Opening my door that next morning, a flash goes off in my face, and when I can see again, I see Tina– hands hidden behind her back– and staring up at me in one of those coy girlish flirt poses.
"Good morning!" she cries, hobbling and jigging in place, much like a sparrow or a little kid who's trying to quell her bladder. "Your fields are looking really nice today. Really fresh!"
I stare at her. "Did you just take a photo of me?" I ask.
She ignores me in favor of energetically flapping her arms. "Yuri told me there was a scoop here! I mean, not literally, but she told me a really interesting tidbit. So, I innately sensed there was a scoop here." Gazing upwards, she holds a finger to her forehead and feigns deep thought. "Hmm. And guess who that scoop is, mh?"
I close the door on her.
"Riooooo–" Tina's high voice penetrates it, her tiny hands attempting to pummel their way in.
I flatten myself against the door, holding the knob tightly and hoping it all comes to an end very soon. And so it does.
Silence. A minute passes and I can no longer sense her outside. Did she leave? I relax my stance and think about letting go of the knob, but then– out from the thick quiet– a scraping noise fills my lonely home with a disturbing presence.
"What the–" I mutter, jolting when I see my kitchen window sliding open and two arms hanging over– waving– trying to swim their way in. I let out an incredible yell and fall on my butt, babbling in terror until Tina pulls herself through and tumbles right into my kitchen.
"Hm-hm!" she twitters, standing up and flexing. "Your doors, walls, and solid objects are no match against me, Tina, journalist extraordinaire!" She points at me mightily. "Prepare to relinquish the scoop! I want an interview with you, right here and right now." She crosses her arms, glowering down at me. "And don't you dare treat me like an annoying little sibling again. It feels bad when the table is turned on me like that…"
I lean on my hands and knees in defeat, knowingly very well that this would never end if I failed to relent. "Yes," I mutter.
"Good!" she cheers. "But first, breakfast. Mind if I use your kitchen? What would you like me to make you?" Before I can answer and tell her I'm not hungry, she drags me over to my dining table and forces me to sit down. "Excellent! One order of omelet rice, coming right up!" She hurries off to dig around in my fridge, oohing and cooing at the extensive selection.
"Don't touch my five-star rice," I warn her.
"Oh! This is wonderful! Such high-quality ingredients, as expected of Echo Farm," she exclaims, loading up her arms and attacking the stovetop. "I really wish I had a portal to your fridge from my house, just so I could help myself like this all the time. Oh, but I wouldn't pig out of course. If I pitch the idea to Michelle, maybe she can make a magical one? I think Felicity would love it, too."
"No way," I say, troubled by this. "Don't go helping yourself whenever you feel."
"Omelet rice!" Tina plunks the steaming plate down in front of me, obviously ignoring my every word. "My specialty!" she says. "Dig in while it's still nice and warm."
Jabbing a fork at it, I take a bite, finding the fried ketchupy rice and egg comfortingly appetizing.
"How is it? Pretty delicious, right?" Tina asks, her big eyes seeking approval. "I'm a pretty good cook, you know."
I put my fork down and wipe my face on my neck scarf. "Yeah, but somehow," I say, "I can see this being the only thing you know how to cook."
"Rio!" Tina yells, crossing her arms. "That's so rude! I come from a big family so of course I know how to cook like a boss. You should be telling me how I'll make a good wife and mother someday."
"Heh. It takes more than good food to make a good mother," I say, taking another bite and feeling a bit remorseful for what I said. "Sorry… It's delicious. You did good."
Tina sits down before me and rests her cheeks in her hands, watching me solemnly. "To run away when you were just nine-years-old," she murmurs. "What made you do it?"
"I don't know. The same thing that makes any child run away. Foolishness."
"And how did you run away?" Tina pulls out a pen and notepad, laying it in clear view before us. "Tell me your whole life story, from how you ran away from home, up to point when you acquired the box of letters and settled here in Echo Town." She starts writing, even though I've barely said anything yet.
This is a ridiculous request– I want to tell her this fact but I know she'd demand the reasons; the reasons being my story is so bizarre and convoluted, it would be impossible to tell it in it's entirety– especially in one day– especially if she's planning to publish it for others to see. "What are you going to do with this interview?" I ask her, apprehensively jabbing my fork at the omelet rice.
"Quote you in an article on runaways, a feature I'm doing for a city paper since it's a pretty common problem these days. Maybe I'll even do a feature about you for the local Echo Town paper," she says, laughing into her fingers, "since everyone's been gossiping about your origins for ages."
"Forgo publishing anything about me until I'm dead," I say.
"No way! No way. Quit kidding around!" She laughs some more. "I'll be a forgetful old granny by then. I mean, I'm already kinda forgetful."
I actually smile. "Only because you try to remember so much."
"I remember squat! That's why I write everything down and file it. Now then." She leans in closer. "Back to business. Go on."
I take a big bite of food and spend a prolonged moment chewing it. "On the day I ran away– my parents and I– we were supposed to go on an outing to the city wharf," I say, swallowing my food. "So I did what any little girl would do, I put on my best outfit; a red sailor dress and a fluffy white coat. I felt so sharp, waiting for my parents to get ready. I had been looking forward to that outing all month; of course my parents decided to start fighting.
"My mom was the sort of woman who put a deadbolt on everything, but she threw a chair right through the front window and broke it. Intent on going, I climbed out and hopped on a bus."
Tina scratches away at her notepad. "It almost sounds like you made a spontaneous decision, but, were you planning on running away?" she asks professionally, which makes me oddly uncomfortable.
"Probably." I consider. "I would always daydream about going on a big journey, but I wasn't thinking about it at that moment. I only wanted to see the wharf– the boats, the shops, and the amusement park. It sounded better than it was. When I got there, I had no more money to do anything and all the bright lights and sounds only left me feeling deeply ashamed and unsatisfied inside. With these feelings, I jumped into the water and swam out to the biggest boat."
"You became a stowaway?"
"I should've. I would've been caught for sure. But I was a determined little monkey. I climbed up its big anchor chain and hung on. Most of it was reeled in when the boat took off, but there was just enough length to dangle from. I hung on and ended up hundreds of miles away."
As if giving up, Tina puts her pen down and takes a moment to massage her forehead in hostile disbelief. "Is this a joke?" she asks.
"Tch. Wouldn't that be nice." I cram the last forkful of food in my mouth and chew, bitterly pensive. "If you don't accept, don't ask."
"Never mind what I think! How does a little girl have enough strength to survive?" Tina slaps the table. "Just how long did you hang onto that chain?"
"I lost track of time, but days? The chain was big enough to sit inside of so when I got tired, I fastened myself in with my dress ties. I ate the fruit I packed before I left. My fluffy coat kept me warm. Most of all, my fear kept me alert, even when I slept. But you're right, a little girl can only do so much. When the anchor dropped I went with it. And so. I hit my head and died. The end."
Tina merely comments with a small, inward mewl– a sound so nondescript, I'm unsure of what it even effing means. It's practically a grunt. She isn't listening, is she.
"W-wait," Tina says, finally coming to. "You didn't die!"
"No, but I should've," I say, excusing my retarded narration. "Washing ashore, I was found and nursed back to health by a woodsman– a master carpenter. He was a frighteningly large and hairy man, but kind and very lonely. He once had a wife and daughter, but they were killed and eaten by wild dogs in the mountains." I cringe, still remembering the vivid description of their bitten and torn remains; it was quite a local legend. "To prevent such a thing from happening again, he taught me how to use tools and encouraged me to become a strong carpenter. Together, we expanded his business and young men flocked in from town to sign-up as his apprentices." At this point, I pause, because this is the part where I decide to leave out ALL the details.
"Young men flocked in, hm?" Tina asks, catching on. "How old were you by then?"
"I was seventeen. I had already lived with the carpenter for eight years."
"I see." Tina goes back to scribbling on her notepad– hurriedly now, since she had fallen behind. "And just how were those young men who joined you, hm?"
Pushing my plate away, I lean back in my chair and cross my arms and legs. "Frankly, they were idiots," I say. "They destroyed the atmosphere of my home and made me realize it was time to go out and find my real one. The old carpenter understood and sent me off. I couldn't remember the city where I came from, so I traveled the world looking for it."
"And you found it?"
"I did. I found the city– my home– because of what had happened there. Four years after I first ran away, a typhoon overflowed the bordering river and an earthquake hit at the same time. A tsunami swept away the rest. What rotten luck. Seemingly overnight, the metropolis became a makeshift village built on ruins."
"Rio Solanum," Tina blurts, knowing exactly the place I was talking about, "you were named after the city…"
"A city which no longer exists," I add. "The new mayor there, he's a concerned and upstanding man. Over the years, he had carefully collected and categorized anything that could link families back together. Dunhill's letters– all of them sent to my parent's dead address– were among the curiosities kept and stored by him due to their nature." I tug at my hat. "Dunhill had hand-written them a letter every week for over a decade."
Holding her forehead, Tina frowns. "He still does," she says softly. "He asks me to take them to town for him… So that's what those are."
Standing up, I shove my chair in. "I'm sure you know the rest. I wrote him back and he gave me the farm." I go and hold the door open, beckoning her to leave.
"Wait, what about your parents?" Tina stands up after me, her hands clutching her notepad tightly against her chest.
"Who knows." I add, "But I'm sure they're gone. We're all gonna be gone– one day."
"Eh… huh?"
"Bye."
I watch Tina hesitantly leave down the dirt path before I close the door and stomp into the kitchen. Digging some lotus roots and such out of the fridge, I think about the master carpenter– the man who'd raised me for roughly half my childhood– and wonder if he ever got the letter I sent him last year. The heavy vegetable cleaver in my hand relentlessly hacks away at the fleshy roots and the oiled pan sizzles as I drop the battered roots in. One letter is enough. I don't want to keep sending letters. I don't want to become another Dunhill.
About two hours before dinnertime, I track Iroha down in town and present her with the deep-fried lotus roots as thanks for all her help the other day. Stopping by the market square to get a glimpse of Rod along the way, I hide behind a tree and watch.
Surrounded by a group of two children and their parents, Rod reaches into the animal pen and pulls out a convulsing, tongue-lolling puppy and carefully allows them to pet and hug it.
It's amazing how Rod once shared my fear of dogs. It's even more impressive how he faces it every day with a sort of tolerance built on love and eager understanding. I still can't believe I underestimated him like I did in the past– especially since I can see myself embraced by his infinite patience forever.
He's such a nice guy. I never knew it, but I quite love nice guys. Good thing it only took me half a lifetime of dealing with assholes to figure it out. I like everything about Rod– really I do– but still. I just wish he wouldn't cuddle those puppies so much, it kinda bothers me. I want to see him holding a kitten. A kitten is more relatable. Besides, I don't like how dogs leave their scent on everything– especially him.
"What's wrong, Pooch?" a voice asks over my shoulder; "You jealous?"
Ripping myself from the tree, I go about and walk down the road, trying to lose Allen who's now trying to pick a fight with me.
He follows, making me wonder if he's actually suicidal. "Here doggie doggie," he calls. clicking his tongue; "Doggie doggie doggie, Dog girl. Woof!" This finally gets me to turn around and snap.
"OK, I'm gonna have to hurt you," I say, briskly unlacing my right cuff and rolling it up.
"Oh. But you already have," Allen croons, holding his hands over his heart. "More deeply than you'll ever know."
I sputter in disgust. "Tch– so uncool!"
"She's quite a yappy little thing." He comes over and pats my hat. "You know, whenever I see a poodle, I feel inclined to shave her bald. Good girl."
"God damnit Allen." I face him. "You win! You win." I throw my arms up. "You got the last word. I can't stand you. Congratulations."
"Do I get a prize?"
"Yes Allen. Yes. You get a prize." I dig through my bag and pull out a branch. "Here." I bestow him the useless object, a sign of my (nonexistent) appreciation.
He actually looks pleased. "Received, with thanks." He smirks affectedly, twirling the branch in hand. "Wow, this brings back memories. When I first moved out here to the sticks, you'd fetch me such gifts regularly."
"Yeah," I admit. "As a boon to keep you from escaping."
"And it worked, Rio. I always looked forward to your visits. It's a shame we didn't remain good friends." He sighs exaggeratedly– making me wonder if he's mocking me again. "It all went down hill after that time I took you out for tea, didn't it? I always regretted being so rude to you. But I was hurt that you barely touched anything. And you had the nerve to bark at me."
I tug at my hat brim, vaguely recalling what went on that day. "Oh yeah," I say, the details miraculously coming back. "I drank myself pukeless the night before and my stomach felt like an inside-out punching bag. I went to the river in search of electrolytes. You dragged me to the restaurant instead. I went ballistic when you tried to force-feed me a grape tart."
"Good times, good times," he says wistfully. "Wait. You had a hangover? I don't remember you saying anything about it."
"Yeah, I was kinda ashamed of myself."
"Hah hah, you party animal. Apologetic drunks are hilarious. Are you an apologetic drunk?"
"Allen, I will throw your house off a cliff with you in it."
"Hey hey, remember that time we talked by the river? I told you to ask me about myself as cutely as you could. You started calling me onii-chan in a disgusting voice. I laughed until I cried. Then we never hung out again."
For old time's sake, I coo in said voice: "Uguuu."
He laughs so hard he smacks his lenses and has to take them off and clean them. "I don't understand. What happened to us?"
We take the road back towards town, our feet stomping down the dirt in unison. "Ah I don't know. You started being an asshole."
"Rio, I thought you got male psychology. That's called 'ribbing'. Guys do it when they're comfortable with one another."
"Gaaaay."
"Come on, show some class. Don't you understand what I'm saying?" He crooks his elbow around my shoulders. "After all this time, I've finally figured out our dynamics." He points between me and him. "I see you as a bro. A compadre. A buddy. Let's quit the misunderstandings. Let's be friends again."
I'm seconds from telling Allen he's full of shit, but when I see the steadiness of his beady blue eyes, I'm convinced. "Against my better judgement," I say, pausing to think; "OK."
He smiles in spite of my reluctance. "Great. So we're pals again."
I rub my arm, still unsure of my decision. "Does this mean you'll stop calling me dog-names, then?" I ask.
"Not a chance, pooch."
"I think I change my mind." I break free and run ahead.
"Get back here and take that back!" he yells.
"Up yours, four-eyes!"
Running back towards my farm, I stop in the middle of the road to laugh and grin. It's incredible, in just in a little while, everything has fixed itself. I got the ring back and now Rod's best friend doesn't hate me anymore. It's like I can do anything. Jumping up into the air, I click my heels together. Screw that, I CAN do anything.
Only one thing left to do.
Waiting until dinnertime to haunt the perimeter of Rod's house, I arrive at his front door and knock, listening so closely, I forget to breathe.
"Come on in!" Rod bursts eagerly, even though he has no idea who it is.
Letting myself in, I pull the latch shut behind me and stay in the doorway, so nervous I can barely look at him straight. "Hey," I say offhandedly. "Evening."
Rod springs from his chair in such haste, it scoots out from underneath him. "Rio!" he says, crashing his silverware on his plate. "He– hello! I was just having dinner. Would you–" he moves for his kitchen cabinet, ready to pull out a cup, "–would you like something to drink?"
Sneaking up behind him, I wrap my arms around his warm waist and bury my face in his fluffy orange back. "No," I speak in a muffle, "let me stay like this."
I feel him inhale deeply. "Okay," he whispers.
Minutes pass and cuddling him relaxes me enough to pull him to the other side of the room. "Can we do this on your bed?" I ask.
The colorful expression on his face makes his concerns obvious. "What? Are you sure?" he asks anxiously. "I-if you want to…"
"Yes. I just wanted to tell you something." I sit on the foot of his mattress. When he sits down alongside me, I latch onto his back and pull him down– my hat falling off. "Come see me on Saturday," I say, poking my nose into the nape of his shirt collar. "I have something I want to show you."
He remains as motionless as a captured mouse. "Saturday?" he repeats. "Where?"
"The eastern terrace."
"I'll come," he agrees instantly. "But when, exactly?" It almost sounds like he's worried he'll miss it.
"You ask a lot of questions," I say with a laugh, pulling my arms off of him. "At two in the afternoon."
Rolling over on his stomach, his sky blue eyes meet mine, inducing me to watch him closely. He seems so intent on observing me, I almost expect him to brush something off my face. "So cute," he gushes instead, his voice wondrously oblivious to reality. I wonder if he just said his thoughts aloud again. Or maybe he just said mine.
I want to reply, 'NO, you sho cute', just so we can get into one of those sickeningly sweet couple's arguments, but the front door slams open so tumultuously– we both jump up in bed whimpering.
"Rod, you're late!" Neil roars, blinded by his typically abusive rage. "If you don't have the decency to show up on schedule, stop badgering me all the time about studying animals you ungrateful, bungling assclown–" His tirade halts when he notices us at last, clinging to each other out of fear, but probably in his eyes– interrupted love-making. "UGH," he groans, closing the door on us.
Long after Rod has grabbed his books, apologized, and left out the door, I remain on his bed– strangling his pillow and angrily yammering out a frustrated peel of newly invented words.
Uh. Author note.
