Title: Lost in Thoughts
Author: pk_angel
Rating: PG
Fandom: Lost in Translation
Disclaimer: Property of the one and only: Sophia Coppola. I'm poor, so don't sue since no profit is being made off of this.
Summary: Charlotte and Bob have just parted way, but goodbye isn't always forever…
Chapter 3
It's been nearly a week since Bob had written back, and correspondence continued daily in small writings and quick quips here and there. Charlotte wondered if she could suggest taking their electronic conversations 'real-time' via chat programs like Msn Messenger...or Skype even. But the thought came and went; besides, for now, this was enough—this interaction, however limited, helped her cope. And it was nice…
Yes.
Charlotte decided it was nice—to have someone like Bob to confide in; he was so like her. The conversations flowed like water: easy and refreshing, and she never ceased wanting to drink from it.
Bob, who was so far away; literally an ocean and time zone away. Yet every time she opened her e-mail, that distance shrank.
Charlotte hesitated to use the word 'safe,' with all its cheesy connotations, but nothing else seemed to fit. Bob made her feel safe; safe enough to open her thoughts, her feelings—her heart, to him; like, for first time, it was okay to have this feeling: to be vulnerable.
***
The laptop was open with its green power switch 'on'...
So why? Why was she hesitating?
Charlotte let out a long sigh before she slumped into her chair. She guessed that it didn't seem right to start yet another email with complaints. How could she tell him that she was just about ready to throw herself into bed to sleep the rest of the week off? John had left—work, of course
She recalled that last image of him rushing out the door, tie in his mouth; what might've made an endearing image (he looked cute) had it not made her so sad—what, with him holding his suitcase and all.
"John, I'll be fine by myself. Really," she said then, mouthing words of reassurance as if by rote; and she'd almost convinced herself. Almost.
The calendar on the table was marked. The following Sunday circled in bright red marker, and scribbled somewhere, in barely legible penmanship: John back.
And she would wait, anticipating the days; there was today, then tomorrow…and the day following…and the day after that…
John always seemed to be missing.
What's worst: she always seemed to be missing him…
She clicked her mouse over her inbox--there wasn't really anything else to do and she delayed long enough. And there, waiting for her like a well-worn friend, was an email from Bob. Her eyes skimmed the message and Charlotte found herself smiling despite herself. The gist of it was summed up in one line: You should get out more.
Did Bob have some sort of mental telepathy? And she wondered if he could see her now; clad in yesterday's sleepwear, hair unwashed. It was already two in the afternoon and she had lunch ordered in.
***
Charlotte glanced over a long aisle of manga books; her eyes meeting a shy and awkward glance away—that of a Japanese man, who upon getting caught staring, averted his gaze underneath his thick glasses and shuffled, as inconspicuously as possible, to the next bookshelf—his back to her. She hadn't failed to notice how the makeup of the room: a 99% male occupancy rate, but that only served as a source of amusement as she strayed from aisle to aisle.
How she ended up here was anybody's guess. After she showered and cleaned up, she found herself traveling, with a map and no set destination in mind, to here--Akihabara; whereupon she entered a smoky arcade center of one of the tall buildings. But she had wandered further down (curiosity be damned); much, much lower down. And, hidden in the basement like some dirty little secret, was this gem of a find: a seedy adult manga store.
And, despite some initial reservation, she stayed--much to the dismay of the other customers.
She looked over to the cashiers; the only other women here besides herself; and briefly contemplated how they might've felt being surrounded by men who get worked up over these wide-eyed and big-breasted anime girls.
Some porn…she considered with a small chuckle; and the books here didn't leave much to the imagination. There was just something slightly weird at the thought of getting off to what was essentially cartoon smut and drawn women with comically exaggerated body parts. Without a second thought, she grabbed a book from the weirder S and M selection of the store, and walked to the cashier for a purchase. A bizarre souvenir of sorts; something she and John could laugh about when he returns.
And she left the building with a feeling of mild relief. While she smoked somewhat frequently, that much smoke was suffocating.
***
There was no alarm to wake her; just that natural 'click' in her brain that switch on when sunlight came as a cascade through the window. Charlotte sighed and snuggled closer to where her husband would've lain and grabbed his pillow; nuzzling her face in it and breathing whatever scent remained of him. Just a few more minutes, she told herself. She would toast for just a while longer before brushing her teeth: yesterday had bought a surprising amount of contentment; and she could still remember the feeling of dropping onto her hotel bed, shrugging off her shoes and wrapping herself the soft warmth of the blanket which enclosed her now.
She didn't need to look out the window to know that from her view, high above the streets below, she could see the throngs of people going to and fro, going everywhere—in every imaginable direction; active and alive and so numerous they moved like ants with lines stretching out endlessly.
And it hit her: how silly it was for her to feel alone in a place like this. She felt a jolt; that sudden and overwhelming urge to go down there and join them.
Bob's words, after all, still rung fresh in her mind: 'You're not alone.'
So she cleaned, washed up, before she grabbed her coat and headed out the door---the air conditioner of the room was still on and humming when she made her way to the nearest train station. She'll get on, she decided, and get off wherever the train took her; and it would be alright to be lost for a few hours; because she knew that—eventually—she would find her way back.
***
The sound of keys being inserted and the knob turning—all that indicated that the room's occupant had returned; and Charlotte entered hauling along several heavy shopping bags. She had somehow managed to make it back with them in tow from Harajuku, the infamous shopping headquarters of Japan. And she dropped the bags haphazardly on the floor while she huffed and locked the door behind her. Clothing was momentarily forgotten as she opted for water; going to the fridge and grabbing a bottle out before draining a third of its content.
Shopping, shopping, shopping…
As a matter of habit, and because she didn't want it to be quiet for so long, she grabbed the remote on the bed and turned on the T.V. The place warmed instantly—feeling a bit more like home with noise in the background. Charlotte ignored the Japanese MTV promos and went to the discarded mound of shopping bags; her kill for the day. And she rummaged through: Where was it? Where was it again? Oh…here it is…
She smiled, happy, as she pulled out a beautiful red sweater; holding it up and inspecting it more closely in the privacy of her room. Her fingers felt through the cotton knitting before she walked over to the mirror to try it on. And it fitted perfectly, molding skin to skin and hugging to her form; a little too perfectly, and Charlotte worried that it would shrink to an un-wearable size should she wash it. But for now, it was perfect. The color of it was a striking contrast to the paleness of her skin.
Charlotte took a moment to walk around the room to just luxuriate in how she felt in the sweater: confident; sexy; so very her…
Satisfied, she sat down and opened her laptop, interlacing and stretching her fingers as she waited for the system to boot up. Time again to peruse through updates on Bob's life: today there was his daughter's ballet recital, complete with an email attachment—a photo of her on stage. He wrote, "Days like this make everything else worth while."
And Charlotte could understand why.
A thought---she grabbed the camera near her and snapped a photo of herself; then uploaded it to the computer. What a perfect way to send a reply email. Attachment complete.
Bob,
Your daughter is so cute. Maybe I could meet her sometime when I get back to the states.
She went on to write about Harajuku with all the minor details—until she painted a portrait of it with her words, adding:
We should've gone there when you were still here. You know, get you something to distract from that awful haircut of yours. Just kidding. The haircut suits you. Very mature.
You were right about getting out more often. There's so much good that the world has to offer. Like this awesome sweater I got at a bargain price. What do you think? Not too showy, right?
The phone rang, disrupting her flow of writing. She stopped and frowned; no one ever called the hotel's phone but Bob—she had a pre-paid cell phone if anyone needed to reach her (not that it was used a lot since she purchased it).
After the third ring, she picked up: "Hello?"
…
"John?! What?"
Her eyes widen in surprise; and a smile came over her when he said, "Honey, I'll be back tomorrow. Things ended early."
And she was happy.
Genuinely happy.
So much so that it surprised her—how happy she actually was….
"What do you wanna do tomorrow?" he asked, getting ahead of himself; he was still miles away from where she was, but making plans like this seemed right.
And Charlotte couldn't tell exactly why, but at that moment, all she could see was Bob in his bright, bright red-orange t-shirt, holding a mic in his hand and singing, off-key…
What was that song?
More than this? Tell me one thing—more than this.
She wanted to tell him then--in that dim room occupied with several other people (strangers, really)—that on that night, with the ridiculous pink wig on her head, she realized that there was really nothing more than this.
That this was it.
"Let's go karaoke," Charlotte said; humming the tune slightly in her head; she can still hear the music.
Notes:
I had no idea that people still read fics so long after the date they're published. Usually, with fanfics, you get your big hits the first few days after you start, then it dwindles. But the subject of Lost in Translation, like themovie, is just one of those things you can just return to—time and time again—and it'll stay with you. Needless to say, it's been years since, but I'm still in love with it.
Thank you to Gwyneth, Ester, and Jessi—for reviewing my fic . If you liked it, do leave more reviews as I enjoy reading them. You guys spurred me to write this chapter.