The Tears I've Cried
Chapter 2: A Reminder of the Past
I tighten the laces on my boots, making the skin on my palms red. I don't grimace, I hardly move, but hey, what do you expect from a 1/3 saiyan? I reach for the thin string on my dresser and grab it firmly between two fingers. Then I proceed to tie it loosely around my wrist.
I pull a petal from a potted tulip placed on my shelf and mash it between to smooth stones. It gets pasty quickly and I use my finger as a utensil and slide it off into a small bowl. I set the bowl by a large canvas with a portrait of a woman.
The woman doesn't look like me. Her face is too tired, her wrinkles too deep, and her body too frail. There is, however, a familiar gleam in her eyes that my family and friends know all too well. And her long dark hair also would make one think of me. I let a small laugh pass through my lips. I reach for a paintbrush and dip it into the paste. I then painted my signature in the lower right hand corner. You can't see my name, and you won't be able to for several years. The paste turns yellow with age.
I lift the painting off the easel and quickly but efficiently wrap it, head out the door of my room, down the stairs of my small but adequate home, and out the front door. Into my car, down the street, past the cow fields, into the city. Past the employees, up the elevator, through the security check, past his office doors. He glances up from his paper work, and a smile spread across his desolate face like butter on bread. He jumped up from his chair and rushed at me with a bone crushing hug as a weapon. I held my breath anticipating it, and sure enough it came.
"PAN-CHAN! YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW BORED I WAS!"
I'm still struggling for breath but I manage to mutter a response.
"So glad I could brighten your day…"
He pulls away after squeezing the life out of me a little more and his eyes rest on the large, rectangular, and gift wrapped package that was carelessly strewed to the middle of the floor during my attempt to prepare myself for his assault.
He glances at me questioningly as if to ask, "What's this?"
I shrug my shoulders and point to the tag on the front indicating that I picked it up from the front desk. I was his mail person every time I paid a visit. Unfortunately, I do that quite often, so I get to see all his interesting "fan" mail.
He picks it up.
"I wonder how this one got past security."
I laugh at how he used "this one" so loosely and shrug my shoulders once again.
"Oh well," he says, "It can't be too bad. It feels like this girl actually took time to send me something more meaningful than her thongs."
That set off my rather boisterous laughter.
He smiled and almost looked pleased with himself.
I began to wonder how he's going to react when he sees it and my heart begins to race as he carefully peels off the wrapping paper. He pulls the giant canvas away from the paper slowly and gapes at the painting.
I wait for his loud mocking laughter, his evil cracks, and everything else that comes with him. He's a good friend and he would never laugh at my paintings if he knew I constructed them or if he even knew I painted at all. Some things are worth being kept secret. I still awaited his voice, but all I heard was silence. I look at him and he turns to me.
"This is amazing…"
My mind is blown. I have shocked the Prince of Saiyans. How interesting.
"This is an incredible work of art!"
I glance at it, pretending to soak up the details for the first time and feint awe.
"Wow Trunks-Kun, someone was really trying to impress you."
He nods, then frantically begins to roam his eyes over it at a very close distance.
"Er…Trunks?"
"Damnit!" He yells, "I can't find the signature!"
My heart swells, as my plan is thrown into action.
"I'm sure she'll, he'll, it'll, send something else."
His scowl showed he wasn't amused by what I said. I laughed anyway.
"I'm pretty sure it's a girl Trunks-Kun. Don't worry."
"Yeah…" he sighs.
He looks at the picture and his eyes rise back up to meet mine.
"Oh my…"
My eyebrows rise, and he begins to point at the painting and stutters.
"You…this…P...Pan! This looks like you!"
I inwardly giggle.
"Are you trying to say I'm old Trunks-Kun?"
"No, no, no! I'm saying that if I were to look at our future, you would look just like this!"
He resumes gazing at this painting.
"The artist is awesome. She even managed to capture a mischievous glint in this woman's eyes."
He continues to stare at it.
"She looks sad…"
This catches my attention.
"Nani?"
He looks up at me again.
"She looks sad, like she's been hurt, but her pride won't give her room to cry. Like…her soul is a void. It looks so familiar…"
Trunks sure knows how to observe. He doesn't observe real people though, I guess. Because he would have noticed by now.
"This artist has earned my respect." He states.
My heart pounds faster. If you only knew it was me!
He smiles and stands up with the painting in his left hand.
"Let's hope it's not a glimpse of your future, Pan-Chan."
I eye him.
"Why?" I inquire.
"She looked so sad. I'd hate for you to be sad."
Oh boy. If only this guy would have noticed me for the past 5 years.
"Don't let your superstition get the best of you, Trunks."
He laughs.
"We're Japanese, Pan! We have no choice!" (I mean no offense to Japanese people!)
I giggle and he continues.
"But still, let it be a reminder of your future. Don't ever let something get you down."
My body and soul have become one again, with all of his compliments to the mysterious painter and his caring for my happiness. I know I'll never feel alone again, even if he never returns my love that way.
"Not a reminder of the future, Trunks-Kun," I state happily, "But a reminder of the past."