The Day We Meet Again
By Jillian Storm
(Disclaimer: Run away train! Run away train! I'm not sure what happened but the engine started going faster and the passengers went along for the ride and I'm on horse-back trying to keep up with it all. Here it is: Chapter 6 of Some Half-Baked Ideal Called Wonderful. By now, the characters from their respective series have been replaced into my own alternate reality where they are forced to depend on each other against the forces of nature. In the end, there can be only one ultimate survivor. Wait. Well, that only goes to show, even the disclaimers are out of my control. Actually, characters that I expected to step forward are hiding themselves more thoroughly. Characters who were never meant to show up are taking over their scenes. Lyrics from the Moody Blue's song of the same title. Enjoy the chaos. I hope to have it back under control once they run out of fuel.)
***
The day we meet again, I'll be waiting there
Why don't they put air conditioning in these places? Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. But I'm sure that regardless of this . . . blasted . . . heat, I would be sweating anyway. I crouch, thumbs firmly pressed against my forehead. Maybe if I furrow my brow a bit more. The organ music is a bit too majestic, a bit too grand for me. If the music is overwhelming, if the priest is praying, that doesn't mean that God can't hear me, right?
Hello! Keisuke Yuuki here. I need help.
I haven't felt this nervous about making a phone call since the day I tried to convince myself to call Sorata and ask him if he wanted to go to the mall with me. We did it all the time. It meant absolutely nothing, except one afternoon in sixth grade that led to an unconditional realization in high school that calling him would never feel ordinary again. Ignorance is bliss? Quite right. And the famous Yuuki procrastination? Absolute misery making.
After waking up, still feeling sick from the evening before. Stomach churning. It was all a bit too much.
How the heck am I supposed to handle this all on my own?
Call Sasame.
I'm sitting back in the pew. Uncomfortable, old wooden thing. Almost as if God's telling me that nothing about this is going to be easy. Sympathy would be nice. And while those leaving the service swell toward the doors, at least fifteen old women come by to grasp my hand. Pumping enthusiastically. I'm probably the best looking guy under forty in this place. Glancing around, maybe the only guy. They love me. At least someone does.
I'll be waiting there for you. 'Cause the years have been so lonely,
I haven't seen Hayate since, well. Since Friday night. I wonder how things went with Himeno, and at the same time, do I really want to know? And here I'm calling Sasame, palms sweating like an idiot. Good grief, it's not like I'm betraying anyone just by calling. Just returning a message. Just by pressing those numbers with a familiar pattern of intonations in my ear.
I'm thinking way too much about this.
But it's all helping me ignore the fact, that the click on the other line is putting me just one step closer into the path of Sylvia Noventa. I haven't seen her. I haven't seen her in a while. How long has it been?
"Hello?"
"Sasame?" I manage, my voice breaking on the first consonant. Maybe he'll just think the phone picked up oddly. Have I said anything all day? My throat feels rather full as if I'm just waking up in the middle of this telephone conversation.
"Yes?"
"Oh, I forgot." Running my fingers through my hair. Dear God, I sound like a fool. "This is Keisuke Yuuki, Duo's friend." Again! He knows who you are, idiot. He called you, remember? Then all in a rush, "I got note saying that you'd called. But I was pretty busy last night and didn't realize I needed to call you until late and I was at church this morning. So what's up?"
And then he answers, in that too perfect for radio voice that almost, but not quite, makes my toes curl. I'm too anxious for that. "Well, hello. I was waiting for your call." So considerate, make me feel like a million bucks. No, he doesn't obviously do this for a living. I sit down. "Since I called, I wanted to ask you something. After you left, Friday, Duo and I were talking about the opportunities he might have to play his sax. And I'm was thinking about establishing a group, but we heard some rumors that perhaps we could supplement a fledging band instead."
What the heck is he talking about? I'm so confused, I fall backwards on the couch with my knees wrapping over the armrest on the end.
"Yeah, so . . ." I interject.
"Well, we were wondering if you knew how to reach that Kazuma guy who used to work at Four Doors."
Kazuma?!
"Kazuma?" I say, sweetly. Feeling my teeth begin to grit together. What the heck does any of this have to do with our old waiter?
"Apparently, he's a breaking out star. Great vocals. Part jazz, part insanity. Sounds like Duo's style, don't you agree?"
I can't imagine the look on his face. Sasame is serious. Seriously asking me these incredibly unexpected and unscripted questions, "I don't know how to contact Kazuma, sorry."
"That's alright," Sasame concedes, "I was just calling everyone to try to track him down. We don't even know his last name. Might have to just speak with the Four Doors staff."
Is that all? I close my eyes. Oxygen in my lungs. Then exhale. "Sounds like a plan. I'll keep my ears open."
"Thanks, Keisuke." Then a proper pause. "I'll see you tonight?"
"Maybe, I'm not sure . . ."
"No matter. I couldn't bring Sylvia with as I wanted. She was called out of town, unexpectedly."
Does he not notice the silence? I can't form words.
"Which means that her party, her gathering, this weekend has also been postponed. I'll still let her know I found you. We'd like you to be there. Later."
I'll be waiting there for you. 'Cause the years have been so lonely, It's dangerous when you find out, You've been drinking on your own.
I swear, no one in this building will be able to hear without mechanical aid by the time they turn age thirty. And for me, as I try the beer I've been waiting almost twenty minutes for, that's only a couple years away. I can't remember when I started telling people that I was twenty-eight. Technically, I have a couple months. But age doesn't seem to matter much anymore. Each year slipping by so quickly that I'm luck to match my age within a year of it.
The throbbing is distracting however, and I can't think of much else except. Hand, to bottle, lift, to mouth, tilt, back head, set, down bottle. In weird meter measured to the music. And if there are vocals to this mix, they're very well disguised.
Where am I? The den. The last place anyone would look for me. Completely out of routine.
I'm solo at the Transylvanian Concubine.
After getting off the phone with Sasame, I decided that the last thing I wanted to do was face Hayate. And there was no way I was confessing to anyone the sick feeling I had trying to return that stupid phone call. Why couldn't Hayate had told me the purpose for the call? And why did Sasame have to bring Sylvia up so casually?
I wonder if she still smiles as broadly. And if she clips her hair up at the sides like a little girl, only making her blue eyes more almond shaped.
"Hey, gorgeous!"
I almost don't hear it. Unlike last time, I'm not as overcome by this place. It's just a big playground of fantasy to get lost in really. And I'd been doing pretty well. Even though the spell hasn't hooked me yet.
"I'm not interested." I scratch the back of my neck, not looking up.
"Well, if that's how you're turning down prospects," Suddenly, there's someone in the seat across from me. "No wonder you're alone tonight. What ever happened to tall, blonde and enchanting?"
"Who? Oh. We're not . . ." I don't have to look up, I already realize that I've fallen into a conversation unwittingly.
"Good."
Why in the world is this guy bothering? How did he notice? I'm sitting all slouched over and haven't even bothered to take this jacket off, and it's way to warm inside and out to be wearing the security blanket. Still, I like feeling hidden in it.
Not that he isn't drop dead gorgeous. I'm just not interested. Not interested.
He's smiling a bit, not too much, but just enough to fix a sparkle in his dark eyes. And he's very dark, dark skinned, with expressive dark eyebrows that are knitting a bit perplexed under carefree and spiked black hair. And it's the same guy. I couldn't forget those red stripes shocked through either side extending out from his temples. And his fetish for shirts a bit too revealing, a bit too tight, especially around the shoulders.
"This isn't your sort of place is it, sir?" The honorable title slipping out almost affectionately. By no means serious, but not mocking either.
"Hey, different can be good. It's growing on me." I take another drink and decide that solitary drinking isn't always that much fun. If I brood anymore I'll sprout a pony tail and you can call me Hayate. I wonder in passing how he's doing. I haven't seen him in nearly two days. "Like this feeling that work won't be much fun tomorrow morning." I'm struggling a bit to be heard over the pounding beat. I've picked a table against the railing and the wall, able to see everything below, but likewise the most cut off from it.
He's smiling again, in a way that pulls his lips back around his teeth and mostly to one side. "You could always call for the day off, let someone entertain you instead."
I laugh sharply almost sputtering my drink. Now that was one of the more amusing comments I've heard in a while, groaning, "There's a thought. Like I'm really going to get an offer like that, please."
"Amazing." He says vaguely, reaching out to grab my bottle and studies the label. "Alright, if it's not the girl. It must be someone pretty special for you to sit here drinking this crap."
"I happen to like that crap, thank you."
"Let me order you something better." We're having a little staring contest, I feel like I'm twelve the way this guy is amusing and irritating all at once. The way he says what's expected, what's perfect-just like this fairyland establishment. "Because I don't think he deserves you, letting you wander out alone like this."
"He?" I laugh, challenging, "And why do you think I like boys?"
He pulls his chin, in mock thoughtfulness. Then sums it up nicely, "Because I'm the right guy for you," immediately, he laughs, putting me at ease, "Who am I kidding? It's that hair of yours-a sure giveaway, sir. Sandy blond, all tousled to one side, and way too conditioned for any straight guy."
Just in case you're wondering, What was really on my mind. It wasn't what you took, my love, It's what you left behind.
So after work, I'm not nearly as dreading my reunion with Hayate. I keep having these funny memories from last night and how I could have a conversation that consisted of practically nothing and a few compliments. Conversation that lasted almost all night. I might have slept for three hours before my alarm went off and I was driving to Tortoise and the Hare putting as much coffee in my system as possible.
Intentionally, I hadn't given him my name. And likewise, I never learned his.
And next I was driving home again. All too eager to escape the rush of school kids on summer vacation. I spent more time babysitting stray children than stray pets it seems some days. They should have leash laws for junior high kids. Imagining the park signs for that, I fight back another fit of stupid laughter. I've been spontaneously bursting out like a complete ass all day. I can still see the startled look on the face of the middle-aged woman as I snorted at her comment about the limited variety of dog's conditioner.
Hayate's not on the couch. The television is not on. Damn, and I had hoped all day for something normal. So I could ask in some normal sounding manner, "How are you?" and perhaps getting a semi-honest response.
I'm still getting used to the artwork everywhere now. And it's only Monday night, so Hayate shouldn't have skipped out early for the junior college. Although, now that I know about that little hobby, he's been gradually bringing stuff, as he calls it, home on a regular basis. The countertop in the kitchen has a series of small ceramic figures which when set in sequence show a person cartwheeling. Very modern, had been my initial reaction. Which I had been intending to tell him to his face.
If I ever see him again.
I check the answering machine. First message, Miaka, apparently checking up on me, most likely for our mother's behalf. Second message, Hayate on a borrowed cell phone. Impromptu cook out at the park, come when I get in. I'm surprised Hayate went, maybe things aren't all that bad? I perk up. Things could be better than I thought. Third message,
"I hope this is the answering machine for Keisuke Yuuki, but with the three minute version of the Monty Python's "Spam" song I just listened to, it must be."
I know her voice. I know that tone of dismayed affection. I've been waiting to hear it ever since someone besides myself had breathed her name in public.
"I was given your number. I didn't know where to find you before. I didn't want to really, but maybe it's time to catch up. Don't worry, I'm not going to pop in on you unannounced. I know how you'd hate that. But now we're in the same place, I might as well tell you how you can reach me."
I play the message back at least six times before I write down her number.
She's found me.
And just in case you're wondering, Will it really be the same? Will it really be the same? You know we're only living for, The day we meet again.
I make it to the cookout and by that time, I've managed to fix what I hope has accomplished a normal Keisuke Yuuki expression. Half-intrested, half- lost, all goofy. I wasn't sure if I could manage it or not. When . . .
"Kei-kun!"
I am enveloped in what can only be an Ayame Souma embrace. He has one arm wrapping all the way around my shoulder, the one in front tracing my ear and throat, pulling through my hair there with his fingers. I try to shrug him off and he holds on tighter. Damn him, if he didn't know right away that I needed this.
"Don't tell me you're late because you've been seeing someone else?" Aya pouts, but I'm familiar with his teasing.
"But, Aya, there isn't room in my life for anyone but you." I say playfully, filling my role in the game.
I try to walk toward the smell of well-cooked steaks, Aya linking casually by our elbows. Hayate's tending the grill, although it's Duo wearing the apron as he's lounging next to Dorothy at a nearby picnic table. It's less balmy as we slip into evening at least, but the waves of heat coming from near Hayate negates that cooling of temperature.
"Is this it?" I glance around.
"Himeno's coming after karate." Hayate says, not looking up.
"Huh? Karate?" I'm surprised I don't have to put my eyes back into their sockets. "Since when has she been in karate?" I'm trying to imagine petite Himeno breaking a practice board. Then I have an almost believable vision of her high kicking an opponent's head in. Suddenly, the reserved violence of it all suits her.
"I've yet to see evidence." Aya nods, "Although, I've asked her to come clean my house wrapped in only her black belt some day."
"Better question," I raise a finger, ignoring Aya's peculiar humor. "How *long* has Himeno been doing this? She's a black belt?" My voice lifts with the incredulousness of it all, loosening my lips, "Is she coordinated enough to do that?" I'm remembering all the incredibly bad plays she's managed in pool and darts.
"When it comes to facing an adversary, Himeno is a pretty powerful force." Hayate's voice sounds almost fond.
"And when she shows," Duo chimes in, as he and Dorothy come by to examine the source of such pleasant aromas, "and you want to try a game of outdoor volleyball, then Himeno's on your team, bud. Karate's one thing, but Himeno's still the worst player I've ever seen."
Rather than fuming, Hayate actually, almost, smiles.
So hold on, and don't let go Time heals, you know, I know.
About the time that Himeno shows up, the steaks are mostly gone. We watch her eat, Aya keeping the conversation light. Duo keeps it going. Between the two of them, I don't think I've ever heard people talk more about absolutely anything that comes to mind. And they both managed to be very opinionated and diplomatic at the same time.
"So before you ever catch me test driving that worthless model again, I'd rather nurse an antique like Keisuke's into old age and retirement." Duo's latches onto the remaining food that Himeno has rejected holding her stomach as the universal sign of fullness.
"Did someone mention my name?" I say dryly, just under Aya's comment. Something about returning to the true classic age of horse drawn chariots. I think Aya just wants to see a bunch of Romans in togas. If he hasn't designed something like that for his store already.
As Dorothy retrieves a volleyball from her trunk, she returns with an unexpected pair. The sunset is casting long shadows around us. Not that the air has cooled that much.
"Hi," Juri smiles, glancing around and taking us all in. Then turning back to me, "I would have certainly thought Sorata would have been here. I was hoping to see my kid brother and remind him of this photo shoot that he keeps trying to postpone."
"And it can't be rescheduled . . ." Kozue says in such a way that we have to try not to laugh, apparently Kozue's been well informed as to the unmet responsibilities of the younger Arisugawa. Both women have smiles too confident to be in any way wounded by the other's words. They amuse each other too well for that.
"Want to play?" Duo points over his shoulder to the set volleyball net. He's fairly in bliss, I'm sure, since he constantly professes that of all women, these unobtainable two are the most beguiling.
And as we discover, they also form a bulwark able to support Himeno and their unlikely team to ultimate victory.
I watch as Hayate's eyes are constantly drawn to her. Knowing too well that the proximity must only be making him more intoxicated with Himeno's presence. Even as Himeno becomes coolly comfortable and maintains her distance. Both adopting their own forms of emotional protection.
The day we meet again, I'll be waiting there, I'll be waiting there for you. 'Cause the years have been so lonely, It's dangerous when you find out, You've been drinking on your own.
We've not spoken about it, but in the last week, Hayate has come to our circle of friends every now and again. By no means consistently, and not always for long, but I'm intrigued by his self-motivation. Whatever he's feeling is strong enough to help him endure.
I wonder if it has much to do with Sasame's subsequent absences.
Duo had mentioned loads of work in passing as Sasame's excuse. Which only reminded me of the long deleted message imprinted in my memory. A memory that shifted irregularly to make her sound more sweet, next more chill. Her invitation welcoming, later reluctant.
If I had thought calling Sasame that first day was difficult, Sylvia's unexpected message left me much more uncertain. So I do, again, what any well raised Yuuki should do. I ignore everything that discomforts me. Time washes in and momentarily passes over those choices until I don't have to see them anymore.
It also helps to have a distraction.
"You again?"
I can't say I'm sorry to be noticed. "I shouldn't have let Dorothy introduce me to this place. The anonymity here is impressively intoxicating."
"Anonymity?" He takes his seat, and I'm first amused by the playful collar he has wrapped around his throat tonight. Always the unpredictable accessories.
"Right, no one here bothers me. Except you of course." I recognize the awful cackle in my laugh that Miaka hates so much. But I can't help it. It's the sarcastic, smartass in my personality leaking through.
"Don't be so hard on yourself." He says lightly, but clearly intends on being taken seriously. He glances down at the dancers. "Want to dance?" He lifts one of those incredibly expressive eyebrows, a most gentle invitation.
Which I immediately refuse with a shake of my head, "Not for me. Sorry."
"Too bad." He leans forward as the waitress gives him his drink. She gives us a disapproving glance. Either she's annoyed that he's skipped tables and she had to track him down. Or she's annoyed that I'm monopolizing him again. Tough.
I'm about to order, and I'm promptly ignored.
"Shit. She's having a bad night." His eyes are overflowing with humor, immediately shrugging off her snub if, that is, he noticed it for what it was. "Did you want a drink?"
"Why else would I be here?" I scoff.
"Why else indeed," he says, then more quickly, "So her name is Dorothy, is it?"
"Dorothy?"
"You're friend, who first brought you here."
"Oh, did I say that?"
"Sure did," he shakes his head, amused. "I'll figure out your mysteries one of these days."
And I have the sinking feeling that I'm doing something incredibly wrong by being here. Initiating something I don't want with someone I don't know. Still, I can't trust him to know that I'm simply escaping. Escaping for just a moment the luckless, loveless life I have everywhere else.
Not that it doesn't hurt to feel attractive.
He's just not the guy I want to be sitting with.
The day we meet again, We will walk in peace,
Like the shadow I was chasing When I looked, oh no, it wasn't there. Oh no, it wasn't there, It wasn't there. It wasn't there.
tbc
(Disclaimer: Run away train! Run away train! I'm not sure what happened but the engine started going faster and the passengers went along for the ride and I'm on horse-back trying to keep up with it all. Here it is: Chapter 6 of Some Half-Baked Ideal Called Wonderful. By now, the characters from their respective series have been replaced into my own alternate reality where they are forced to depend on each other against the forces of nature. In the end, there can be only one ultimate survivor. Wait. Well, that only goes to show, even the disclaimers are out of my control. Actually, characters that I expected to step forward are hiding themselves more thoroughly. Characters who were never meant to show up are taking over their scenes. Lyrics from the Moody Blue's song of the same title. Enjoy the chaos. I hope to have it back under control once they run out of fuel.)
***
The day we meet again, I'll be waiting there
Why don't they put air conditioning in these places? Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. But I'm sure that regardless of this . . . blasted . . . heat, I would be sweating anyway. I crouch, thumbs firmly pressed against my forehead. Maybe if I furrow my brow a bit more. The organ music is a bit too majestic, a bit too grand for me. If the music is overwhelming, if the priest is praying, that doesn't mean that God can't hear me, right?
Hello! Keisuke Yuuki here. I need help.
I haven't felt this nervous about making a phone call since the day I tried to convince myself to call Sorata and ask him if he wanted to go to the mall with me. We did it all the time. It meant absolutely nothing, except one afternoon in sixth grade that led to an unconditional realization in high school that calling him would never feel ordinary again. Ignorance is bliss? Quite right. And the famous Yuuki procrastination? Absolute misery making.
After waking up, still feeling sick from the evening before. Stomach churning. It was all a bit too much.
How the heck am I supposed to handle this all on my own?
Call Sasame.
I'm sitting back in the pew. Uncomfortable, old wooden thing. Almost as if God's telling me that nothing about this is going to be easy. Sympathy would be nice. And while those leaving the service swell toward the doors, at least fifteen old women come by to grasp my hand. Pumping enthusiastically. I'm probably the best looking guy under forty in this place. Glancing around, maybe the only guy. They love me. At least someone does.
I'll be waiting there for you. 'Cause the years have been so lonely,
I haven't seen Hayate since, well. Since Friday night. I wonder how things went with Himeno, and at the same time, do I really want to know? And here I'm calling Sasame, palms sweating like an idiot. Good grief, it's not like I'm betraying anyone just by calling. Just returning a message. Just by pressing those numbers with a familiar pattern of intonations in my ear.
I'm thinking way too much about this.
But it's all helping me ignore the fact, that the click on the other line is putting me just one step closer into the path of Sylvia Noventa. I haven't seen her. I haven't seen her in a while. How long has it been?
"Hello?"
"Sasame?" I manage, my voice breaking on the first consonant. Maybe he'll just think the phone picked up oddly. Have I said anything all day? My throat feels rather full as if I'm just waking up in the middle of this telephone conversation.
"Yes?"
"Oh, I forgot." Running my fingers through my hair. Dear God, I sound like a fool. "This is Keisuke Yuuki, Duo's friend." Again! He knows who you are, idiot. He called you, remember? Then all in a rush, "I got note saying that you'd called. But I was pretty busy last night and didn't realize I needed to call you until late and I was at church this morning. So what's up?"
And then he answers, in that too perfect for radio voice that almost, but not quite, makes my toes curl. I'm too anxious for that. "Well, hello. I was waiting for your call." So considerate, make me feel like a million bucks. No, he doesn't obviously do this for a living. I sit down. "Since I called, I wanted to ask you something. After you left, Friday, Duo and I were talking about the opportunities he might have to play his sax. And I'm was thinking about establishing a group, but we heard some rumors that perhaps we could supplement a fledging band instead."
What the heck is he talking about? I'm so confused, I fall backwards on the couch with my knees wrapping over the armrest on the end.
"Yeah, so . . ." I interject.
"Well, we were wondering if you knew how to reach that Kazuma guy who used to work at Four Doors."
Kazuma?!
"Kazuma?" I say, sweetly. Feeling my teeth begin to grit together. What the heck does any of this have to do with our old waiter?
"Apparently, he's a breaking out star. Great vocals. Part jazz, part insanity. Sounds like Duo's style, don't you agree?"
I can't imagine the look on his face. Sasame is serious. Seriously asking me these incredibly unexpected and unscripted questions, "I don't know how to contact Kazuma, sorry."
"That's alright," Sasame concedes, "I was just calling everyone to try to track him down. We don't even know his last name. Might have to just speak with the Four Doors staff."
Is that all? I close my eyes. Oxygen in my lungs. Then exhale. "Sounds like a plan. I'll keep my ears open."
"Thanks, Keisuke." Then a proper pause. "I'll see you tonight?"
"Maybe, I'm not sure . . ."
"No matter. I couldn't bring Sylvia with as I wanted. She was called out of town, unexpectedly."
Does he not notice the silence? I can't form words.
"Which means that her party, her gathering, this weekend has also been postponed. I'll still let her know I found you. We'd like you to be there. Later."
I'll be waiting there for you. 'Cause the years have been so lonely, It's dangerous when you find out, You've been drinking on your own.
I swear, no one in this building will be able to hear without mechanical aid by the time they turn age thirty. And for me, as I try the beer I've been waiting almost twenty minutes for, that's only a couple years away. I can't remember when I started telling people that I was twenty-eight. Technically, I have a couple months. But age doesn't seem to matter much anymore. Each year slipping by so quickly that I'm luck to match my age within a year of it.
The throbbing is distracting however, and I can't think of much else except. Hand, to bottle, lift, to mouth, tilt, back head, set, down bottle. In weird meter measured to the music. And if there are vocals to this mix, they're very well disguised.
Where am I? The den. The last place anyone would look for me. Completely out of routine.
I'm solo at the Transylvanian Concubine.
After getting off the phone with Sasame, I decided that the last thing I wanted to do was face Hayate. And there was no way I was confessing to anyone the sick feeling I had trying to return that stupid phone call. Why couldn't Hayate had told me the purpose for the call? And why did Sasame have to bring Sylvia up so casually?
I wonder if she still smiles as broadly. And if she clips her hair up at the sides like a little girl, only making her blue eyes more almond shaped.
"Hey, gorgeous!"
I almost don't hear it. Unlike last time, I'm not as overcome by this place. It's just a big playground of fantasy to get lost in really. And I'd been doing pretty well. Even though the spell hasn't hooked me yet.
"I'm not interested." I scratch the back of my neck, not looking up.
"Well, if that's how you're turning down prospects," Suddenly, there's someone in the seat across from me. "No wonder you're alone tonight. What ever happened to tall, blonde and enchanting?"
"Who? Oh. We're not . . ." I don't have to look up, I already realize that I've fallen into a conversation unwittingly.
"Good."
Why in the world is this guy bothering? How did he notice? I'm sitting all slouched over and haven't even bothered to take this jacket off, and it's way to warm inside and out to be wearing the security blanket. Still, I like feeling hidden in it.
Not that he isn't drop dead gorgeous. I'm just not interested. Not interested.
He's smiling a bit, not too much, but just enough to fix a sparkle in his dark eyes. And he's very dark, dark skinned, with expressive dark eyebrows that are knitting a bit perplexed under carefree and spiked black hair. And it's the same guy. I couldn't forget those red stripes shocked through either side extending out from his temples. And his fetish for shirts a bit too revealing, a bit too tight, especially around the shoulders.
"This isn't your sort of place is it, sir?" The honorable title slipping out almost affectionately. By no means serious, but not mocking either.
"Hey, different can be good. It's growing on me." I take another drink and decide that solitary drinking isn't always that much fun. If I brood anymore I'll sprout a pony tail and you can call me Hayate. I wonder in passing how he's doing. I haven't seen him in nearly two days. "Like this feeling that work won't be much fun tomorrow morning." I'm struggling a bit to be heard over the pounding beat. I've picked a table against the railing and the wall, able to see everything below, but likewise the most cut off from it.
He's smiling again, in a way that pulls his lips back around his teeth and mostly to one side. "You could always call for the day off, let someone entertain you instead."
I laugh sharply almost sputtering my drink. Now that was one of the more amusing comments I've heard in a while, groaning, "There's a thought. Like I'm really going to get an offer like that, please."
"Amazing." He says vaguely, reaching out to grab my bottle and studies the label. "Alright, if it's not the girl. It must be someone pretty special for you to sit here drinking this crap."
"I happen to like that crap, thank you."
"Let me order you something better." We're having a little staring contest, I feel like I'm twelve the way this guy is amusing and irritating all at once. The way he says what's expected, what's perfect-just like this fairyland establishment. "Because I don't think he deserves you, letting you wander out alone like this."
"He?" I laugh, challenging, "And why do you think I like boys?"
He pulls his chin, in mock thoughtfulness. Then sums it up nicely, "Because I'm the right guy for you," immediately, he laughs, putting me at ease, "Who am I kidding? It's that hair of yours-a sure giveaway, sir. Sandy blond, all tousled to one side, and way too conditioned for any straight guy."
Just in case you're wondering, What was really on my mind. It wasn't what you took, my love, It's what you left behind.
So after work, I'm not nearly as dreading my reunion with Hayate. I keep having these funny memories from last night and how I could have a conversation that consisted of practically nothing and a few compliments. Conversation that lasted almost all night. I might have slept for three hours before my alarm went off and I was driving to Tortoise and the Hare putting as much coffee in my system as possible.
Intentionally, I hadn't given him my name. And likewise, I never learned his.
And next I was driving home again. All too eager to escape the rush of school kids on summer vacation. I spent more time babysitting stray children than stray pets it seems some days. They should have leash laws for junior high kids. Imagining the park signs for that, I fight back another fit of stupid laughter. I've been spontaneously bursting out like a complete ass all day. I can still see the startled look on the face of the middle-aged woman as I snorted at her comment about the limited variety of dog's conditioner.
Hayate's not on the couch. The television is not on. Damn, and I had hoped all day for something normal. So I could ask in some normal sounding manner, "How are you?" and perhaps getting a semi-honest response.
I'm still getting used to the artwork everywhere now. And it's only Monday night, so Hayate shouldn't have skipped out early for the junior college. Although, now that I know about that little hobby, he's been gradually bringing stuff, as he calls it, home on a regular basis. The countertop in the kitchen has a series of small ceramic figures which when set in sequence show a person cartwheeling. Very modern, had been my initial reaction. Which I had been intending to tell him to his face.
If I ever see him again.
I check the answering machine. First message, Miaka, apparently checking up on me, most likely for our mother's behalf. Second message, Hayate on a borrowed cell phone. Impromptu cook out at the park, come when I get in. I'm surprised Hayate went, maybe things aren't all that bad? I perk up. Things could be better than I thought. Third message,
"I hope this is the answering machine for Keisuke Yuuki, but with the three minute version of the Monty Python's "Spam" song I just listened to, it must be."
I know her voice. I know that tone of dismayed affection. I've been waiting to hear it ever since someone besides myself had breathed her name in public.
"I was given your number. I didn't know where to find you before. I didn't want to really, but maybe it's time to catch up. Don't worry, I'm not going to pop in on you unannounced. I know how you'd hate that. But now we're in the same place, I might as well tell you how you can reach me."
I play the message back at least six times before I write down her number.
She's found me.
And just in case you're wondering, Will it really be the same? Will it really be the same? You know we're only living for, The day we meet again.
I make it to the cookout and by that time, I've managed to fix what I hope has accomplished a normal Keisuke Yuuki expression. Half-intrested, half- lost, all goofy. I wasn't sure if I could manage it or not. When . . .
"Kei-kun!"
I am enveloped in what can only be an Ayame Souma embrace. He has one arm wrapping all the way around my shoulder, the one in front tracing my ear and throat, pulling through my hair there with his fingers. I try to shrug him off and he holds on tighter. Damn him, if he didn't know right away that I needed this.
"Don't tell me you're late because you've been seeing someone else?" Aya pouts, but I'm familiar with his teasing.
"But, Aya, there isn't room in my life for anyone but you." I say playfully, filling my role in the game.
I try to walk toward the smell of well-cooked steaks, Aya linking casually by our elbows. Hayate's tending the grill, although it's Duo wearing the apron as he's lounging next to Dorothy at a nearby picnic table. It's less balmy as we slip into evening at least, but the waves of heat coming from near Hayate negates that cooling of temperature.
"Is this it?" I glance around.
"Himeno's coming after karate." Hayate says, not looking up.
"Huh? Karate?" I'm surprised I don't have to put my eyes back into their sockets. "Since when has she been in karate?" I'm trying to imagine petite Himeno breaking a practice board. Then I have an almost believable vision of her high kicking an opponent's head in. Suddenly, the reserved violence of it all suits her.
"I've yet to see evidence." Aya nods, "Although, I've asked her to come clean my house wrapped in only her black belt some day."
"Better question," I raise a finger, ignoring Aya's peculiar humor. "How *long* has Himeno been doing this? She's a black belt?" My voice lifts with the incredulousness of it all, loosening my lips, "Is she coordinated enough to do that?" I'm remembering all the incredibly bad plays she's managed in pool and darts.
"When it comes to facing an adversary, Himeno is a pretty powerful force." Hayate's voice sounds almost fond.
"And when she shows," Duo chimes in, as he and Dorothy come by to examine the source of such pleasant aromas, "and you want to try a game of outdoor volleyball, then Himeno's on your team, bud. Karate's one thing, but Himeno's still the worst player I've ever seen."
Rather than fuming, Hayate actually, almost, smiles.
So hold on, and don't let go Time heals, you know, I know.
About the time that Himeno shows up, the steaks are mostly gone. We watch her eat, Aya keeping the conversation light. Duo keeps it going. Between the two of them, I don't think I've ever heard people talk more about absolutely anything that comes to mind. And they both managed to be very opinionated and diplomatic at the same time.
"So before you ever catch me test driving that worthless model again, I'd rather nurse an antique like Keisuke's into old age and retirement." Duo's latches onto the remaining food that Himeno has rejected holding her stomach as the universal sign of fullness.
"Did someone mention my name?" I say dryly, just under Aya's comment. Something about returning to the true classic age of horse drawn chariots. I think Aya just wants to see a bunch of Romans in togas. If he hasn't designed something like that for his store already.
As Dorothy retrieves a volleyball from her trunk, she returns with an unexpected pair. The sunset is casting long shadows around us. Not that the air has cooled that much.
"Hi," Juri smiles, glancing around and taking us all in. Then turning back to me, "I would have certainly thought Sorata would have been here. I was hoping to see my kid brother and remind him of this photo shoot that he keeps trying to postpone."
"And it can't be rescheduled . . ." Kozue says in such a way that we have to try not to laugh, apparently Kozue's been well informed as to the unmet responsibilities of the younger Arisugawa. Both women have smiles too confident to be in any way wounded by the other's words. They amuse each other too well for that.
"Want to play?" Duo points over his shoulder to the set volleyball net. He's fairly in bliss, I'm sure, since he constantly professes that of all women, these unobtainable two are the most beguiling.
And as we discover, they also form a bulwark able to support Himeno and their unlikely team to ultimate victory.
I watch as Hayate's eyes are constantly drawn to her. Knowing too well that the proximity must only be making him more intoxicated with Himeno's presence. Even as Himeno becomes coolly comfortable and maintains her distance. Both adopting their own forms of emotional protection.
The day we meet again, I'll be waiting there, I'll be waiting there for you. 'Cause the years have been so lonely, It's dangerous when you find out, You've been drinking on your own.
We've not spoken about it, but in the last week, Hayate has come to our circle of friends every now and again. By no means consistently, and not always for long, but I'm intrigued by his self-motivation. Whatever he's feeling is strong enough to help him endure.
I wonder if it has much to do with Sasame's subsequent absences.
Duo had mentioned loads of work in passing as Sasame's excuse. Which only reminded me of the long deleted message imprinted in my memory. A memory that shifted irregularly to make her sound more sweet, next more chill. Her invitation welcoming, later reluctant.
If I had thought calling Sasame that first day was difficult, Sylvia's unexpected message left me much more uncertain. So I do, again, what any well raised Yuuki should do. I ignore everything that discomforts me. Time washes in and momentarily passes over those choices until I don't have to see them anymore.
It also helps to have a distraction.
"You again?"
I can't say I'm sorry to be noticed. "I shouldn't have let Dorothy introduce me to this place. The anonymity here is impressively intoxicating."
"Anonymity?" He takes his seat, and I'm first amused by the playful collar he has wrapped around his throat tonight. Always the unpredictable accessories.
"Right, no one here bothers me. Except you of course." I recognize the awful cackle in my laugh that Miaka hates so much. But I can't help it. It's the sarcastic, smartass in my personality leaking through.
"Don't be so hard on yourself." He says lightly, but clearly intends on being taken seriously. He glances down at the dancers. "Want to dance?" He lifts one of those incredibly expressive eyebrows, a most gentle invitation.
Which I immediately refuse with a shake of my head, "Not for me. Sorry."
"Too bad." He leans forward as the waitress gives him his drink. She gives us a disapproving glance. Either she's annoyed that he's skipped tables and she had to track him down. Or she's annoyed that I'm monopolizing him again. Tough.
I'm about to order, and I'm promptly ignored.
"Shit. She's having a bad night." His eyes are overflowing with humor, immediately shrugging off her snub if, that is, he noticed it for what it was. "Did you want a drink?"
"Why else would I be here?" I scoff.
"Why else indeed," he says, then more quickly, "So her name is Dorothy, is it?"
"Dorothy?"
"You're friend, who first brought you here."
"Oh, did I say that?"
"Sure did," he shakes his head, amused. "I'll figure out your mysteries one of these days."
And I have the sinking feeling that I'm doing something incredibly wrong by being here. Initiating something I don't want with someone I don't know. Still, I can't trust him to know that I'm simply escaping. Escaping for just a moment the luckless, loveless life I have everywhere else.
Not that it doesn't hurt to feel attractive.
He's just not the guy I want to be sitting with.
The day we meet again, We will walk in peace,
Like the shadow I was chasing When I looked, oh no, it wasn't there. Oh no, it wasn't there, It wasn't there. It wasn't there.
tbc