If you have no target, you will hit the mark every time. If you have no destination in mind, you will never know where you are going. Up, down, left, right—there are so many parameters to consider. The possibilities are endless. They can liberate and they can restrain: give you wings or bear down on you like a crushing load.
It is all a matter of perspective.
The world is a big place. Who knows where you will end up.
26.
"It's awfully quiet here." Shizuru ghosts around the garage with her hands clasped behind her back. Her eyes scan the area, but her hands did not dare to touch anything just yet. "Are you the owner of this establishment, Natsuki?
"Naw, I'm just a rookie. My boss and colleagues are away at a convention. It's a lull in the season, I'm holding the fort till they get back."
Shizuru looks at her skeptically, "A convention for auto-mechanics?"
Natsuki shrugs her shoulders dismissively. "What? Blue collars have fancy seminars and conventions too."
Shizuru makes a noncommittal noise in the back of her throat. "Why didn't you go along with them? And what do they do there, anyway?
"No clue. I've never been. Never been interested either. I've never liked social gatherings." Natsuki says matter-of-factly.
"No, you?" Shizuru mock gasps, then covers her mouth politely with one hand. "I never would have thought."
"Har har, Shizuru. Very funny." Natsuki rolls her eyes. "Come and have a look. I've fixed your car."
"It's good as new."
27.
Shizuru fishes a few ten thousand dollar yen notes out of her purse and lays it on the table, then she empties out her coin purse.
Natsuki looks down at the meager assortment of bills and frowns. She does not even deign a look at the small tower of coins. "It won't be enough to pay for the repairs."
"What if I throw in my purse?" Shizuru jokingly proposes, wiggling the purse in the air as if the action would make the item a more alluring draw.
The action, good-natured though it may be, only manages to rile Natsuki up further. "We don't barter here! Didn't you read the sign?" Natsuki points purposefully to the lopsided sign hanging on the far corner of the wall.
In bold, underlined twice, and with an exclamation point tacked to the end of the statement, the obnoxious sign reads: No cash? No credit? Get out!
How cheery. Shizuru thinks haplessly.
There are two signs, in fact. Off to the side of the crooked sign and on a tabletop, an eerie and imposing figurine of a tanuki has a thumb pointed directly over its shoulder, at the door. There is just something about its serene expression that makes Shizuru very tempted to accidentally knock it off the table.
Alright, Shizuru thinks. Whoever made these signs really needs to stop being such miserly prick and get a hobby. Something other than pottery. Gardening, perhaps. Supposedly, it is very therapeutic.
"Didn't you bring anything else with you? Credit cards? Your checkbook?" Natsuki leans forward on the counter and looks dubiously up at Shizuru.
"Natsuki, money was the last thing on my mind." Shizuru grimaces and takes to keeping all the laid out money to distract herself. "Besides, making ends meet with money from my old life would only leave a bad taste in the mouth."
"Well, a bad aftertaste is better than starving!" Natsuki counters, incensed.
Natsuki slaps a palm to a forehead and drags it slowly down her face. She looks at Shizuru both pointedly and somberly. "What will I do with you?"
"Indulge me?"
Natsuki chews on her bottom lip. She looks ready to blow a gasket.
28.
Shizuru excuses herself to fetch water for them both and to give Natsuki some time and space to cool down. While on her way, Shizuru makes a quick detour to shoot the tanuki figurine one hell of a dirty look, and it answers with the same eerily serene expression, its thumb still pointing at the door. Shizuru has never liked raccoon-dogs, beloved figures of Japanese folklore though they may be.
Natsuki, it seems, is too caught up in her melancholy to pay Shizuru's antics any mind.
When Shizuru returns from the water-cooler with two cheap plastic cups laid across each other on the countertop, they are back in the rink again, ready for round two. Natsuki has assumed a new position. She now slouches over the countertop with one hand propping up her head, while Shizuru, as ever, has her back straight and her palms flat upon the smooth woodgrain of the countertop.
Ding-ding.
Natsuki downs the entire contents of the cup in one gulp, and then looks imploringly up at Shizuru. "What are you running from, Shizuru? I deserve to know at least that much."
If Natsuki wants the truth, Shizuru decides, then it is what she will give her. "An omiai."
"Isn't running away a little excessive? Can't you just turn them down?" Natsuki argues, crossing her arms and leaning on the countertop.
Shizuru bites her lip and looks away, out the dirt-stained window. "It's more complicated than that.''
Natsuki frowns. "Yeah? Well, escape artists die too, you know…"
"Yes, but everybody dies. Harry Houdini died from a ruptured appendix. I just—" Shizuru lets out a long sigh and worries the ends of her blouse in her hands —"the omiai is just a formality. I'm twenty-four, Natsuki. They expect me to settle down with a complete stranger simply because it's a prudent business decision. All my life, I have done what they wanted. Become who they wanted me to be." Shizuru pauses and bites her lip once more.
(It is a nervous tick, Natsuki has noticed.)
When Shizuru finally speaks again, her eyes take on a haunted look. "Sometimes, when I look in a mirror, I see a complete stranger. I needed to leave, Natsuki. I needed to get away before I lost sight of who I was completely."
She feels so tired, as if she has lived a hundred different lives, none of which were her own. Someone like Natsuki cannot possibly understand. What would a soul unencumbered know? What would the girl with the fiery temper and unvarnished sincerity know of peer pressure to conform and achieve, of obligations and responsibility tethered to family names?
Natsuki has never been inhibited by societal expectations. She rides a bike for goodness' sake. Natsuki is a mechanic. She will glare and scowl and kick the shin of any who will so much as look at her the wrong way, at least that is what Shizuru would like to believe. It is a big world. It is a big enough country. Shizuru would like to believe that someone out there is free.
Natsuki reaches out a hand to comfort her, but flinches away at the last minute—an inch shy of making contact. She retracts her hand instead, clenches it into a fist on the table and lays another hand on top of it, to quell her urge to act. She looks hurt, looks lost.
Silly girl. Shizuru thinks. Why do you look so sad? You are not the one on trial here. You have done no wrong.
29.
The silence looms like an ominous presence between them. Shizuru would prefer it if someone screamed or shouted. She wants something to happen. Anything to interrupt the deadlock. Taking matters into her own hands, Shizuru reaches out to take a sip of water and holds the cup a tad too tight just to hear the plastic crinkle, just to convince herself the world has not stilled about them, beyond them.
For once, it appears that Shizuru's wishes are granted. When she sets the cup evenly back down, right back in its original spot, Natsuki starts to speak. Shizuru licks water away from her lips. When she was younger, someone told her a parable about the monkey's paw. Her memory of it is a haze. What was she meant to learn? To be careful about what she wished for? To not tamper with fate?
(Her father had believed in fate: from who you were born to, to the way you would die. If Shizuru closes her eyes, she can almost see the red strings wrapping around a person's neck, round and round, like a collar, like a noose—restricting, constricting—until they breathed their last. Her father had believed in fate, the warped kind, that meant you were doomed from the very start. Shizuru is sure that he still believes that, even now... )
Shizuru is so caught up in the swirling vortex of her own muddled thinking, that she does not notice the storm brewing in Natsuki until it crashes into her.
Natsuki's voice starts off as barely a whisper, then builds, gaining momentum and emotion with every uttered word. "How do I know you are who you claim to be, Shizuru?" Natsuki's anger and frustration has built to a crescendo. The hands that had been poised to comfort Shizuru, lash out and confront her instead. Across the table, Natsuki's hands reach out to roughly clutch Shizuru's collar, forcing her up and onto her feet, "How do I know this isn't just some elaborate, fucked-up lie?"
Natsuki's sudden movements cause Shizuru's cup to tip over onto its side, spilling water all over the countertop. Shizuru eyes it sharply from the corner of her eye, watches as the cup rolls helplessly, perches precariously over the edge, then takes the final plunge. That's no good, Shizuru thinks, a part of her somewhere far away. This type of wood isn't meant to absorb water.
Natsuki only grips her collar tighter, forcing Shizuru to meet her angry, verdant gaze.
Natsuki's hands are shaking, and her brilliant emerald eyes are glassy as she searches Shizuru's face beseechingly for an answer. The girl with a heart of gold and a head full of straw, Shizuru thinks fondly. Natsuki wants a reason to believe her. She wants proof. Proof of everything that has transpired between them. Proof of who Shizuru is. Shizuru understands. After all, what were the odds of them meeting? What are the odds of this happening? Shizuru knows it is more likely that she would have been mugged and left in a ditch.
Natsuki is leaning across the counter, probably forced to tiptoe by virtue of her shortfall in height and the distance set between them. Looking at Natsuki now, up close, with her emerald eyes flashing and her breaths coming in short bursts, is like looking into the heart of a great tempest. Shizuru can see the tension in her biceps and the slight quiver in her lip, even the little freckles of her vivid irises. Shizuru knows it is peculiar to think such a thing at such a time, but it is hard, she finds, not to. This strange creature, with its emotions laid bare... It is something beautiful. Natsuki is something beautiful. Natsuki is—
Natsuki is on the cusp of something great—a tidal wave of pent up emotions. A slave to the pull of the tide, she is only trying to ride it all out.
Shizuru wants to etch it all into memory. She has seen things here not as they always are. Though she is not sure what she is bearing witness to, she recognizes its preciousness all the same.
No… No. Shizuru tells herself. She is beyond this. She needs to harden her resolve. She has no time for these trifle matters. She will move beyond this. She must.
Shizuru closes her eyes to regain her footing, to slide her mask, as ever, back into place. When she looks at Natsuki once more, Shizuru's face is calm and her voice is even, and maybe even laced with frostiness. "You can't know, Natsuki," Shizuru says evenly, her composure immaculate. "Not for sure. There is no proof. There is no other way. You can only believe your eyes and your ears. You can only trust me and my word."
Life is not a game, and what happened between them was not a lie. Shizuru wants to assure her that. But she cannot give Natsuki what she wants. Shizuru has destroyed the evidence: snipped away at her identification cards with all the joy of a liberated inmate, fed all credit card and tax statements to her shredder and treated them like confetti.
Natsuki lets go of her collar and lets her arms hang limply at her side. Then she looks away, ashamed.
Shizuru understands. Yes, she does. She understands why Natsuki cannot possibly understand. And she understands what she must do, knowing this.
For a tree to properly grow, its rotten branches must be pruned. The trees do not understand, but the gardener does. He sees things as they are; he sees the forest for the trees. The same goes for everything else in the world—that is what Shizuru has been taught. If something is more a liability than an asset, cut it off. It will not do to lug around a rotten appendage for the sake of hubris, or whimsy. For what is sentimental attachment when weighed to survival and need? For what use is a sinking ship to a stowaway?
"Take my car, Natsuki. Just take it. It is more than enough to cover… everything I have put you through. Just—Just promise me you will take care of it. It is very dear to me." Shizuru says finally, leaning forward so that her tawny bangs cover her eyes.
Natsuki looks up at her, in a daze. In the time spanning her reverie, Shizuru has walked to her car to retrieved her luggage from the trunk. Shizuru bends down to pick up the dropped plastic cup and sets it back down onto the tabletop, then she tosses her set of car keys to Natsuki, who barely reacts in time and fumbles to catch it. Jerked out of her thoughts, Natsuki shouts while holding the car keys up in the air, "Wait! That's it? You're going to walk out the door just like that?"
"Well, yes." Shizuru tries to keep her tone light, like she was just making an inane comment about the weather. "I'm going to do what the tanuki says I should do. Goodbye, Natsuki."
"It was…" Shizuru thinks. What was it? A roller coaster ride backwards and in the dark? Too short and too much and bittersweet by the end, leaving her in want? What was it, this beautiful, serendipitous thing, that saved her and ruined her all in the same shaky, thrilling breath?
"It has been quite a ride." Shizuru settles on saying. She turns around then to give Natsuki a smile that only serves to befuddle her further. Shizuru turns around then to quickly pick up her suitcase and stride purposefully out the door so that Natsuki will not see any cracks in the mask, so that she herself will not be bogged down by second thoughts.
"Where will you go?" Natsuki shouts at Shizuru's retreating form.
"Wherever my feet takes me," Shizuru says nonchalantly as she steps the rest of the way out of the threshold.
When she has stepped out of the building, Shizuru lets out a sigh, long and deep. Empty words to fill the silence. She might as well have said nothing at all.
Behind her, the door closes; Its bell chiming like a death knell.
30.
The silence left in the wake of Shizuru's departure is deafening.
Natsuki storms over to Shizuru's damned beloved car planning to deliver a roundhouse kick, but she changes her trajectory at the last minute, and lashes out at her tool box instead. The box flies halfway across the room. It lands noisily onto its side, scattering nuts and bolts and tools across the floor like a gutted animal spilling its organs.
Seething in frustration, Natsuki clenches the car keys in one hand so tight that her knuckles turn white. With the other hand, Natsuki braces herself against the hood of the car and glares at a particularly nasty oil stain on the floor. "Tch." She runs her empty hand agitatedly through her long black hair, and glares at the car keys in her other hand. ''If you love the damn car so much, then you shouldn't give it up so fucking easily."
31.
Oh great, Shizuru thinks to herself, as the weight of her actions bear down on her. Seriously speaking, where will she go? Where will she stay? She needs a place to leave her luggage. A temporary base of operations. Just until she comes up with a proper exit strategy. Well, she thinks she spotted a love hotel a few streets back. At least the rates will be reasonable. It would certainly make for an… enriching experience. Yes… That's a kind way to put it.
So where will she go after this debacle? Shizuru has reached the bridge that she is meant to cross. Maybe she will take a ferry to another island. Maybe she will cross the border over to China or Russia. ...Maybe she will dig a ditch near those cypress bushes over there, crawl in and be done with it.
Shizuru walks down the street, lugging her luggage along with her, and continues her slow trudge towards the general direction of the love hotel. While doing so, she tries to wrap her head around how to hitch a ride. She had seen someone do it on the cover of Natsuki's magazine just the other day, but all she manages to recall is the endearing shade of pink of Natsuki's cheeks when she flushes, and the feeling of her warm and soft bed.
She scrunches her brows together, deep in thought, trying to recollect. Passersby would think this serious young woman was pondering something profound like the philosophical meaning of life, or how many angels can dance on the head of a pin.
Thumbs up or thumbs down? Shizuru ruminates. What if… it pointed sideways? Left or right, then? Hmm… So many parameters to consider.
If only Shizuru had a sign to hold up. That would make things so much easier. All she would need to do is write out her desired destination, and everything else would be self-explanatory. Wait… no. Scratch that. Trying to hitchhike with a sign that just read 'Love Hotel' would surely send out some very mixed signals and paint a very skewed picture of her entire situation.
Shizuru turns at the curb, and finds herself… utterly lost. The street name is alien, as are the names of all the tiny shops lining the road.
Shizuru has had enough of signs for one day.
She curses her bad sense of direction, curses her abstracted thoughts, curses Natsuki for being so distracting. No, she reminds herself. No. It is not Natsuki's fault Shizuru cannot remember how to hitchhike. Memory is arbitrary and fragmented, and Shizuru has made her choice, unconscious though it may be. And so Shizuru backpedals and curses her tunnel vision instead, or in this case, tunnel memory.
So what will she do now? A city is a city, and a town is a town, wherever in the world. Every urban enclave is a maze of lost souls and empty buildings, and she is in the midst of another one—in the belly of another beast.
Her stomach growls. Shizuru clutches it and blushes. She looks frantically around her to make sure nobody has overheard, then starts walking into the nearest eatery. Well, Japan is still Japan wherever she is stepping. Be it on a concrete pavement or a dirt road. And immediate priorities will always bubble to the surface, will always stave off grand plans for the future.
She comes back out with three sticks of Yakitori and directions to the nearest bus stop. She slaps a palm to her head for forgetting to ask about the whereabouts of the love hotel. Oh well, Shizuru thinks in a bid to comfort herself, the important thing was that she managed to grab something to eat.
32.
At the bus stop, she sets her suitcase down then sits atop it, biting into her first stick of Yakitori and looking dejectedly off to one side like a lost child, absorbed once more in her thoughts.
It never pays to be abstracted, she thinks. She should forget about her plans too. Chuck every notion about a grand escape out the window and be done with it. It has given her nothing but false promise. She will just take the next bus in and follow it to the end of the line. If it took her to the ocean, she will cross the sea and never come back. If it ended with her back in Tokyo then she would have her answer to what she should be doing with her goddamn life.
"I will take the next ride out and that will be that," she says out loud to no one in particular as she polishes off the last stick and deposits all the trash neatly into a nearby trash bin.
And so the waiting game begins yet again.
33.
Shizuru does not look blankly into the distance, seeing everything and nothing at the same time, trying to untangle her twisted thoughts. She does not look to the past, does not try to trace the neat, straight line of her life to the point where everything got so remarkably screwed up.
No. Instead, she keeps herself occupied with playing a mindless game on her iPhone. It is the perfect distraction. She does not even have to think, with muscle memory and instinct driving her every action. All of a sudden though, she hears a honk. She wants to grimace on instinct. It sounds like the cry of a dying goose.
It is probably nothing, Shizuru tells herself as she goes back to try and beat her high score. Honk! Goes the dying goose, louder this time. She looks up from her iPhone to see the same old beat-up truck Natsuki found her in, days ago.
The universe sure has a funny sense of humor.
"Get in." Natsuki's eyes are narrowed in anger, and her stiff tone of voice offers no leeway for negotiation.
Shizuru blinks once, then again, and looks back down at her phone. Game Over! She is cheerily informed. Apparently, she ran out of lives.
"Get in! You're holding up traffic." Natsuki shouts, then honks again, and the drivers behind her honk in turn at the hold up. What a cacophony they have managed to drum up. Shizuru tucks the phone into her purse then scrambles onto her feet. She eases her suitcase onto the back of the pick-up truck, and tentatively enters the front of the truck.
Natsuki drops Shizuru's car keys unceremoniously onto her lap, and does not say anything apart from, "Seat belts."
So Shizuru buckles up, zips her lip too while she is at it, and keeps her eyes ahead and on the road, only daring to occasionally glance in Natsuki's direction.
34.
Natsuki is very obviously, very apparently, still pissed off at her, and it seems, at the world in general.
"Hey, Natsuki-chan, how are you do—" Midori nears to slap her on the back, but before she has the time to finish her greeting, Natsuki has elbowed her roughly in the ribs—"oof!"
Natsuki's bad mood seems almost palpable. She glares daggers at Midori, who takes one step backwards on instinct, and at Shizuru, who takes the blunt of it without flinching. Then, without sparing them a second glance, Natsuki proceeds to lug Shizuru's suitcase up the flight of stairs to the second floor. The door to her apartment slams shut to round off her angry exit.
Midori rubs her sore side and looks quizzically at Shizuru. "What's got her goat?"
Shizuru sighs. "It's a long story, Midori-han."
"Hmm... Did you mess with her delicates?" Midori hazards a guess.
Shizuru shakes her head.
"Did you mention how windy it was? I don't know why, but the one time I said that, she got really, really mad."
Shizuru shakes her head yet again.
"Well, those are all the triggers I know of… What's up with that girl…" Midori says and lays her hands on her hips.
"Don't hold it against Natsuki." Shizuru sags guiltily against the frame of the backdoor. "I'm sorry. It's my fault Natsuki's in such a foul mood. "
"Don't beat yourself up over it, alright? It's never solely someone's fault.'' Midori pauses for bit. "Natsuki-chan's a good kid, but she can be very hot-headed at times. Give her some time to cool down, and she'll come around." Noticing her dispirited demeanor, Midori lays a maternal hand on Shizuru's shoulder. Midori squeezes it reassuringly, then says with a grin, "how about I treat you to a drink to get your mind off things?"
Shizuru gives a small smile at the gesture of comfort and secretly wants to laugh. Unfortunately, not all the answers to life lay at the bottom of a bottle of booze.
"Thank you for the offer, Midori-han, but I'm afraid I'll have to decline. Another time, perhaps."
Midori heaves a great sigh in mock disappointment. "Well, there goes my excuse to get drunk. Want to tag along on a grocery run?"
Well, Shizuru thinks. It's not like she has anything better to do. "Sure, why not."
So they go grocery shopping.
35.
When they return with bags full of groceries, Sakomizu is standing at the front of the porch with his arms crossed and a foot tapping impatiently on the ground.
"Oh man, this is so not my day." Midori frowns as they near the walkway."You better go on ahead and take these in with you, Shizuru-chan. The milk will have gone bad by the time Sakomizu's done ranting." She hands her share of the bags to Shizuru, but not before taking out a packet of crisps.
Shizuru raises a curious eyebrow at the packet of wasabi-mayo chips, prompting Midori to answer. "I always get bored halfway through his spiels about plants and stuff… besides, I'm feeling a little peckish. Want to try some?"
Shizuru raises a hand to politely decline, and Midori shrugs.
"Maybe later then. It tastes better than it sounds, I swear." Midori says as she transfers another packet into one of Shizuru's plastic bags. "Uh-oh, the giant's on the move! Get going, humming-bird."
Since when did we start using code-names? Shizuru wants to ask, but Midori is already taking long, purposeful strides away from her, a winning smile already on her face.
36.
Shizuru zips into the house from the back. She stows the perishable items into the fridge in record time and leaves the rest of the bags on the counter. Then she dashes back to press an ear to the backdoor. She can make out a crinkle on the other end, and the distinct crunching sound of someone munching on potato chips.
"Sugiura, this entire debacle has the marks of you and your drunken shenanigans all over it! Confess now, and I'll go easy on the punishment."
"It wasn't me, I swear!" Midori garbles out in-between mouthfuls of chips, probably spewing bits everywhere, along with the words. "Well, okay, there was that one time, but c'mon! I didn't throw up anywhere near your petunias on Friday night. Youko's DVD player on the other hand—" There is a pause, wherein Shizuru is sure she hears Midori whisper conspiratorially—"let's keep that between us, alright?"
"Stop eating already! You're not supposed to eat during a confrontation." A distinctly male voice bellows.
"Well, deal with it. This is comfort food for all the stress your confrontation's causing me!"
They are talking so loud that Shizuru does not even need to make an effort to eavesdrop. Shizuru pushes herself off the door and grimaces. Midori is out there being grilled for something that Shizuru has done. She knows what she has to do. This is it, Shizuru. Shizuru thinks to herself as she sucks in a steadying breath. Time to right your wrongs. Face the music. Own up.
In the background, the crinkling only gets louder. Shizuru is not sure what is going on, but… it sounds like they are having a tug of war over a bag of chips.
"No, my chips!" Midori exclaims.
Shizuru opens the front door and steps out, just in time to get doused in a spray of potato chips.
When in doubt, always tell the truth in a timely manner.
37.
Natsuki has done her fair share of thinking—and rampaging, that too—and yes, maybe she did spend too much time screaming into her pillow, though that is besides the point here. Natsuki is not here to pick a fight. She has done enough fighting today. When asked, Midori had pointed Natsuki to the garden when she had run into her.
Now, under the sweltering heat of the summer sun, Natsuki crouches down next to Shizuru in the soft soil, tucks her fingers into the loops of her jeans, and regards her.
Shizuru is wearing a borrowed straw hat and blue overalls. There is dirt on her face, and on her clothes. She is bound to have soil under her well-kept nails too, despite the gloves, at the rate she is yanking out weeds and man-handling the gardening tools. It is honorable dirt, Natsuki supposes. A product of honest toil and an honest day's work. But honestly, it seems so out of place on Shizuru that it is almost funny. She finds it easier to picture Shizuru in the office at her clutter-free, almost sterile desk, outsourcing and relegating work, while she herself sits down for a nice cup of afternoon tea.
Shizuru makes no move to acknowledge her presence, just continues prying weeds out, one after another. Natsuki, in an attempt to make conversation, says the most obvious thing in the world. "Sakomizu's got you on weed duty, huh?"
"He won't let me near the petunias. He thinks I'm a spy working for someone called Miss Maria. Is she a member of a secret organization I should be aware of?"
Shizuru still will not look up at her. She is answering though, and Natsuki concludes that it is a definite improvement. Natsuki laughs in response. "She's a retired teacher and our next door neighbor. They're sworn rivals or something. But, um... forget it."
Natsuki fumbles for the right words and phrasing, decides in the end, to screw it. After all, the most sincere words are said without forethought. "That's… that's not why I'm here. I'm sorry. Not for getting so angry, but for the way I acted. You're right, I don't understand. I don't understand why you would run. I don't understand why you would leave the things you love so easily either, but it doesn't excuse how I behaved. I'm... I'm sorry. I'm... clumsy, I don't know how to deal with people sometimes, but beyond that—what I did to you, I was a right asshole."
Natsuki twiddles her thumbs together and looks at a ladybug skittering over a leaf. It certainly is not the prime source of courage or inspiration, but it serves well enough to distract.
"You're infuriating, you know? More than anyone else I know. And you're annoying and childish too," Natsuki ticks off Shizuru's less than flattering attributes like a list of misdemeanors, "but you're a good person, Shizuru. I'm sorry for lashing out at you. You didn't deserve that." Natsuki pauses for a beat, considering. "Also, you make really nice tempura."
Natsuki traces the ladybug's wriggly path of movement right up to the moment it takes flight. When she looks back at Shizuru, she is startled to find that she holds Shizuru's undivided attention. Maybe startled is the wrong word. Natsuki is surprised, but not unpleasantly so.
38.
Shizuru wants to laugh. It seems that in Natsuki's world, culinary skills double as a redeeming quality. How very endearing.
"You're not very good at apologies, are you, Natsuki?" Shizuru quips cheekily.
Natsuki opens her mouth to retort, but Shizuru raises a gardening tool to silence her, and for once, Natsuki complies. For once, she backs down.
"Thank you, but you don't have to apologize." Shizuru says matter-of-factly, seeming at that point in time, more jaded than she ever lets on. "Why do you think we are here, Natsuki? At this precise time, in this precise place, crouched down in the soil on 'weed duty', as you call it?"
A gust of wind flurries past them, knocking the straw hat off from atop Shizuru's head, and making it hang to the back of her neck by a thin string. In the warm hue of the setting sun, the reddish-brown shade of Shizuru's eyes look almost luminescent. At the sight, Natsuki lets out a little puff of air. She does not remember when she started holding her breath.
Shizuru ploughs on, paying no mind to her wind-swept hair. She plucks the stem of a weed out and holds it out to Natsuki, twirling it between finger and thumb. "The wind blows and two dandelion seeds do not fly. I am sorry, Natsuki, that we had to meet under such circumstances. I'm apologise for all the trouble I have caused you. You shouldn't feel obligated to do any more out of compulsion. I can take care of myself; you don't have to worry."
The wind continues its ferocious howl, like the prairie song of the wilderness. It rustles the leaves and the wind chimes, making them sing along.
"I don't like your analogy." Natsuki declares as she unceremoniously flicks the poor little weed, causing the two remaining pods to scatter, riding on the trailing undercurrents of the breeze and rising off and into the air.
And then Natsuki turns to Shizuru and flicks her pointedly in the middle of her forehead. Natsuki speaks like her words are the most obvious thing in the world. She speaks like Shizuru, for all her grace and credentials, is not quite so wise beneath it all. "Idiot. I'm not a victim of circumstance, and neither are you. We can't choose our lives, but we can choose how we live them. You were stupid enough to run away, and I'm stupid enough to take you in."
Natsuki pauses, and the vacuum of silence is filled by the chatty calls of cicadas.
"Natsuki is, as always, too kind. When will you learn your lesson?" Shizuru smiles then, confusing as always. Her eyes glint with the promise of danger, like the sharp edge of a blade.
Natsuki has learnt to recognize that smile, knows not to trust it. She bristles then, her hackles raised. "Who says I was ever kind? And who's to say that I haven't? You still owe me one, Shizuru. Two, in fact. I've been keeping score."
"Isn't my car enough to cover all those expenses and more? It is very generous of you to extend that offer, but I never said I wanted to stay here, Natsuki."
Well, Natsuki thinks, equal parts resolute and huffy. Let Shizuru smile that way. Let Shizuru be difficult. She can be difficult too.
"Well, I never said I was keeping your car! I'm a mechanic, not a used-car salesman. I have my Ducati, what use would I have for your car?"
Shizuru has long since stopped pulling out weeds. She fails to grasp Natsuki's concept of transport adultery. Oh, I don't know, Shizuru thinks aimlessly, maybe you could sell it and get a tidy sum? Of course that thought never crossed Natsuki's mind. Of course.
"You said it yourself, didn't you?" Natsuki reasons diplomatically. "You said that you'll go wherever your feet takes you. Well, they've brought you here."
(Technically, it was Natsuki that brought Shizuru here on both occasions.)
"You need a place to stay, and you've got it. This isn't a free-ride. This isn't pity or charity or any of that crap. You're not off the hook that easily. This…" Natsuki trails off, trying to find the words. Natsuki's always had problems with finding the right words. "This is a partnership. You'll need to pay rent. Or cook, or something. And you're on permanent dish-duty!"
Shizuru slumps resignedly and blows damp strands of hair away from her face. Natsuki has a point... maybe. Maybe Shizuru is just tired of running. Maybe all Shizuru wants is to be wanted; to stay somewhere that would take her in with open arms. "I intend to pay my debts to you in full, Natsuki."
"Yes, Yes." Natsuki waves her off brusquely. Natsuki shifts closer then and reaches out to place the straw hat firmly back atop Shizuru's head.
(Shizuru owes Natsuki more than she will ever let her know.)
39.
Natsuki leans back on the heels of her purple converse sneakers, busying herself with watching Shizuru toil away in her blue overalls and straw hat. She tries her best not to snort in laughter at the sight of it all.
"You could help, you know?" Shizuru raises her shoulder to stop the sweat from running down and stinging her eyes.
"I could, yeah." Natsuki smirks cheekily, and Shizuru answers with the mother of all deadpanned looks.
"Alright, alright," Natsuki procures a handkerchief from the side pocket of her jeans then reaches out to gently dab at the sweat gathering at Shizuru's temple and along the nape of her neck.
Shizuru wrinkles her nose, but smiles gratefully at the kind gesture. "Well, that wasn't what I had in mind, but thank you, Natsuki."
Natsuki sneezes from out of the blue. She pulls back the handkerchief, and uses the non-damp ends to blow her nose. "Sorry, I can't help much. I'm allergic to pollen."
Shizuru laughs in mirth. "That is quite alright, it's not your fault. But it's ironic, no? For a summer princess."
Natsuki bristles, but blushes in embarrassment nonetheless. "I didn't choose my name. I blame my mother… and my birthdate."
Shizuru smiles in mirth. "It's funny. Did you know? They say that children grow to exemplify the names given to them at birth." Shizuru tries in vain to yank out a particularly stubborn weed, and eventually gives up.
Natsuki scoffs and stuffs the handkerchief back into her pocket. "I obviously didn't get the memo. The characters of my name, they don't mean that, but I never liked summer. Damn heat waves. The blooming flowers don't help either! At least in winter it's cool." Natsuki kicks over some soil and entombs a particularly stubborn, and now extremely unfortunate weed.
"Don't take it out on the flora, Natsuki." Shizuru admonishes while she swats away Natsuki's leg. "Don't take it out on your mother either. She chose your name well. It suits you, my dear. I'm afraid Fuyuki wouldn't quite fit the bill."
"Ah, um… thanks, I guess? Maybe you're right. I didn't get to choose my name, and I didn't grow into it, but it did grow on me."
40.
The silence reigns once more, a benevolent presence this time round, like a sentry on the lookout while they immerse themselves in their thoughts. This time, it is Shizuru's turn to break the quiet.
"You know, Natsuki, I've been doing some thinking."
"Hm?"
"It may just be the heat talking."
"Or the dehydration," Natsuki quips helpfully.
"Maybe both," Shizuru agrees amiably. Her tongue darts then out to dab her dry lips. "Well, it seems to me, that everything is just a matter of perspective. You know, there is nothing to biologically distinguish a weed and a flower. The only difference between them is that while flowers are planted and grown purposefully, weeds are unexpected invaders."
"So, let's say that I wanted the weeds to be there. Let's say that my carelessness and indolent gardening ethic was actually part of a grand design to make my ideal garden then—" Shizuru lets a thoughtful pause hang between them—"bam! The weeds are flowers."
"Just like that?"
"Just like that. Then I wouldn't have to pull them out." Shizuru smiles, then wide and guileless. "Cool, huh?"
Yes, that would have been something to think about, but Natsuki has a sinking feeling about this entire situation."Uh… huh. Sure, Houdini. Real philosophical. Um, quick, how many fingers am I holding out?"
"Four and a half? Thumbs don't count."
"I wasn't holding up my thumb!" Natsuki pulls back her straw hat and finally notices Shizuru's bleary eyes and flushed skin. She presses a hand to Shizuru's forehead and her palm comes back wet with sweat. Shizuru is feverish. She is feverish and she is sweating like a hooker in church.
Oh shit, Natsuki thinks in rising panic. Oh shit on a double dip ice-cream stick.
"Ugh! How long have you been out here, Shizuru? Come on, you've been a gardening-slave for long enough. Let's get you indoors before you start waxing poetic about the earthworms!" Natsuki quickly rises to her feet. She really, really hates summer.
"I'm afraid it's too late for that," Shizuru says with all the solemness of a doctor breaking the news about his patient's terminal illness, "I've already thought up a haiku."
"Save it for later. I can't take you seriously when you're dressed up as an Italian plumber." Natsuki deadpans as she urges Shizuru up onto her feet.
Shizuru huffs and retaliates to that particular smartass comment with a firm slap to Natsuki's posterior. Natsuki yelps and glares at her. Then Natsuki grabs both of Shizuru's gloved (and grubby) hands then starts leading them back into the house, all the while muttering about heat exhaustion and the hell she will give Sakomizu when she finds that afro-head.
Shizuru decides that she will conveniently forget to tell Natsuki about the dirty brown handprint on her left butt-cheek. She brazenly hopes they will run into some housemates along the way.
Let it be known that revenge, even in small doses, even in not-at-all appropriate situations, can still be immensely satisfying.
41.
It is the end of yet another day. Natsuki wanders into her pantry with the intention of whipping up a light snack before she prepares to—once again—crash on her couch.
It is after dinner, but it has been a long day, and Natsuki has worked up quite the appetite. She's sorting through bags of groceries that Midori brought up when she comes across a curious and unfamiliar item. She holds it curiously up in the air and begins her appraisal. "Hmm... mayo and wasabi flavored potato chips? Eh, why not?"
Opening the fridge door, Natsuki takes out a can of beer and a bottle of mayonnaise—because chips always taste better with dip; because, in Natsuki's world, there really was no such thing as too much mayo. She makes a pleased sound in the back of her throat, then with all the items in hand, proceeds to kick the fridge door shut.
She is just about complete with her preparations for her midnight snack when she spies a slip of paper on the counter.
In neat, cursive handwriting, it reads:
Heat sears the soil red
as I toil intently to
pluck the ripe, round plum.
"Wise guy." Natsuki mutters as her face blooms red. Why is she even blushing? A better question would be why does everything Shizuru say, and apparently, write make her blush? She presses the can of beer to her forehead to stave off another throbbing headache, and to get the heat to recede from her face.
"B–","No Earthworms" she scrawls upon the paper in red ink and underlines the grade, then tacks it to the fridge with a magnet. Snack time can wait, Natsuki decides. It is time to check on the patient.
[Edit: I changed the name to Fuyuki, cause I realized Haruki wouldn't make much sense in the context. Sorry for the initial misinformation. Also did some minor editing. Thanks for pointing those out guys! ]
I hope you guys weren't bored by the freakish length of this. Especially when Shizuru and Natsuki are neither sexy here nor off on some epic adventure. They're just...gardening. And stuff.
Thank you for all the comments and encouragement thus far! I'm really glad you liked the opening thing (I don't know what to call it either) mysterious guest! :) And Tawny Redwood, I hope I won't disappoint.