I remember
By, Esmee
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Petals fall
Hitting the ground
Silent sounds
Do you remember?
I could see my reflection dimly in the window of the car Yamato and I were traveling in as we sped down the highway when the first wistful strains of one of Mimi's songs drifted to us over the radio. I felt my heart ache dully as her voice pried through the thin emotional barrier that I had managed to erect several months ago with its beautiful fingers.
I glanced over at Yamato swiftly and saw his face spasm in pain, so I reached over to the radio, fully intending to turn it off but Yamato smiled weakly at me.
"Leave it on Jyou, I'm okay."
I think my uncharacteristic snort proved that I did not believe a word he said, and his smile strengthened a little more.
"No, really, I'm okay. Besides, I like this song." He gave me a lop-sided grin under tired eyes. At the next rest stop I was going to take over driving for a while, I decided firmly. The boy was about to drop.
"Okay then, I'll leave it on." It was a marked improvement that he could stay in the same area that on of her songs were playing in, even just a few months ago he wouldn't let any of her music play within hearing range of him.
So now I sit in the car with my best friend going to see the death site of my other best friend and someone I loved dearly, someone he loved dearly, but there are times when I think he didn't love her enough. And strangely, there are times when I'm blinded by rage, most of which is directed at Yamato.
At those times I want to scream, to wail, to moan and weep. And hurt him. Badly. Whether it's fair or not there is a small part of me that blames Mimi's death on him, some small part that yells and whispers by turn of how if he hadn't been so proud that she would still be alive.
But the rational, sane part of me knows that it wasn't Yamato's fault a drunk driver passed out at the wheel. It wasn't his fault that that car was the one in front of Mimi's. It wasn't his fault the nose of the drunk driver's car T-boned Mimi's. It wasn't his fault.
But that infinitesimally small irrational part of me ruled by blind rage and pain says that if Yamato had apologized, if they hadn't fought, if he had been so damn bloody fucking stubborn, she wouldn't have gone and she wouldn't have died. It was his fault.
And the worst part was that Yamato did blame himself for her death. Which only served to make that irrational part of me feel justified in believing it was his fault.
I lean my head back on the headrest and close my eyes. I had no fear that I would start to cry, I had run out of tears long ago, but my eyes would still sting painfully every now and then. It's funny, but it seems so very long ago that she died, and I still expect to hear her voice over the phone, still expect to see her drop by, "Just to talk," as she put it. So very long ago, I feel so old.
A strange silence has come between Yamato and I this past year, one that hadn't been there before her death. An awkward, uncomfortable, lingering silence, heated with unspoken accusations, and blames that neither of us understand. Silences speak; we only have to learn how to listen to them.
The silence in the car has a different quality to it though. Anticipation, fear, longing, regret, are what this silence is woven from. And there is rage threaded through it, and pain. But whom it comes from is undeterminable.
I can remember the precise moment I heard that she had died. I had just finished preparing from a major exam when Koushiro called and told me to turn on my radio. As I did so he explained that Mimi was going to be on the top ten-chart with one of her songs. After his hurried apology that he had to contact the others, he hung up, and I let myself relax into one of the huge overstuffed chairs in my parent's living room.
I had heard her voice before, was one of the first to hear it actually, but nothing she had done before could compared to this. It was incredible; the wistful sadness in it stirred strange feelings in me. Sadness was foremost, sadness for the obvious pain you could tell she was going through, her voice had always told what she was feeling; next came anger strangely enough. Anger directed at Yamato, because I knew it was Yamato causing her this hurt and it made me want to use him as a punching bag until he realized want a complete and utter moron he was being; and lastly, a queer longing. A part of me wished that I could take away that needless hurt I heard in her voice and another part of me wished shamefully that I could cause such an intensely emotional response in someone, in her.
The song came to an end as all good things seem to, and I found myself wishing that it would never stop playing. The DJ came on and I started to tune him out, he wasn't Mimi so I wasn't interested. I can remember him taking a startled pause in his inane chattering and then saying in a voice rich with disbelief that Mimi was dead. That she had died in a car accident. I felt something in my chest catch, stumble, and shatter. I seemed to be in a chaotic vortex of internal pain, and then it hit me; if this was what I was feeling, then what the hell must Yamato feel like?
When I arrived at Yamato's house, he looked at me with dull eyes that I saw myself in, but he didn't cry.
Neither did I.
Crying faces
Quiet places
Tears falling down
Do you remember?
Yamato didn't come to the funeral.
I don't think he would have been able to last through it if he had gone, as it was I almost could stand through the entire thing. I can barely remember it; my mind seemed to have shut off any form of logical thinking. The only thing that I can remember clearly is when her little brother – little HAH, the kid is an inch shy of six feet, and he's her little brother – came up to me, looked me square in the eye and said, "I see the murderer didn't have the guts to come and see his handy work." Just like that.
From the psychology course I'm taking I recognized this as simply being his way of coping with the death of his sister; he had practically worshiped the ground she walked on, though he would be the last to admit it and the first to come to her defense. To him there had to be some reason that this happened, someone had to have done something for this punishment, there had to be someone to blame, it couldn't just be some random tragedy. So his mind picked the easiest person to blame and blamed him. The person who had caused her to leave town simply to avoid seeing him at a street corner. The person whom she had cried over in her room at night when she thought no one could hear her. Yamato. And so her brother copes his way, bitterly and harshly and not entirely falsely.
I know it sounds cruel, but that is the way he copes, and sadly others – myself included – cope that way as well. And that few seconds of looking into her brother's eyes is the only thing I can remember from that blasted funeral. A look of pain, of rage, of being lost, being mirrored back to me in her eyes that are set in her brother's face, and I see that same look when I glance in a mirror or in Yamato's eyes.
The car makes tiny vibration under my hands, comforting and small. They vibrate in tune with the beat of the song, and we keep driving, looking for something to validate what has happened.
Gentle hands
Reprimand
Trying to pick up the pieces
Do you remember?
Ironically, the first few months after her death were the easiest for me. There was no need to think, just react. I was the person to whom everyone felt it was safe to pour out their pains and rants, a quality my psychology teacher said every good psychiatrist needed. So I listened, listened and absorbed the others thoughts and emotions so I wouldn't have enough room left over for my own.
It was when they stopped calling, when they stopped needing an outlet to pour their pain and rage into that the dreams started. Dreams about every look, every gesture, every laugh, every smile, every little thing that we had ever done together, clouding my sleeping mind. But they weren't dreams; they were memories, golden, bright memories. And they weren't just limited to my sleep – what precious little I got anyway – they invaded my days as well. Waking dreams, seeing her in everyday things. Inanimate objects sudden became of great significance to me for strange reasons. It was then that the role of the comforter, of the reliable one, of the steady, stalwart one, became a burden.
To be completely honest, I sometimes resented the strong hold she had on my memory. Sometimes wish that I could let her go and not look back. But that is impossible, she is too dominant in my memories, had too much too do with my life. One of my best, and at times I believe truest, friends, and to let go of that frightens me deeply.
The turn-off was coming up quickly; hopefully there would be some sort of rest stop up ahead and I would be able to take over from Yamato. He too feels bereft by her death, just as deeply as I do. But I think part of that stems from the fact that he feels guilty.
What if, what if, what if, I could scream that until my face became blue and I passed out, and it wouldn't make any difference to the way I feel or the way he feels or the fact that for all that she's still dead.
Nothing can change that fact.
Oh God, nothing can.
Joyful cries
Simple lies
Trying to reweave broken lives
Do you remember?
He pretends. He thinks that no one knows that he pretends to go through the motions of living, but I know and I think the only reason I know is because I pretend too. A year later and I still need to pretend to live. Rather pathetic, ne? But to have someone so deeply entwined in your life suddenly and violently ripped from the fabric of your life is bound to be unsettling.
A light pattering of rain hit the windshield; the pale rivulets running down the steamy glass make tiny rivers. The water streaming down ward reminded me of tears. "And the heavens weep . . ." I whispered softly to myself. It truly seemed fitting to me that the heavens would weeping on the anniversary of the death of one of the purest beings to walk the earth.
"What did you say Jyou?"
"Nothing. Nothing important anyway."
"Oh."
The was a long pause, then, "They said that we shouldn't go, you know."
"I know."
"Why didn't they want us to go Jyou? Shouldn't they want to come too?"
"No. I don't know. Maybe. Yes."
"Then why didn't they . . .?"
"They've moved on."
"How can they?" The wondering amazement in his voice is plainly evident.
"I don't really know. We knew her better, I guess."
"Oh."
Friendly eyes
And long goodbyes
Wished unending
Do you remember?
"I would have thought that Kohaku at least would have wanted to come with us," Yamato said softly.
"He can't handle it yet." I said with a shrug. Kohaku probable wouldn't be ready to see anything to do with his sister until he came to terms with her death.
"Oh."
The rain was coming down faster and harder, making it harder to see. It brought to mind a particularly vivid memory of the time I had gone to meet Mimi at the café we had often frequented and just as I got there, it had started pouring. I quickly ran for the owning where I saw Mimi standing, and once I did, asked why she wasn't inside out of the rain. She smiled and pointed to a sign on the door that said 'Closed for Renovation'. We both laughed, and said that since we were already wet, why not just go for a walk? It was one of my favorite memories of her, her laughing with rain gilding her hair to her head like a silvery brown helmet.
And her eyes . . . I've never been able to understand just what it was about her eyes that made them so clear, so pure. She wasn't a perfect person, I'll be the first to admit that, but . . . Something about her drew people to her. When she was happy, everyone else was exuberant. When she was sad, everyone else was miserable. When she was frightened, everyone else was despairing. Maybe that's not completely true, but that's what it seemed like to me at least.
"Jyou?"
"Hm?" Yamato's voice jarred me from my brown study and back to reality. "Yes?"
"Why do you think this happened?"
"Why did what happen?"
"Her death."
I sucked in my breath. He was venturing into uncharted waters now; this was the first time he's asked anything about her death; he'd never let it come up between us before. And I wasn't all that sure he was going to like what was to be found. "I'm not sure why it happened," Liar. The snake in my heart hissed. You know why it happened, it happened because of him. "It just did."
"Yeah. I know. It's just that, I can't help thinking what if I had apologized to her? What if I hadn't been so bloody proud . . . Would she still be alive? What if . . . "
For some reason I suddenly exploded into blind, strangling rage, so strong it made me feel slightly ill. So now he suddenly starts to regret his bloody pride? "It's to fucking late for that Yamato." I snarl, the words falling like sweet poison from my lips. "You fucking blew it. You let her die and there is nothing in this world to undo it." I feel a sort of twisted, sadistic relief saying these words. Finally we have this out in the open.
"So you're saying it's my fault, is that it?" Good, I was making him mad. Something we could use to clean the air between us.
"Hell yes."
"How dare you . . . I would have died in her place gladly! I loved her, how can you say it was my fault when she was the other half of my soul! Ho-"
"She left to get away from you!"
He jerked the wheel in shock slightly, and twisted round stare at me.
"She left to get away from me . . . ?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"You were hurting her. She couldn't take it anymore, so she left."
"I didn't mean to . . . "
"You don't hurt 'the other half of your soul' without consequences." I said, cruelly rubbing his own words in his face.
Before my eyes his face crumpled inward, eyes bright and dangerously glassy, and I felt like shit.
But I didn't try to comfort him or take back my words.
Midnight walks
Later talks
Thought never to end
Do you remember?
The dark countryside was skittering away underneath me eyes, and the silence between us wasn't easier than before, just more honest.
We both sat stiffly, staring straight ahead, not wanting or willing to look or speak to one another. Out in the dark ahead of us, I saw a light turn round the bend. Broken taillights. I quickly dismissed them as.
"Jyou?"
The tentative note in his voice hurt something in my chest. "Yeah?" I answered still staring straight ahead. Those bloody taillights were getting closer now.
"I . . . "
"You . . . " I prompted him still watching the taillights. They were really close now; didn't this guy know how to drive? The speed limit we just passed said ninety, couldn't the man read?
"I'm . . ."
"Would you just spit it out!" I finally snapped. Those taillights were starting to freak me out; there was something I just couldn't put my finger on about them . . .
Summer swings
And butterfly wings
Whirling in chaotic colors
Do you remember?
"I'm sorry."
I felt myself go ridged. He didn't need to apologize to me, there wasn't anything he could fix with just those two little words. Then I gave a bitter bark of laughter. "Those are just words Yamato, they don't mean anything."
"I just . . ."
"You just what?"
"I just don't want you to hate me."
I whipped around to stare at him in surprise. "I don't hate you."
"You don't?"
"No, I'm mad as bloody hell at you, but I don't hate you." We stared at each other for a moment. "I just need to get this out of my system." I said quietly.
"I know." He smiled at me slightly.
A beam of bright light suddenly illuminated the sharp angles of his face. We both turned in surprise. For a moment, as I looked at the headlights of the car bearing down on us quickly, on our side of the road, the music seemed surreally loud.
Loving calls
The rain falls
Washing away all traces
Do you remember?
Then we hit.
Warm arms
Loving eyes
Gentle hands
I remember
*Hhhhhhhhhiiiiiiiiiiiiiiissssssssssssssss*
– – –