"I'm
bored." Mitsuru yawned to emphasize his point.
"Yeah? So'm I. Whaddaya want to do about it?" Ryan lazily pelted him with the unpopped
kernels of corn from the bottom of the bowl.
The
two boys were both prone in the middle of Ryan's living room floor, idly
watching a mind-numbing meccha anime on TV. The afternoon sun was sinking fast and Mitsuru had to keep shifting to
his left to avoid the glare from the naked windows. Being that the room was empty except for the television and the
cart it perched on, this was not as difficult as it should have been.
"I
could help you unpack." Mitsuru offered, glancing at several boxes that lined
the perimeter of the room.
"What
are you talking about? We're already
unpacked." Ryan gestured at the framed art on the walls.
Mitsuru
started to laugh at what he thought was a joke then realized his new friend was
being entirely serious. He looked
around the room, remembered the empty pantry and the refrigerator stocked with
nothing but sad little cartons of take-out food, and added this to list of
puzzles he was currently collecting regarding Ryan.
Although
he'd been to the apartment every day for the past week, Ryan had always hustled
Mitsuru out the door before the boy could give the place more than a cursory
once-over. He had assumed Ryan wanted
to keep him out because he was embarrassed of the unkempt state that usually
occurs when in the midst of a move. Apparently he was wrong.
The
only reason the two had ended up at the apartment today was because even Ryan
had succumbed to the relentless summer heat and had grudgingly agreed to spend
the afternoon indoors. Since both boys
had not felt like traipsing about the malls and since Ryan was still persona
non grata at Greenwood, Shinobu holing up at the dorm and all, Ryan's apartment
had been their only refuge.
So
Mitsuru was finally allowed in the sanctum sanctorum. And it wasn't as mysterious as he'd made it out to be. Just a regular apartment, albeit sans furniture. True, the blonde had not been given the
grand tour; Ryan's bedroom had remained firmly closed to prying eyes. But there were no blood stains on the
carpet, no mystical symbols painted on the walls. Mitsuru had chided himself and his overactive imagination. Still, there were other puzzles that
remained.
Why
had Ryan moved to Japan when he was so obviously unhappy here? Had he been forced to leave California? If so, why? Did it have anything to do with his father? These questions kept Mitsuru up nights, to the point where
Shinobu actually broke his self-imposed silent treatment one night and told him
in no uncertain terms that if he tossed and turned one more time that night he
would end up tied to his bunk, compliments of a very irritated Shinobu.
Then
there was the notebook. What was up
with that? Ryan was never without it,
scribbling in it while he waited for Mitsuru to finish his laps around the
track. But the one time the blonde had
inquired about it, Ryan's face had pinched tight and he had hastily changed the
subject, tucking the black book protectively in the crook of his arm.
Ryan
also never discussed his family. All Mitsuru knew was that Ryan was an only
child and his mother had died three years ago. Even that meager bit of information had to be dragged out from the
reluctant boy, and only after Mitsuru had given him some information about
himself. Of Ryan's father, Mitsuru knew
almost nothing. On that topic, Ryan was
completely, stubbornly unforthcoming. And since the man was always "away on business", whatever that meant,
Mitsuru really had no way of solving that mystery on his own.
He
wished Shinobu were with him; he'd be able to get to the bottom of
everything.
"You
can leave if you want," Ryan's voice, calm and cold, interrupted his thoughts.
"What?"
"If
you have something better to do, like hang out with Tezuka."
"Shinobu? What…?" Mitsuru bolted up and looked
properly flustered. Then realization
dawned on him. "Oh. I said that out loud, didn't I?" He had the grace to look sheepish.
Ryan's
eyes narrowed and Mitsuru was making ready to be banished from Sakata land when
the other boy apparently seemed to make up his mind about something. He pushed off from the floor and towered
over Mitsuru, his hand outstretched and an enigmatic glimmer in his eyes.
"Come
on. Let's go."
Mitsuru
blinked, but clasped the proffered hand. "Where are we going?"
"Change
of scenery. All we've been doing is
hanging out at the track or the basketball courts. I think it's time you showed me the wonderful world of downtown
Tokyo." Ryan hauled his friend unceremoniously to his feet then began rooting
around in his pockets. "Damn. Hang on a minute."
As Ryan left for his bedroom with no further explanation, Mitsuru picked up the popcorn bowl from the floor and slowly made his way to the kitchen to put it away. It really wasn't his fault that the path to the kitchen was in direct line of sight with Ryan's bedroom door, now half ajar.
Mitsuru
casually paused, absently fumbling for kernels while keeping his eyes trained
on the sliver of light that escaped the room and spilled out into the gloom of
the hallway. He wasn't spying. He was eating,
for crying out loud. He couldn't be
expected to eat and walk at the same time, could he?
The
sun had finally set while Mitsuru continued to lie to himself, and the bedroom
light took on a sharp contrast to the dark of the rest of the apartment. Like a moth to a flame, Mitsuru drew ever
nearer to the door until his nose was practically nudging it open, the rational
part of his psyche the only thing preventing him from doing so. Ignoring rationality in the face of an
insatiable curiosity, Mitsuru dropped all pretense of skullduggery and openly
stared. Ryan's bedroom was definitely
stare-worthy.
Unlike
the bare living room, Ryan retreat was crammed with stuff. There was no other
word to describe it. But it wasn't just
random stuff; rather, the room looked like rock star paradise. Glued to one wall, from floor to ceiling,
were hundreds of compact disc cases, the liner notes taken out of the sleeves
to expose a plethora of colored cds. On
another wall were photographs, mostly in black and white, of people who looked
famous and important judging by their disdainful sneers and outrageous clothing. Had Mitsuru enough time and a better view,
he would have noticed that the photos were not from magazines and that Ryan was
actually in quite a few of them, disdainful sneer and all.
On
the bed was the carcass of an electric guitar, stringless and gutted but
beautiful nonetheless with its sunburst pattern of orange and gold. Next to it looked to be mountains of sheet
music and more cds, perched precariously on mounds of clothes. (The sight of this non-hangered splendor warmed the cockles of Mitsuru's
unkempt soul.) A Fender amp and another
stack of cds on top of it guarded the foot of the bed. Against the wall opposite the window was an
entertainment center that housed a state-of-the-art Bose sound system, which
looked like it was connected to a brand-new G4 computer.
And
hanging from the ceiling were hundreds of black paper cranes, twisting from
fishing twine so thin that, had not the light glanced off a few strands,
Mitsuru would have sworn the birds were in mid-flight of their own accord. The blonde's attention was so riveted by the
flock of origami that he almost missed Ryan's huddled form kneeling by the side
of the bed.
The
boy's back was to him but even from his slim vantage point from the crack in
the doorway, Mitsuru could see the strain that was perceptible in the curve of
his spine and the hunch of his shoulders. Then Ryan body spasmed and he threw back his head, eyes closed and face
frozen in a rictus of mingled pain and relief. He looked like a tortured martyr in the throes of religious
ecstasy.
The
silence, the black birds skritching against each other and Ryan's eerily still form amidst a riot of color
made the scene seem surreal, and Mitsuru shivered. Then the blonde came to his senses. Ryan looked like he needed help. And Mitsuru was not one to stand idly by when help was needed.
But
before the boy could rush forward and offer assistance, Ryan's eyes snapped
open and, as if sensing the spy by the door, he deliberately shoved whatever
was in his hands under the bed and slowly got up. Without turning around, he addressed Mitsuru.
"How
long have you been standing there?"
"What
do you mean?"
"What
did you see?"
The
iciness of the question burned Mitsuru's bones with its inexorable
ferocity. He decided that if he wanted
to leave the apartment alive, a lie was in order.
"Um,
nothing? Nice room?" The blonde offered
lamely.
"Yeah. Right."
Ryan
did turn then and Mitsuru was immediately struck by how blue his eyes
were. His second thought was that he
had noticed how vivid they were because that was all he could see; Ryan's
pupils were so dilated that they were mere pinpricks in an ocean of
blueness. And his face…pale and slack
and shiny with a sheen of sweat. What
was going on here?
"Well,
I'm ready if you are. Let's go."
"Ryan,
what --- ?"
"Had
to get my notebook. Never leave home
without it. Now, are you coming or
what? You wouldn't want to be responsible for losing the Sakata heir, would
you?" Ryan was babbling unnaturally as he gently but firmly pushed Mitsuru out
into the hallway and locked his bedroom door behind him.
"The…huh? Sakata heir? Wait a minute! You're not
related to that Sakata, are you?" The
blonde gaped like a fish, still clutching the popcorn bowl.
"The
famous international A&R guy who's signed so many artists to so many major
labels that he's sometimes more famous than his clients? Yeah. I'm related to that
Sakata. But I just call him `Dad'."
"Sugoi! I can't believe you've held out in telling
me! I've known you for --- what? Seven days? God, if my dad was as famous as yours, I couldn't keep it a secret for
more than an hour! Tell me all about
it! What's he like? Who've you met? Are those pictures on your wall real? Did you go to a lot of parties?"
Ryan chuckled as the boy peppered him with questions. He plucked the bowl from Mitsuru's hands and escorted him down the darkened hallway and back out into the living room with practiced ease. There, still in settling darkness, Ryan set the bowl on top of the television and herded his friend out the door. Mitsuru continued to chatter incessantly, so enthralled by the prospect of knowing a real, live celebrity that he momentarily forgot all about what he had witnessed not five minutes ago.
Which
was exactly what Ryan had intended when he had revealed his little secret.