"The simple things just are..."
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A Simple Thing
Chapter IV - "My Name"
Written by Kate "SuperKate" Butler
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I don't know if it was luck, a curse, or a combination of both, but a phone
call woke me up early Sunday morning, tugging me from a VERY pleasant dream of
my previous night's happenings. In my dream world, I had seized Michiru in a
passionate kiss while the rain still poured down around us, my warmth and hers
combining to push away the cold dampness around us.
Instead, we had finished our walk and each hailed a taxi to return home.
Yawning, I sat up in bed and reached blindly for the receiver. I figured
that it was Okuno, complementing me on what was an award-winning review of "The
Tempest," a review so great that he would run it on what was the first page of the
arts section, complete with all the bells and whistles. I smirked and picked up the
phone.
"If you're running it first page, Okuno, I expect the byline to be twice
the size of everyone else's. I'm a star, you know."
There was silence, and then a fuzzy sniffle from the other end of the phone.
"Haruka?"
The voice was Megumi's, and I was immediately confused upon hearing it.
But then I heard another sniffle and figured that it had to be at least a BIT
important if she was going to be crying about one thing or another; I had never
seen her even remotely saddened. "Is something wrong, Megumi-san?" I asked of her
gently, crossing my legs under my covers as I spoke. I figured that it was going
to be a long conversation.
Another sniffle. "It's awful!" she lamented into the phone, her voice almost
loud enough that I had to remove the speaker from my ear. "My father's had a heart
attack, and it doesn't look like he'll make it through the week! He's having
surgery tomorrow, but I have to teach and Michiru-san can only take my afternoon
classes and I have no one to substitute for me so can you step in and teach my
two periods of Japanese, please?!"
I blinked. Once, twice, three times. As a high school and collegiate
scholar, I had taken courses in Latin, French, German, Mandarin, and Italian. My
work had caused me to pick up a few English words here-and-there, and I had spent
three weeks in Spain for a conference the year before and managed to learn just
enough Spanish to survive. But Megumi-speak was a totally different kind of foreign
language, and I was certain that they didn't teach it in high school OR college.
Upon request, she slowed down and repeated herself, placing logical pauses
at commas and all those other things you're supposed to learn in grammar school.
Once she had finished, however, I did not know WHAT to say to her. "Me?
Teach Japanese?" I gaped, my eyes the size of saucers as I waited for confirmation.
She gave a little "mmm-hmm" and I gulped. "Megumi, I was probably the worst Japanese
student on the face of the Earth when I was younger! You do NOT want me teaching
young, impressionable first-year students how to speak the language! It's like
trying to have the deaf person instruct music."
She whimpered, and I prayed that the waterworks were somewhere in the
"dried-up" category. "Michiru can step in when she's not busy teaching her two
orchestras. That covers my English classes, but nothing more." I could hear her
shuffle papers; she was probably looking over her lesson plan. "I have them studying
name origin and meaning, which I'm sure you can do. Yours means 'distant,' you
know."
Uhmm... Duh? I told her I knew what it meant and let her continue.
"I promise you that it won't be too bad. You take first and third period,
take second off, Michiru covers the rest of the day. It won't bother ANYONE, I
promise." Megumi sniffled pathetically, and I could hear her voice waver. "PLEASE,"
she pleaded with me, hopeless as ever. "I don't know what I'll do if you don't
help!"
I sighed. And two days earlier, I had called Okuno the sucker...
"Sure," I condescended. "That'll be...fine."
She squealed in girlish delight, thanked me a million times, and hung up
the phone.
Another sigh escaped my lips. What a way to start a peaceful Sunday!
---
The day was filled with plotting and planning for the next morning's class
schedule. I poured over my Japanese textbooks from high school and my few college
courses, desperately trying to jump-start my practical skills. Even though I was
a member of Tokyo's elite journalist troupe, I was lousy at basic grammar, and
my etymology - that is, the study of word history and use - grades had been in
the pit of despair through out my schooling. I was openly useless when it came to
my native tongue.
Okuno called around noon, full of praise for my latest journalist endeavor.
I told him the story of Michiru and the rain, of how I didn't actually SEE the end
of the play but read the online cliff notes, and I could practically hear him frown.
"Any idea yet why she quit her instrument?"
I told him as much as I knew, but he was still skeptical, saying that she
sounded more like a stalker than a reasonable romantic interest. Again, I stressed
the fact that I really wasn't interested, but my own voice deceived the sentiment.
I WASN'T disinterested. I was, in fact, VERY interested.
Then, I related Megumi's crisis and my new substituting gig, and he laughed
raucously, as though I had told him the joke of the century. "That poor woman!" he
guffawed, his voice rumbling in his massive chest. "When she comes back and her
children don't know the difference between 'elephant' and 'alphabet,' she'll be
sorry!" I sneered at him over the phone and called him a string of unpleasant names,
which - predictably - just gave him a reason to laugh more. "Come on, Haruka, where's
your sense of humor? Did you get up on the wrong side of the bed this morning or
something?"
We hung up the phone and I began to pour over my text books again, but my
mind was not focused. All I could think about was Michiru, her gorgeous blue eyes
and sweet, innocent face, her award-winning smile and sparkling personality. It was
hard to focus on the important things - things like lesson plans, the Japanese
language, and how to deal with a mixed-gender class when I had never taught one
before. Gym was easy; you tell them to run around a track or play badminton and they
do it, you watching the whole time and blowing the whistle occasionally. Easy.
I didn't know what to expect with a Japanese class. I had never taught a
language before. For all I knew, teaching Japanese would be like teaching a foreign
language, especially since Japanese is one of those languages that you never really
learn to master.
Like English, I thought with a sigh. I wonder how Michiru will cope...
Michiru. I pictured her, soaked to the bone and standing in the rain, the
drops pouring down around her body as she lifted her arms to the sky. What a
beautiful mental image that was! Her curves, chiseled from alabaster marble, her
bright blue eyes staring at me...
An image I had never seen before flashed into my mind, and it was Michiru.
She was sitting across from me in my apartment's window seat, wearing a still damp
swimsuit. She reached forward and took my hand, holding it in hers, caressing the
skin gently. "Haruka," she whispered, "I like your hands."
And then, the memory faded as quickly as it had come.
I frowned. What in the world had that been?
Sighing, I pushed it from my mind and returned to the lesson plan I was
making.
---
I smoothed my dress shirt and give myself a quick once-over in the rearview
mirror of my car when I got to Giakiin that morning. I had decided to wear something
plan and simple - a dress shirt and khakis - that wouldn't totally hide my gender
from people. The curve of my breast was subtle, but there, and my hips gave no room
for imagination. I was a female, plain and simple, and my garb made that fact
painfully clear.
The autumn wind rushed against my back as I crossed the parking lot and
started towards the front office. The day would be simple enough; I would return
Hotaru's file to the nurse, teach Megumi's two classes, instruct a period of gym,
eat lunch, and then go back to physical education for the rest of the day. Simple
enough, ne?
Simplicity was thrown to the wind when Michiru - her hair back in a ponytail,
her garb a simple sweater with a tight black skirt - rushed up to me.
"Did Megumi get in touch with you?" she questioned, obviously worried. I
nodded slightly, adjusting all the books and papers I carried, and she exhaled
heavily. "I was afraid she wouldn't be able to get through. I tried to call you in
the early afternoon, and the phone was busy."
I flushed a bit and apologized. "My editor wanted to thank me for my review
of 'The Tempest,'" I told her confidentially as we started to walk into the building
together. Her arm brushed against mine as we walked, an exhilarating feeling.
She laughed a bit at my comment. "Did you tell him how little of the play
you saw?" she inquired, as though she was conducting a small part of the Spanish
Inquisition.
"I did."
"And?"
I shrugged my shoulders and smirked haughtily. "When you are the great Ten'ou
Haruka, editors bow down to you! They are too impressed with your journalistic
skills to even question your methods!" We both laughed at that, and I sighed
happily. "Seriously, he didn't care," I informed her nonchalantly. "I was a last-
ditch effort, so that means it was a panicked request. The arts woman had all but
given up her space for the article."
There was silence for a moment as she turned to glance confusedly at me.
"Say that again," she requested softly, her pink lips pursed carefully.
"Uhmm... Alright." I paused and thought about my words. Was there anything
I had said that would be inappropriate? I didn't think so... "'Seriously, he didn't
care,'" I quoted slowly, listening to every syllable as I spoke. "'I was a last-
ditch effort, so that means it was a panicked request. The arts wo - '"
I flinched.
Michiru nodded slightly. "I thought that's what you said," she breathed,
as though she was hurt by the comment.
I began to back-peddle like I had never peddled before. "I'm sorry, Michiru!"
I exclaimed, feeling guilty. I hadn't thought that, when I was playing the part of a
woman, it might be offensive to play the gender bias key. "You know that I generally
put on a front and pretend to be male! I just..." I sighed and shook my head. "I
don't realize when I'm doing it, anymore."
She stopped walking, and I stopped too. We stood, face-to-face, in the middle
of the campus courtyard, the wind rushing around us and the leaves falling slowly
to the ground. Her blue eyes stared at me, pushed into my innermost thoughts, my
innermost soul.
"Haruka," she finally whispered, breaking the silence that laid between us,
"you don't need to pretend, here." She reached up and laid a hand on my upper arm.
Her touch was warm, gentle...soothing. At that instant, I felt as though I could
stand there, with her, forever. "You can be the real Ten'ou Haruka, here."
I smiled and nodded gently. When I had thought about being the real me, it
had been a strange, foreign thought.
Somehow, when Michiru said it, it felt like everything would be alright.
---
I found that standing in front of a strange class of first-year high school
students as a substitute teacher for the Japanese language to be the most terrifying
thing I had ever done. I, Ten'ou Haruka - the woman who had gone to the Japanese
track nationals at age thirteen, the woman who single-handedly made motocross a
co-ed sport, the woman who rose to the top of the journalistic society of Tokyo
without any real training - was intimidated by a group of pimple-faced high school
kids! Oh, the irony.
Introducing myself, I explained both Megumi's absence and my sudden
appearance as a sub, recognizing a few of the girls in the class from physical
education. Once I finished my short little back-story, I passed out a sheet to all
of them.
"Your assignment is simple," I told them matter-of-factly, sitting on the
edge of Megumi's extremely disorganized desk. "You have to research the origin and
meaning of your name and write a short essay, explaining why your parents gave you
that name. Any questions?"
A timid-looking girl in the back row raised her hand, and I called on her.
"Could you perhaps give us an example, Ten'ou-sensei?" she asked softly, so quiet
that I could hardly hear her.
I shrugged. "Okay," I responded, not knowing what else to say. I couldn't
turn her down, could I? "I can tell you about my name, if you'd like."
Silence, which was a good enough affirmative for me. After all, what would
they do if they didn't want me to explain? Run screaming?
"My first name, which is Haruka, means 'distant' or 'far away,'" I
translated, remembering Megumi's quick explanation of my name the day before. "My
last name, Ten'ou, means 'ruler of sky.' So, I'm the distant sky ruler, if you'd
like to think of it that way."
I paused. What could I say about my parents that was kind? Not much, so I
decided to go with the blatant truth. "I never really talked to either of my parents
about much," I admitted a bit bashfully, amazed that I had the gumption to explain
my relationship with my mother and father to a bunch of high schoolers. "My father
worked for the embassy and traveled a lot, and my mother had the duty of raising
me and a very sickly younger sister, Kiboko. I lived with them until I was thirteen,
at which time I began competing so heavily in motocross and track that I had a
perfectly valid excuse to stop living at home.
"My mother once said that it did well to name me Haruka, because I never said
a word to her. We were fighting at the time, and the issue was - as always - that
I didn't communicate well. My response was 'Well, what the Hell kind of name is
Haruka, anyway?!'
"She responded that it had been the first name of my father's favorite
college professor, and no, she didn't know why she let him name me. She wanted to
name me Ayumi."
The students were silent, staring everywhere but at me as I finished my
story. I frowned, my nose wrinkling involuntarily. I hadn't meant to be so intimate
with so many students. It wasn't in my nature, and I knew that. They probably did
too; at least, I guess they did from the way they stared, wide-eyed at me.
I coughed into my fist and leaned back a bit on the desk. "Is that a good
enough example?" I questioned the girl who had requested help.
She nodded and buried herself in her work, and the others all followed suit.
I sighed. Teaching Japanese was definitely not my thing.
---
Megumi's schedule was set so that her second period was for planning,
grading, and all that other traditional teacher stuff that I was completely
unconcerned about. I was totally prepared to mope around the classroom for a period
and then go back to teaching about names and name meanings until I overheard two
girls talking at the end of the period.
"Kaioh-sensei is having me solo today on the cello! It's next period, and
I know I'm not ready! She's going to kill me."
"Is she a strict teacher?"
"Not really. I've heard that she can be tough if you don't try...but I
really haven't run into trouble with her."
"That's neat. Orchestra sounds like a lot of fun."
"It really is."
Their conversation trailed off, but the damage had already been done. My
mind had already registered that Michiru taught a second-period orchestra class and
that she had offered for me to sit in on her class sometime.
Well, why the Hell not? I went to sit in on the orchestra.
Walking into the orchestral music room was like walking into a whole new
universe. I had never played in a full group of musicians before, even when I was
a student myself. Seeing so many students armed with stringed instruments, then,
constituted as premiere culture shock. It was going from a world of sweat and baseball
bats to a world where grace and tone were important, even valuable.
I took a seat in the back of the room, on the top-most riser. A few of the
teens, mostly girls, turned to glance dubiously at me. I recognized about four of
them from my gym classes, and another two or so from Megumi's first-hour class.
Michiru's second period group was made up entirely of first-years, and thus, the
familiar faces failed to surprised me. It was par for the proverbial course.
The bell rang, signaling the period's start. Violins whined, violas sighed,
cellos scratched and basses bellowed as the group warmed up. One or two of the
upper-most players were impressive on a whole, their instruments tuned to the utmost
perfection as they pulled their bows across the strings. Others... Well, others
were just not as good, and I will leave it at that.
Michiru strode in, the paragon of feminine beauty and perfection, the
reddish-brown wood of her violin resting languidly on her alabaster arm as she
carried it into the room. Her eyes glanced in my direction, meeting my own gaze,
and she smiled softly. I couldn't remember the last time I had seen such a gentle,
loving smile, and it warmed my heart. I wished I could hold that moment forever...
But it passed, and she turned to her students. "Today, we're going to start
working on the Beethoven piece I passed out at the beginning of the year." A few
of the teens groaned, and the beauty before me rolled her blue eyes. "Spare me your
trite drama," she scolded parentally, wagging her bow at them. "It's not as hard
as it looks, and I assure you that you are talented enough to handle it." She raised
her instrument to her chin, and - as she did - all grace and dignity swept over her.
It was as though she had been born to play the violin. "Now, if you'd care to listen,
the beginning goes something like this..."
A melody, haunting, enchanting, gorgeous, began to echo across the room. I was
swept away by the power and bittersweet tone of her song.
And, in listening to all the notes, I was moved to the tears I had promised
myself I would never cry again.
---
I went through the day in a sort of dreary blur, not really paying attention
to my duties. Watching Michiru play that morning had brought tears - tears that I
hated more than anything else - into my eyes and a lump to my throat. If ever there
had been a beautiful woman, Kaioh Michiru was she.
As dazed and confused as I was, I used my lunch hour wisely and managed to
book two tickets for a Saturday afternoon classical concert that I had been dying to
go to. I was fairly certain that Okuno would call sometime over the weekend and ask
me to go drinking, and it would be nice to go out and have some bonding time. Even if
he'd be miserable for the duration of the concert.
It was almost four p.m. that afternoon when I finally pulled on my light
fall jacket and started out across the courtyard and toward the parking lot. I hadn't
heard from Megumi all day, something that both relieved and worried me at the same
time. No news was good news, but, somehow, no news from Megumi FELT like bad news.
I had almost made it all the way to my vehicle when I heard Michiru's voice,
clear as a bell and obviously shaken, call after me. I turned to find her running
in direction, tears streaming down her pale cheeks, her eyes blotchy from crying.
She collapsed onto my chest, crying softly against my shirt. I moved shakily
to wrap my arms around her waist and hold her, trying to seem as comforting as I
could. My heart was beating at a frenzied pace, though, and my stomach was doing
flip-flops within. Oh, how Fate smiles while she mocks me!
After a moment of tearful silence, Michiru looked up at me and wiped her
face. "G-gomen nasai," she apologized softly, stepping away and staring at the ground.
"I overreacted..."
"What happened?" I asked gently, intent on gazing at her. She was beautiful,
even when she cried.
Gah! I scolded myself inwardly. She is a co-worker! She is a FRIEND! And she
is a completely and utterly heterosexual woman! I kicked myself several times for
even THINKING about having a relationship. It was stupid, childish... Almost
obscene...
"Megumi called, just now," she told me with a small sniffle, dabbing her
eyes with her long fingers as she spoke. "She was really upset, babbling for several
minutes, and I could hardly understand her..."
Typical Megumi.
"But she was calling to tell me that her father passed away." Her blue eyes
welled up with tears again, and I could see her trying to swallow her grief. "And she
talked, and reminded me of MY father, and..." Her eyes closed.
I didn't need to see the tears to know they were there, so I stepped forward
and embraced her again, the leaves and wind swirling around us. The peace of one
simple fall day shattered silently as we stood, holding each other, in the parking
lot.
It shattered, just as a fall day had shattered for me, years before.
---
End Chapter IV
---
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A Simple Thing
Chapter IV - "My Name"
Written by Kate "SuperKate" Butler
--------------
I don't know if it was luck, a curse, or a combination of both, but a phone
call woke me up early Sunday morning, tugging me from a VERY pleasant dream of
my previous night's happenings. In my dream world, I had seized Michiru in a
passionate kiss while the rain still poured down around us, my warmth and hers
combining to push away the cold dampness around us.
Instead, we had finished our walk and each hailed a taxi to return home.
Yawning, I sat up in bed and reached blindly for the receiver. I figured
that it was Okuno, complementing me on what was an award-winning review of "The
Tempest," a review so great that he would run it on what was the first page of the
arts section, complete with all the bells and whistles. I smirked and picked up the
phone.
"If you're running it first page, Okuno, I expect the byline to be twice
the size of everyone else's. I'm a star, you know."
There was silence, and then a fuzzy sniffle from the other end of the phone.
"Haruka?"
The voice was Megumi's, and I was immediately confused upon hearing it.
But then I heard another sniffle and figured that it had to be at least a BIT
important if she was going to be crying about one thing or another; I had never
seen her even remotely saddened. "Is something wrong, Megumi-san?" I asked of her
gently, crossing my legs under my covers as I spoke. I figured that it was going
to be a long conversation.
Another sniffle. "It's awful!" she lamented into the phone, her voice almost
loud enough that I had to remove the speaker from my ear. "My father's had a heart
attack, and it doesn't look like he'll make it through the week! He's having
surgery tomorrow, but I have to teach and Michiru-san can only take my afternoon
classes and I have no one to substitute for me so can you step in and teach my
two periods of Japanese, please?!"
I blinked. Once, twice, three times. As a high school and collegiate
scholar, I had taken courses in Latin, French, German, Mandarin, and Italian. My
work had caused me to pick up a few English words here-and-there, and I had spent
three weeks in Spain for a conference the year before and managed to learn just
enough Spanish to survive. But Megumi-speak was a totally different kind of foreign
language, and I was certain that they didn't teach it in high school OR college.
Upon request, she slowed down and repeated herself, placing logical pauses
at commas and all those other things you're supposed to learn in grammar school.
Once she had finished, however, I did not know WHAT to say to her. "Me?
Teach Japanese?" I gaped, my eyes the size of saucers as I waited for confirmation.
She gave a little "mmm-hmm" and I gulped. "Megumi, I was probably the worst Japanese
student on the face of the Earth when I was younger! You do NOT want me teaching
young, impressionable first-year students how to speak the language! It's like
trying to have the deaf person instruct music."
She whimpered, and I prayed that the waterworks were somewhere in the
"dried-up" category. "Michiru can step in when she's not busy teaching her two
orchestras. That covers my English classes, but nothing more." I could hear her
shuffle papers; she was probably looking over her lesson plan. "I have them studying
name origin and meaning, which I'm sure you can do. Yours means 'distant,' you
know."
Uhmm... Duh? I told her I knew what it meant and let her continue.
"I promise you that it won't be too bad. You take first and third period,
take second off, Michiru covers the rest of the day. It won't bother ANYONE, I
promise." Megumi sniffled pathetically, and I could hear her voice waver. "PLEASE,"
she pleaded with me, hopeless as ever. "I don't know what I'll do if you don't
help!"
I sighed. And two days earlier, I had called Okuno the sucker...
"Sure," I condescended. "That'll be...fine."
She squealed in girlish delight, thanked me a million times, and hung up
the phone.
Another sigh escaped my lips. What a way to start a peaceful Sunday!
---
The day was filled with plotting and planning for the next morning's class
schedule. I poured over my Japanese textbooks from high school and my few college
courses, desperately trying to jump-start my practical skills. Even though I was
a member of Tokyo's elite journalist troupe, I was lousy at basic grammar, and
my etymology - that is, the study of word history and use - grades had been in
the pit of despair through out my schooling. I was openly useless when it came to
my native tongue.
Okuno called around noon, full of praise for my latest journalist endeavor.
I told him the story of Michiru and the rain, of how I didn't actually SEE the end
of the play but read the online cliff notes, and I could practically hear him frown.
"Any idea yet why she quit her instrument?"
I told him as much as I knew, but he was still skeptical, saying that she
sounded more like a stalker than a reasonable romantic interest. Again, I stressed
the fact that I really wasn't interested, but my own voice deceived the sentiment.
I WASN'T disinterested. I was, in fact, VERY interested.
Then, I related Megumi's crisis and my new substituting gig, and he laughed
raucously, as though I had told him the joke of the century. "That poor woman!" he
guffawed, his voice rumbling in his massive chest. "When she comes back and her
children don't know the difference between 'elephant' and 'alphabet,' she'll be
sorry!" I sneered at him over the phone and called him a string of unpleasant names,
which - predictably - just gave him a reason to laugh more. "Come on, Haruka, where's
your sense of humor? Did you get up on the wrong side of the bed this morning or
something?"
We hung up the phone and I began to pour over my text books again, but my
mind was not focused. All I could think about was Michiru, her gorgeous blue eyes
and sweet, innocent face, her award-winning smile and sparkling personality. It was
hard to focus on the important things - things like lesson plans, the Japanese
language, and how to deal with a mixed-gender class when I had never taught one
before. Gym was easy; you tell them to run around a track or play badminton and they
do it, you watching the whole time and blowing the whistle occasionally. Easy.
I didn't know what to expect with a Japanese class. I had never taught a
language before. For all I knew, teaching Japanese would be like teaching a foreign
language, especially since Japanese is one of those languages that you never really
learn to master.
Like English, I thought with a sigh. I wonder how Michiru will cope...
Michiru. I pictured her, soaked to the bone and standing in the rain, the
drops pouring down around her body as she lifted her arms to the sky. What a
beautiful mental image that was! Her curves, chiseled from alabaster marble, her
bright blue eyes staring at me...
An image I had never seen before flashed into my mind, and it was Michiru.
She was sitting across from me in my apartment's window seat, wearing a still damp
swimsuit. She reached forward and took my hand, holding it in hers, caressing the
skin gently. "Haruka," she whispered, "I like your hands."
And then, the memory faded as quickly as it had come.
I frowned. What in the world had that been?
Sighing, I pushed it from my mind and returned to the lesson plan I was
making.
---
I smoothed my dress shirt and give myself a quick once-over in the rearview
mirror of my car when I got to Giakiin that morning. I had decided to wear something
plan and simple - a dress shirt and khakis - that wouldn't totally hide my gender
from people. The curve of my breast was subtle, but there, and my hips gave no room
for imagination. I was a female, plain and simple, and my garb made that fact
painfully clear.
The autumn wind rushed against my back as I crossed the parking lot and
started towards the front office. The day would be simple enough; I would return
Hotaru's file to the nurse, teach Megumi's two classes, instruct a period of gym,
eat lunch, and then go back to physical education for the rest of the day. Simple
enough, ne?
Simplicity was thrown to the wind when Michiru - her hair back in a ponytail,
her garb a simple sweater with a tight black skirt - rushed up to me.
"Did Megumi get in touch with you?" she questioned, obviously worried. I
nodded slightly, adjusting all the books and papers I carried, and she exhaled
heavily. "I was afraid she wouldn't be able to get through. I tried to call you in
the early afternoon, and the phone was busy."
I flushed a bit and apologized. "My editor wanted to thank me for my review
of 'The Tempest,'" I told her confidentially as we started to walk into the building
together. Her arm brushed against mine as we walked, an exhilarating feeling.
She laughed a bit at my comment. "Did you tell him how little of the play
you saw?" she inquired, as though she was conducting a small part of the Spanish
Inquisition.
"I did."
"And?"
I shrugged my shoulders and smirked haughtily. "When you are the great Ten'ou
Haruka, editors bow down to you! They are too impressed with your journalistic
skills to even question your methods!" We both laughed at that, and I sighed
happily. "Seriously, he didn't care," I informed her nonchalantly. "I was a last-
ditch effort, so that means it was a panicked request. The arts woman had all but
given up her space for the article."
There was silence for a moment as she turned to glance confusedly at me.
"Say that again," she requested softly, her pink lips pursed carefully.
"Uhmm... Alright." I paused and thought about my words. Was there anything
I had said that would be inappropriate? I didn't think so... "'Seriously, he didn't
care,'" I quoted slowly, listening to every syllable as I spoke. "'I was a last-
ditch effort, so that means it was a panicked request. The arts wo - '"
I flinched.
Michiru nodded slightly. "I thought that's what you said," she breathed,
as though she was hurt by the comment.
I began to back-peddle like I had never peddled before. "I'm sorry, Michiru!"
I exclaimed, feeling guilty. I hadn't thought that, when I was playing the part of a
woman, it might be offensive to play the gender bias key. "You know that I generally
put on a front and pretend to be male! I just..." I sighed and shook my head. "I
don't realize when I'm doing it, anymore."
She stopped walking, and I stopped too. We stood, face-to-face, in the middle
of the campus courtyard, the wind rushing around us and the leaves falling slowly
to the ground. Her blue eyes stared at me, pushed into my innermost thoughts, my
innermost soul.
"Haruka," she finally whispered, breaking the silence that laid between us,
"you don't need to pretend, here." She reached up and laid a hand on my upper arm.
Her touch was warm, gentle...soothing. At that instant, I felt as though I could
stand there, with her, forever. "You can be the real Ten'ou Haruka, here."
I smiled and nodded gently. When I had thought about being the real me, it
had been a strange, foreign thought.
Somehow, when Michiru said it, it felt like everything would be alright.
---
I found that standing in front of a strange class of first-year high school
students as a substitute teacher for the Japanese language to be the most terrifying
thing I had ever done. I, Ten'ou Haruka - the woman who had gone to the Japanese
track nationals at age thirteen, the woman who single-handedly made motocross a
co-ed sport, the woman who rose to the top of the journalistic society of Tokyo
without any real training - was intimidated by a group of pimple-faced high school
kids! Oh, the irony.
Introducing myself, I explained both Megumi's absence and my sudden
appearance as a sub, recognizing a few of the girls in the class from physical
education. Once I finished my short little back-story, I passed out a sheet to all
of them.
"Your assignment is simple," I told them matter-of-factly, sitting on the
edge of Megumi's extremely disorganized desk. "You have to research the origin and
meaning of your name and write a short essay, explaining why your parents gave you
that name. Any questions?"
A timid-looking girl in the back row raised her hand, and I called on her.
"Could you perhaps give us an example, Ten'ou-sensei?" she asked softly, so quiet
that I could hardly hear her.
I shrugged. "Okay," I responded, not knowing what else to say. I couldn't
turn her down, could I? "I can tell you about my name, if you'd like."
Silence, which was a good enough affirmative for me. After all, what would
they do if they didn't want me to explain? Run screaming?
"My first name, which is Haruka, means 'distant' or 'far away,'" I
translated, remembering Megumi's quick explanation of my name the day before. "My
last name, Ten'ou, means 'ruler of sky.' So, I'm the distant sky ruler, if you'd
like to think of it that way."
I paused. What could I say about my parents that was kind? Not much, so I
decided to go with the blatant truth. "I never really talked to either of my parents
about much," I admitted a bit bashfully, amazed that I had the gumption to explain
my relationship with my mother and father to a bunch of high schoolers. "My father
worked for the embassy and traveled a lot, and my mother had the duty of raising
me and a very sickly younger sister, Kiboko. I lived with them until I was thirteen,
at which time I began competing so heavily in motocross and track that I had a
perfectly valid excuse to stop living at home.
"My mother once said that it did well to name me Haruka, because I never said
a word to her. We were fighting at the time, and the issue was - as always - that
I didn't communicate well. My response was 'Well, what the Hell kind of name is
Haruka, anyway?!'
"She responded that it had been the first name of my father's favorite
college professor, and no, she didn't know why she let him name me. She wanted to
name me Ayumi."
The students were silent, staring everywhere but at me as I finished my
story. I frowned, my nose wrinkling involuntarily. I hadn't meant to be so intimate
with so many students. It wasn't in my nature, and I knew that. They probably did
too; at least, I guess they did from the way they stared, wide-eyed at me.
I coughed into my fist and leaned back a bit on the desk. "Is that a good
enough example?" I questioned the girl who had requested help.
She nodded and buried herself in her work, and the others all followed suit.
I sighed. Teaching Japanese was definitely not my thing.
---
Megumi's schedule was set so that her second period was for planning,
grading, and all that other traditional teacher stuff that I was completely
unconcerned about. I was totally prepared to mope around the classroom for a period
and then go back to teaching about names and name meanings until I overheard two
girls talking at the end of the period.
"Kaioh-sensei is having me solo today on the cello! It's next period, and
I know I'm not ready! She's going to kill me."
"Is she a strict teacher?"
"Not really. I've heard that she can be tough if you don't try...but I
really haven't run into trouble with her."
"That's neat. Orchestra sounds like a lot of fun."
"It really is."
Their conversation trailed off, but the damage had already been done. My
mind had already registered that Michiru taught a second-period orchestra class and
that she had offered for me to sit in on her class sometime.
Well, why the Hell not? I went to sit in on the orchestra.
Walking into the orchestral music room was like walking into a whole new
universe. I had never played in a full group of musicians before, even when I was
a student myself. Seeing so many students armed with stringed instruments, then,
constituted as premiere culture shock. It was going from a world of sweat and baseball
bats to a world where grace and tone were important, even valuable.
I took a seat in the back of the room, on the top-most riser. A few of the
teens, mostly girls, turned to glance dubiously at me. I recognized about four of
them from my gym classes, and another two or so from Megumi's first-hour class.
Michiru's second period group was made up entirely of first-years, and thus, the
familiar faces failed to surprised me. It was par for the proverbial course.
The bell rang, signaling the period's start. Violins whined, violas sighed,
cellos scratched and basses bellowed as the group warmed up. One or two of the
upper-most players were impressive on a whole, their instruments tuned to the utmost
perfection as they pulled their bows across the strings. Others... Well, others
were just not as good, and I will leave it at that.
Michiru strode in, the paragon of feminine beauty and perfection, the
reddish-brown wood of her violin resting languidly on her alabaster arm as she
carried it into the room. Her eyes glanced in my direction, meeting my own gaze,
and she smiled softly. I couldn't remember the last time I had seen such a gentle,
loving smile, and it warmed my heart. I wished I could hold that moment forever...
But it passed, and she turned to her students. "Today, we're going to start
working on the Beethoven piece I passed out at the beginning of the year." A few
of the teens groaned, and the beauty before me rolled her blue eyes. "Spare me your
trite drama," she scolded parentally, wagging her bow at them. "It's not as hard
as it looks, and I assure you that you are talented enough to handle it." She raised
her instrument to her chin, and - as she did - all grace and dignity swept over her.
It was as though she had been born to play the violin. "Now, if you'd care to listen,
the beginning goes something like this..."
A melody, haunting, enchanting, gorgeous, began to echo across the room. I was
swept away by the power and bittersweet tone of her song.
And, in listening to all the notes, I was moved to the tears I had promised
myself I would never cry again.
---
I went through the day in a sort of dreary blur, not really paying attention
to my duties. Watching Michiru play that morning had brought tears - tears that I
hated more than anything else - into my eyes and a lump to my throat. If ever there
had been a beautiful woman, Kaioh Michiru was she.
As dazed and confused as I was, I used my lunch hour wisely and managed to
book two tickets for a Saturday afternoon classical concert that I had been dying to
go to. I was fairly certain that Okuno would call sometime over the weekend and ask
me to go drinking, and it would be nice to go out and have some bonding time. Even if
he'd be miserable for the duration of the concert.
It was almost four p.m. that afternoon when I finally pulled on my light
fall jacket and started out across the courtyard and toward the parking lot. I hadn't
heard from Megumi all day, something that both relieved and worried me at the same
time. No news was good news, but, somehow, no news from Megumi FELT like bad news.
I had almost made it all the way to my vehicle when I heard Michiru's voice,
clear as a bell and obviously shaken, call after me. I turned to find her running
in direction, tears streaming down her pale cheeks, her eyes blotchy from crying.
She collapsed onto my chest, crying softly against my shirt. I moved shakily
to wrap my arms around her waist and hold her, trying to seem as comforting as I
could. My heart was beating at a frenzied pace, though, and my stomach was doing
flip-flops within. Oh, how Fate smiles while she mocks me!
After a moment of tearful silence, Michiru looked up at me and wiped her
face. "G-gomen nasai," she apologized softly, stepping away and staring at the ground.
"I overreacted..."
"What happened?" I asked gently, intent on gazing at her. She was beautiful,
even when she cried.
Gah! I scolded myself inwardly. She is a co-worker! She is a FRIEND! And she
is a completely and utterly heterosexual woman! I kicked myself several times for
even THINKING about having a relationship. It was stupid, childish... Almost
obscene...
"Megumi called, just now," she told me with a small sniffle, dabbing her
eyes with her long fingers as she spoke. "She was really upset, babbling for several
minutes, and I could hardly understand her..."
Typical Megumi.
"But she was calling to tell me that her father passed away." Her blue eyes
welled up with tears again, and I could see her trying to swallow her grief. "And she
talked, and reminded me of MY father, and..." Her eyes closed.
I didn't need to see the tears to know they were there, so I stepped forward
and embraced her again, the leaves and wind swirling around us. The peace of one
simple fall day shattered silently as we stood, holding each other, in the parking
lot.
It shattered, just as a fall day had shattered for me, years before.
---
End Chapter IV
---