and scored a job as a secretary for someone else.
"Yeah," was what I said. "Great place to start." We came up to the covered area in front of the door. "Thank you very much," I told her. "I should repay for your kindness."
"It's nothing, really," she said. I told her I disagreed and handed her a business card. "Look me up for lunch today. I'll buy. It's your first day, so I can show you around."
She fingered the card, seemingly engrossed in the plain black type. "Sure, Takashi Yamazaki," she said finally, reading the name on the card. The woman bid me good-bye and went into the building. I found myself hoping she would take me up on my lunch offer. She was rather cute. And maybe if I saw her again I could figure out who she reminded me of.
Once I entered the building, catching no sight of her, I realized I hadn't asked for a name. Well, the ball was all in her court if she wanted to see me again.
My desk was stationed in the corner of my floor, right next to the window. It was still cluttered from yesterday. I started my research on the Internet, but quickly realized I would need to visit the library for this one. That could wait. I worked on the draft of the article, hoping to fit the data on traffic accidents into it later.
"Another hot story you've got there, eh, Takashi?" said a familiar voice. Li Syaoran was a rather new writer like myself, but he was being given better stories. Not that I was jealous or bitter. He was a better writer. I assumed that soon he would be able to move onto one of the bigger or better newspapers than the Tokyo Digest. One that produced an issue daily, instead of weekly.
"Right," I said, rolling my eyes. "Nothing like the elderly running around demanding a traffic light to make the creative juices flow and the heart to beat faster in excitement."
He grinned. "Come on. You need a break. The guys are going to start a Ping-Pong tournament. You in?"
"A break?" I asked, standing up. "I just got here an hour ago. I don't need a break." He was still grinning as I began to walk with him to the break room while denouncing my need for a break. "I suppose a break couldn't hurt," I said, pretending to give in, as if I had actually been debating it.
"Right," he agreed. "Never does."
I wondered if maybe he knew the girl who was the new secretary for Yukyue, and so I asked him. Sometimes, Syaoran surprised me with what he knew. He shook his head. "Why?"
"I met her this morning. She let me share an umbrella."
"Well? Did you ask her out, then?"
"To lunch today."
He patted me on the back. "Good man. She was practically asking for you to do so. Who shares an umbrella with someone they don't know unless they're attracted to that someone?" I nodded, although I wondered how he knew that. He'd been going out with Sakura Kinomoto for what seemed like eternity. She was the only girlfriend he'd ever had, and had been good for him. Syaoran had definitely become more light-hearted and easy-going than I had remembered him before meeting up with him again at the paper. They were finally going to marry in two months. He'd chosen me for his best man, an honor I was glad to accept. But what did he know about courtship? He had last had to court a girl when he was eleven years old. Not many of us marry our elementary-school sweetheart, myself included. Crap, that's who she reminded me of!
"Chiharu!" I blurted.
"Sakura's friend, Mihara Chiharu?" he said, disturbed by my outburst. "She lives in the southern part of Japan, now. Can't be her."
"Right," I said quickly. "It's just that the woman reminded me of someone, and I finally figured out who it was. She looks so much like Chiharu."
"A cousin, perhaps? Or maybe, you still miss Mihara," he said, his tone serious.
"No," I said, with conviction. "Not after what happened."
"You haven't had a date since you two separated. I think..."
"My lack of dates has nothing to do with Chiharu," I said icily. Syaoran backed off, his hands up in mock surrender.
"Okay, nothing to do with her."
The break room was the nicest feature of the newspaper. Too bad the public never got to see it. All the usual suspects were there, crowding around the Ping-Pong Table.
"Takashi's in," said Syaoran, settling into a sofa. "We're even now."
"Good," said a husky-voiced middle-aged man. Lijura Kejiro had been at the paper as long as anyone could remember. A man with absolutely no desire to leave for a better newspaper, despite his talent. He was as lazy as they come, and infuriated the editors by producing quality work without really trying. They couldn't fire him, but didn't dare promote him. And that suited Lijura just fine. It meant he could organize more Ping-Pong tournaments. "Takashi's terrible at this game, but he'll do to even out the bracket."
"I'm not that bad," I countered. Actually, I probably was.
The only female writer we had, Machi Konishi, was drawn as my first opponent. She was pretty cute in her own right, although she was five years my senior. Machi was perhaps the best player the staff had. I knew I wouldn't be in this tournament long, as usual. To prevent the editors from picking up on our little games on company time, each game was scheduled one at a time, so only two people were in the break room at once. Our match was in an hour an a half, the last one in the first round. "I'm going to kill you," Machi said to me jokingly.
"Probably," I laughed. "I hope I score."
"With Machi?" said Syaoran, sliding up to us. "I doubt it."
"Who'd you draw?" she asked him.
"Honshi. I'm in the second round for sure." Honshi Kendo was probably the only guy I stood a reasonable chance of beating, which said something about the abilities of both of us. We were both hopeless with a Ping-Pong paddle.
"Okay guys, clear out," said Lijura. "Come back here when your game's up."
"Li, do you ever feel guilty about playing Ping-Pong tournaments when we're supposed to be working?" I asked, only semi-seriously.
He grinned. "No."
I returned the smile. "Me neither."
***************
The library had turned out to be perfect for my research, and I was able to finish in time to return to the office with time to spare before my match. Fully armed with statistics, I piled them onto my desk and began to analyze them before my watch alarm beeped. 10:30, time for Ping-Pong with Machi. This should be quick enough, I thought.
"I'm surprised you even showed up, Takashi," Machi said, when I arrived at the break room.
"Enough trash talk," I said, pretending to stretch, as if it would make a difference. "Let's do this."
The score was close for awhile, but I think she was just trying to make me feel better about the complete domination she laid down in the second half of the game. When it was over, I congratulated her, tennis-pro style, and then threw the paddle down in an admittedly lame John McEnroe imitation. She said, with a smile, that I should be disqualified from the next tournament.
"The way you were scoring on me, I think I've already lost the game in the next tournament," I replied glibly.
My turn in Ping-Pong done for the day, I returned to my story. By the time I looked up from the statistics and the computer screen where my story was written, it was 3:32. No wonder I felt so hungry. At least the story was done, and with time to spare. I noted glumly that the Chiharu- lookalike had not shown up for lunch.
I took a walk around the office in an effort to find something to do before my editor received my story and returned it to me after making a flurry of corrections that would inevitably change the entire tone of the article. I loathed his corrections, but I assumed them necessary, becuase I was a terrible writer. Syaoran caught me walking around, and invited me to his desk. "I believe that girl you met this morning came here," he said.
"No," I said. "She didn't."
"She left this for you. Thought you were too busy to bother. I know better, for you're never too busy for girls," here he had a slight smirk, "but she insisted that she not bother you." He handed me a hastily written note. "She did look very much like Mihara. Damn, it was kind of freaky."
I read the note. 'Sorry I caught you at a bad time. Maybe some other time will work?' It was unsigned. I still had no idea what her name was. "When did she come by?"
"About two hours ago."
"Why didn't you give me this then?"
He shrugged. "You looked busy. Besides, she wasn't going anywhere."
"What do you mean?"
"She works for that jerk Yukyue. Go up and visit her. You're done with your story, aren't you?" I nodded. "Well, what are you going to do around here then? Might as well go up there and at least figure out what her name is."
"Yeah, why not?" I went to the stairs and climbed the two floors up to public relations. Marching with a sense of purpose, I sought out and found the woman. Seeing her again, she did really look like Chiharu. Syaoran was right, it was kind of freaky.
"Takashi-san," she said, a bit astonished to see me. "Did you think of a different time?"
"I was thinking, maybe we should go out for dinner instead." What was I saying? I had just come up here to get her name, and now I was asking for dinner? Boy, I am so smooth. I still didn't have her name. What a buffoon I am. "Ah, what I mean is..."
"You mean tonight?"
"Ah..."
"Sure," she said, smiling.
"Okay," I said dumbly. I turned to leave, then stopped. "How about Yoshi's, at seven?"
"Seven sounds good."
I began to leave again, but then stopped again. "Wait. One more thing. Tell me your name."
"Mihara Hari." I nearly fainted. "Something wrong?" she asked.
"No, no," I said quickly. "See you at seven." I left hurriedly, and returned to Syaoran's desk.
"So, how'd it go?" he asked, cracking a smile.
"Her name is Mihara! She probably IS a cousin of Chiharu."
"And?"
"And? And I can't go out with her."
"Why not?"
"At some point, I'll have to meet Chiharu again. And I don't want to."
"Okay, you have got to tell me what Chiharu did to you. I never found out, it obviously happened when you and I lost contact with each other before we got hired at this paper together. I'm sure Sakura knows, but she doesn't talk about her friends' personal lives to me. Must be a woman's thing. Anyway, she must have done something horrible to make you want to avoid her rather attractive cousin like this."
"Okay," I sighed. "I'll tell you, if you really want to know."
"Definitely, Takashi."
*************
We were seventeen, spending an evening together as usual. Something was odd about Chiharu that night. We'd had dinner, but she'd barely eaten even the salad. We'd seen a movie, and it was a comedy, but she'd only occasionally grinned. So, when we were walking home, I asked her to tell me was bothering her.
"Yamazaki-kun, would you be sad if I had to leave?"
"Yes," I nodded. I found the question to be an odd one.
"Well, I hope we won't be affected by what I am going to say."
"What is it?"
"I am going to America."
Needless to say, I was stunned. Chiharu had never said anything to me about going to America, or anywhere out of Tomoeda for that matter. "What?" That was all I could think to say.
"My dream is to become a champion figure-skater, you know that." It was true, she had said it often. And recently she'd become quite good on the ice, skating to a second-place finish in a competition of girls her age. "Well, an American trainer saw me skate, and he thinks he can bring me to the Olympics in a few years. All I have to do is travel to America. He'll take care of all the initial expenses, and my family agreed to take care of the rest so I can concentrate on skating."
"When do you leave?" I asked, dumbfounded. This news was wonderful for Chiharu's skating career, but not so much for me.
"In two weeks. I've been meaning to tell you, but couldn't seem to work up the nerve."
"Two weeks!" I echoed. "If I hadn't asked, would you have even told me?" I sounded angry and I knew it. Maybe that wasn't fair to her, but a flurry of emotions were flying through me.
"I would have," she said defensively. "I'm sure I can come and visit you. Or maybe you me."
We walked the rest of the way to her house in silence. When we arrived, I gave her a curt good-bye and continued to my house. Two weeks! She'd never said a thing before!
Perhaps I harbored resentment. We tried to make the next two weeks worthwhile, but they ended up feeling like a waste. I wouldn't be seeing her for who knows how long! There was definitely resentment, in fact.
I saw her off at the airport. We exchanged a kiss, but it wasn't passionate. Very lacking in emotion. I was angry she hadn't told me or consulted me on the decision at all, she was angry that I was angry. Chiharu never even looked back to me as she went to the plane.
I saved enough for a trip to Denver, Colorado, where the trainer was, to see her and apologize for my actions. I realized that it was her decision and that I didn't want to lose her because of a silly pride thing that I never got to be involved in the process. I would have encouraged her anyway. We hadn't even written very many letters to each other, and when we did, there was nothing to them. We sounded like pen-pals instead of lovers. I was feeling empty inside without her, so I needed to see her, to try and make everything right again.
That's when I got her last letter. She said she hated the way I was treating her, and that I had caused her to rethink our relationship. She said she'd met a very nice boy named Brian, and that she was happy with him. That was it. There was a picture too. Imprinted in my mind forever. The two of them smiling, sitting at a park. What the hell was I supposed to do with that picture? Why did she send it to me?
I crumpled up and burned that letter, and the picture, but not before, and I'm not afraid to admit it, I dampened it with some tears. Fury and depression raged inside of me at the same time. I ended up not going to the university like I had planned, because I didn't feel like I had the desire any longer. I took several odd and menial jobs for a while before my uncle's friend got me the job at this paper, never to leave, because what other newspaper would want someone who has no English degree, and what else could I do that would pay as much?
*************
"And that's what happened. I don't want to see Chiharu anymore, I've gotten over her. At least, I thought I had," I finished. Syaoran, who had stayed respectably quiet during my story while reclining in his chair, whistled loudly through his teeth. "But now I'm going to dinner with her."
"Her cousin," he corrected.
"Same thing. I can't string her along because she looks like Chiharu. I should cancel dinner."
"At least give the poor girl a chance."
"I suppose I do owe her that..." I shook my head. "It will never work. I can't. I mean, its Chiharu's cousin. Kami-sama!"
"What the hell are you two doing?" Our chief editor, Maraki Desu, stood looming over us. About six foot five and two hundred and twenty pounds, he was a big, intimidating man. Even Syaoran looked a little abashed. "I don't pay you to chat about girls." I didn't have the courage to tell him that he didn't technically pay us to do anything. The owner of the newspaper paid us. "Takashi! Have you finished your draft?"
I thanked myself for having it done. "Yes."
"Then don't bother Li. Bring it to me. What are you waiting for, a formal invite? Go on, wait in my office." I hated when he treated me like a child, yelling at me loud enough for the whole office to hear, but when one writes as poorly as I do and yet can't be fired from a newspaper because he's friends with the newspaper's owner, then I suppose I deserve to be treated poorly. What a sad being I am.
"Yes, Maraki-san." I nodded good-bye to Syaoran, who nodded back, then slipped me a tiny piece of paper when Maraki turned away. I snatched it into my pocket and went in Maraki's office with a printed up copy of my draft.
The note Syaoran gave me said, "Go to the dinner, or I won't be your friend." I had to grin.
******************************
A/N: Well, that's the first chapter...anyone like it?