Don't Rest Easy
By Jillian Storm
(Disclaimer: How did it come to be chapter 8 so quickly? Amazing. Well, I want to thank everyone who has reading. And Kay, thanks for the review. I'd keep writing Keisuke fics just to please myself, but I'm glad someone else recognizes what a great boy he is! For the record, the cast of Some Half-Baked Ideal Called Wonderful is an ensemble collected from the vast reaches of anime, but I'll try to make them accessible, familiar or not. Much underused Keisuke Yuuki from Fushigi Yugi is our unlikely narrator. Consequently, I don't have an original character in here. I'm borrowing, yup. And the lyrics, my artistic crutch, are provided by the bard Gordon Lightfoot-I owe thanks to my mother for making me listen to his music while I was growing up. This time around, his song "I'd Rather Press On" inspired my chapter. And I'm fairly impressed, chapters are still averaging a week apart. Gives ideas time to unfold. Enjoy.)
Is it my imagination or is it my iron pride?
I remember a conversation I had once, in which I said quite stubbornly, confidently, arrogantly, "Kissing doesn't mean anything."
Who's stupid idea was kissing anyway? What was God thinking? Close your eyes, stick your faces together . . . come on kids, you'll like it. You'll like it. Stop saying things you don't mean and just touch.
Perhaps I was, once again, afraid that kissing meant everything.
I'm not sure if he remembers, but the first person I ever practiced kissing with was Sorata. We were fairly young, about six, if I recall correctly. We had shut ourselves away in my room. Then retreated into the closet together to hide from our mothers, who in the kitchen had no idea what their sons were plotting. Who'd have thought my chance to make a move would have been before I realized how desperately I could love my best friend?
Needless to say, it's not like Sorata's given me a chance since then.
Our childish kisses were rather sloppy, but simple. And this. This is simple. And as caught off guard as I feel, pressing my palm against the table top-this is perhaps, feeling something comfortable?
"That's something I've wanted to do for a while." His voice is playfully close, and I know it's silly but I'm reluctant to open my eyes and see who it is speaking. Although, I know who it isn't. I know. He smells like alcohol and faintly of smoke.
"Keisuke?"
"Hmm?" I murmur, it's dark with my eyes closed. And as long as they stay closed, I can simply sit here. As thoughtless as possible. Which isn't like me at all. I can feel the rush of thoughts settling at the precipice. Waiting to spill over. And while my thoughtlessness might be silent, the music of the establishment is becoming louder and louder in my awareness. The seat becoming very solid beneath me.
He's back in his place across the table, watching me carefully. A bit of caution on his face, but nothing remorseful. A smile easing into his dark eyes.
So what do I do? I start laughing.
I wonder if it matters much
if time is on my side.
I'd rather press on,
I don't wanna rest easy, anywhere I stray,
I will make it a brand new day.
Anyway, that's all I've got to say.
My solution for troublesome situations is two-fold. First, get smashed. Second, laugh. So I approached things backwards that night, but I managed to get both in. Which is why I'm not looking my best this morning. I haven't made it to church. I'm skipping. And this is going to throw my whole week off.
Not as if my life hasn't been derailed already.
I lean against the bathroom countertop and stare at myself in the partially fogged mirror for a few moments from different angles. Thinking smart ass things like how my profile from the left is just a bit more charming than from the right. Brushing my teeth twice and splattering toothpaste all over my reflection. Basically becoming a bathroom hog. Hayate's reminding me of his turn every five to ten minutes or so by rapping on the door. He's not used to having me around on Sunday mornings. I run a comb through my wet hair and wonder how I could have slept so late.
God's going to get me for this one.
I spent the rest of last night getting drunk, finishing one crazy beer after another until I'm sure my friend repeatedly demanded that the waitress stop coming back. It took a while and a truly threatening glare from my companion for her to give up, since I kept opening my wallet and waving green bills around. We had some good laughs. He must be a pretty good listener, since, as I've been told . . . when I'm on a mission to be intoxicated I tell some pretty crazy stories. I wonder how much of my life he knows now.
Holding my head, I feel a crazy sinking in my stomach. I was kissing someone, and I don't want to know his name. I don't know who he is. I'm ready for just about anything to put it out of my mind.
Deciding it's a prime day to test my tolerance for alcohol, I head for the fridge. Cold beer sounds good. It's after noon.
I suppose I should count myself fortunate that I took a moment to check the answering machine.
I had said I was ready for any sort of distraction. And God has a funny way of providing the most ludicrous and unwelcome situations as a solution.
I'd rather be by the seaside, than be playing a one night stand.
I've been too wrapped up in my own dreams, I will change things if I can.
I gotta press on, don't wanna rest easy.
"We make quite a pair," Hayate says, shrugging his shoulders in such a way to loosen them from within his suit jacket. "We go from one night of absolute hedonism, straight to another of pristine perfectionism."
"Hedonism?" I start, as we're walking toward the manor after letting one of the valet's take my car. I'm still smarting from the hired help's comment about driving a true rusting classic, while taking my keys with a sudden snatching motion. "And you think this is perfectionism? Just wait, my boy. You haven't seen what nastiness can root itself into the elite of our society." That's my nervousness talking for you.
"You just keep opening my eyes to all of these different facets of your personality." Hayate smiles, easily enough. He's along for moral support. In spite of the potential danger neither of us has mentioned.
Sylvia Noventa was finally hosting her promised party, and I had been official invited. Along with a date. Which was uncommonly kind of her. Who was I going to invite? Did she expect that I would have managed to find anyone permanent for my life? No. Sylvia would know me too well. My lack of a date was only pointed out to remind me that she had tried.
She had tried to be everything, for me.
Which is odd, because I loved her. Strangely enough.
And as much as I dread seeing her again, I know I also really want to.
The first person to recognize me, tugging at his aristocratic collar which would always sit wrongly on him, calls out with a reserved voice but a twinkle in his eye. "Keisuke Yuuki. It's been a long time. How is Duo?"
Heero Yuy. He had the misfortune of being born wealthy, luck had certainly played her tricks on his spirit. Because there was nothing that Heero wanted to do more than drive a racecar.
"Good to see you, Heero. Duo's as always," I smile, "Are your parents still paying to put you through law school?"
"Yes, sorry to say," Heero swirls his drink in one hand, putting on false airs for a moment. "Although I'm pitifully behind in my studies. I'm starting to feel awful for real because *this* semester, which is all on- line, I've truly been studying. I wonder if my father will ever give up."
"I can verify the studying," says Heero's constant companion and best friend, Hilde. She's become more beautiful since I last saw her, but still soft, short and trim. Relaxing as I see her take Heero's elbow comfortably. Some things will remain consistent in this life. Some couples are just meant to always be together. I feel my face warm with pleasure. I like happy couples.
And what would always make these two so perfect was their mutual façade of fancy clothes and mutual love for all things motor oil and grease. Forgetting, of course, the little mix up years ago, when I thought that Hilde was Heero's little brother.
"And your friend is?" Hilde reminds me, politely, but with a wicked smile on her face.
"Dear God, no," I stammer, her subtle suggestion dawning on me, "This is my roommate, Hayate. Hayate, this would be Heero and Hilde. Duo met Heero in some sort of intramurals, so we became acquainted."
While they shake hands, I realize how similar Hayate and Heero might be. Except that Heero had found his peace by forging a straightforward commitment to his passions, including Hilde. If only Hayate wasn't so shy.
"Sylvia's around here somewhere." Heero says, taking a drink. His dark blue eyes glancing around the other guests but not finding our host. The room where we've gathered in mostly red woods, polished and shining in the light of the chandelier. Everyone dressed comfortably, but shining in their own ways. I feel a bit out of place in my best church clothes. But I should be used to it. This vague uncertainty was how I always felt visiting Sylvia.
"You really work in construction?" Hilde eyes my roommate with new wonder, her mouth dropping open and she tugs on Heero's arm to gain his attention as well, "I just love men who aren't afraid to get a little dirty."
"He's also an artist, and filthy rich." I lean in coyly and add in a stage whisper.
Hayate flinches, but he's feeling at ease with these passing friends of mine. Hilde has a way of making everyone feel as if they're the most interesting person in the universe. She gets excited about everything. That's probably why Heero likes her, she always gives him the best perspective on things.
"Rich?" Heero repeats.
"An artist?" Hilde laughs, "What do you do?"
"Stuff."
I wander away a little, letting Hayate happily be at the center of their attention. Somehow being back in this circle feels unnatural and yet familiar. I lean against the back of one of the red upholstered chairs near the large window facing the gardens. The silver haired woman glances up at me and smiles. I smile back.
"You're little Keisuke Yuki, aren't you?"
"That's right." I wish I could remember her, but I don't. Do I know her? She takes one of her arms and crossing it over her chest reaches up to stroke my hand where it's curled around the back of the seat.
"It's been a long time since you've come to see us. I remember when you and Sylvia would visit her grandmother before she passed away."
Then I remember. The visits to see Mrs. Noventa, Sylvia's father's mother, after her grandfather had died unexpectedly. Reading to her in the library, listening to Sylvia read to her. I read so many books aloud that summer. And upon occasion, being joined by Sylvia's great aunt.
The woman who's beaming at me with those clear blue eyes of the elderly that seem to still see everything with such perception that goes beyond simple sight.
"Yuuki."
Everyone's recognizing me, but this voice I do remember.
"Hajime." Sylvia's great aunt puts a small amount of pressure around my fingers, before returning her weathered hand into her lap.
"Aunt." He says formally, and I admire how his coldness has a milder flame toward his aged relative. Dressed smartly in his military uniform, Hajime Saitou, I notice with passing intrigue, still smells sharp of cigarette smoke. He must have just come from the outside then, because his step- father would never allow smoking indoors. He turns his narrow eyes toward me, appraisingly. I'm sure he's taking in my rumpled, light tan suit and unruly hair, badly in need of a trim. I am always just a little under par when it comes to good grooming.
"Hello, Saitou." Sylvia's half-brother is the only person I find more comfortable when referring to him by his last name. Not to remind him that his mother had entered the marriage after his birth into a different surname, but because this man deserved respect. That, and he could kick my butt if I provoked him with untoward familiarity.
And he started it. No one else calls me "Yuuki."
Regardless of parentage, it seems inevitable that this family would either dedicate their careers to the armed forces or politics. While Saitou had followed his adopted grandfather's legacy of service, Sylvia had been impressed with her father's ideals for government.
She had always been very forthcoming with her opinions, and often had tried to bully me into having them as well. Defying my own family's more passive tendencies. I will never understand what she saw in me. They say that opposites attract.
The way that Saitou's gaze remains cool, I realize he has not forgiven me for leaving Sylvia. But that is the way a proper brother should behave, I wouldn't expect otherwise.
"Tisk, Hajime. You reek of smoke. Couldn't you have waited for an hour or two before indulging in that habit of yours?"
Then she's at his side. And I find her . . . overwhelming.
Wouldn't it feel fine to return to the women
and the wine and all of the sunshine that we knew?
You will never know what blue is until you have played the game,
till you live life in solitaire where no one knows your name.
I'd rather press on, I don't want to rest easy.
With Sorata, I can pinpoint moments. Days. Feelings. Exacts.
I remember escaping into the closet and in my dreams recall how he tasted like chocolate popsicles. I remember walking home with him one day in sixth grade and as he took a step in front of me I had been allured by the way his ball cap was twisted to cover his neck, and how the ends of his dark hair almost curled. And I was in love. And the day in high school that I tried to call him, tried for hours. Just to ask him to hang out for the afternoon. And realizing that any time spent with him was too special to approach with such casualness. I remember how he smelled like unusual aftershave just last night.
Every moment with him secured into the walls of my memory with color-coded push pins.
On the other hand, Sylvia is like forgetting. Or being dazzled. I can't remember meeting her, or when we started dating. I'm not certain if I kissed her, or if I had liked it. I have impressions of eating, reading, sitting, talking. Daily things done together.
Every time I see her, it's as if it were for the first time. Waking again to ask, "And your name is?"
"Good of you to come, Keisuke." She says my name gingerly, almost as if she's out of practice with those particular syllables put in that particular order. She stretches out her arm, honey gold hair pulled back into an elegant pony-tail. Her blues eyes striking. Friendly.
I shake her hand.
I'm glad to see her. So I say so.
That seems terribly understated.
"How have you been?" She tips her head forward just slightly, with genuine interest. But I'm puzzling over the sophisticated grace I'm seeing. Was she always like this? So, Gwenyth Paltrow? So charming?
"The same," I grin sheepishly, bewildered. "Still at the pet store, still following Duo around Four Doors."
"Duo?" She lifts her eyebrows, smiling and something like teasing flickers in her eyes, "I don't remember you chasing Duo. If I recall . . ."
But the panic I feel as she starts to mention things I'd rather not hear her say aloud, or here of all places, is gone when she never finishes. She instead turns to her great-aunt and says instead, "Auntie, you do remember Keisuke, don't you? He came with me a few summers ago to read all those Dickens novels to you and Grandma. We called him Pip remember?"
Her aunts nods and smiles at me.
Pip? They called me Pip? I have a fuzzy recollection, and feel the same general uncertainty that seems to cloud everything just then.
What day is it?
Where am I?
Sylvia is introducing herself to Hayate. Hilde tells jokes. Everyone laughs. As the evening comes, we go out into the garden for the late summer sunset and Saitou smokes openly there.
And then the flavor of the fresh scent causes me to snap from my building trance-like state.
I remember dark eyes close, finger against my cheek. His kiss and then his lips tasting lightly of smoke. The reflexive shudder purges some of the automatic memory. Of all place for the Transylvanian Concubine, no . . . of all places for him to follow me.
Naturally, as I glance over, everyone is staring at me.
"Keisuke?"
"What, sorry?" I grin half-way as a dopey apology. Caught daydreaming.
Have it anyway you will, I will be with you
right up until the spell is broken and all is well.
If you'd rather be by the seashore, well, I sure can understand.
Are you too wrapped up in your own scene? I would change things if I can.
I'd rather press on, don't wanna rest easy.
"Come to the races next weekend. Heero's in some of the first sprints." Hilde's tone isn't accepting excuses. And, bless him, Hayate even looks eager to agree to the invitation.
"You need to see my car." Heero nods, grasping Hayate's arm in farewell in an almost brotherly manner. I continue to inch toward my car which is waiting. The valet twirling my keys around his finger and I want them back . . . now.
Most everyone has left. Near the end, Sylvia disappeared to make her proper rounds to everyone attending. Tonight she was entertaining, but the diplomatic Sylvia was still performing her duties as expected.
"Are you all leaving me?" Sylvia says lightly, humor dancing around the complaint. "If you insist." She kisses Hilde's cheek, and taps Heero's chin with affection. They incline toward Hilde's Jaguar which is more polished than any car I've seen before. I can just imagine them stroking it down together. They are a strange pair I'll never get used to and never fail to be happy for.
"Hayate, it was a pleasure." She shakes his hand, and they study each other for a moment long than I expect.
Hayate opens the passenger door and hovers for just a moment. It meant almost more for him to allow me to do the driving. Hayate doesn't manage co-pilot status very well. I'll have to make it up for him.
And I have an idea how.
"Keisuke," she starts, and suddenly I know I haven't done her any justice by simply coming to her party. Reminding her family of the days I had been there, and the days after I left. Putting her in that position when she was least able to react as openly as she might want to, need to. If she had to.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have come."
"Stop apologizing." She says sternly, her blue eyes narrowing not unlike her half-brother. "You don't change, do you?" Without hesitation she adds, "And how is Sorata?"
I don't wince, I owe her this at least. "He's exactly the same. Everything is exactly the same."
"To be expected," Sylvia shakes her head, and if I read her expression correctly, she's allowing me a look of muted affection. "You are such a doormat, you know that? But are you happy? Happy now?"
"I suppose." I go from compassionate to being appraised as a doormat in the matter of twenty-four hours. Let it not be said I am not versatile. Or, I suppose there is more than one way of looking at it. I know that I believe Sylvia. "We should . . ."
"I'd like to see you again."
I almost laugh in relief, "Okay. Yes. This was a little stressful."
"For me too." She laughs, then covers her mouth with one hand to cover how enthusiastic it had been. Watching that movement feels so familiar.
"And I need to ask you some questions." I add.
"About?" She's listening closely now.
"About your new assistant, for starters. I want to know more about Henry Feist, Sasame."
Wouldn't it feel fine to return to all of the sunshine that we knew?
But remembering the rhythm and the rhymes and all of the good times makes me blue.
Wouldn't it feel fine?
tbc
By Jillian Storm
(Disclaimer: How did it come to be chapter 8 so quickly? Amazing. Well, I want to thank everyone who has reading. And Kay, thanks for the review. I'd keep writing Keisuke fics just to please myself, but I'm glad someone else recognizes what a great boy he is! For the record, the cast of Some Half-Baked Ideal Called Wonderful is an ensemble collected from the vast reaches of anime, but I'll try to make them accessible, familiar or not. Much underused Keisuke Yuuki from Fushigi Yugi is our unlikely narrator. Consequently, I don't have an original character in here. I'm borrowing, yup. And the lyrics, my artistic crutch, are provided by the bard Gordon Lightfoot-I owe thanks to my mother for making me listen to his music while I was growing up. This time around, his song "I'd Rather Press On" inspired my chapter. And I'm fairly impressed, chapters are still averaging a week apart. Gives ideas time to unfold. Enjoy.)
Is it my imagination or is it my iron pride?
I remember a conversation I had once, in which I said quite stubbornly, confidently, arrogantly, "Kissing doesn't mean anything."
Who's stupid idea was kissing anyway? What was God thinking? Close your eyes, stick your faces together . . . come on kids, you'll like it. You'll like it. Stop saying things you don't mean and just touch.
Perhaps I was, once again, afraid that kissing meant everything.
I'm not sure if he remembers, but the first person I ever practiced kissing with was Sorata. We were fairly young, about six, if I recall correctly. We had shut ourselves away in my room. Then retreated into the closet together to hide from our mothers, who in the kitchen had no idea what their sons were plotting. Who'd have thought my chance to make a move would have been before I realized how desperately I could love my best friend?
Needless to say, it's not like Sorata's given me a chance since then.
Our childish kisses were rather sloppy, but simple. And this. This is simple. And as caught off guard as I feel, pressing my palm against the table top-this is perhaps, feeling something comfortable?
"That's something I've wanted to do for a while." His voice is playfully close, and I know it's silly but I'm reluctant to open my eyes and see who it is speaking. Although, I know who it isn't. I know. He smells like alcohol and faintly of smoke.
"Keisuke?"
"Hmm?" I murmur, it's dark with my eyes closed. And as long as they stay closed, I can simply sit here. As thoughtless as possible. Which isn't like me at all. I can feel the rush of thoughts settling at the precipice. Waiting to spill over. And while my thoughtlessness might be silent, the music of the establishment is becoming louder and louder in my awareness. The seat becoming very solid beneath me.
He's back in his place across the table, watching me carefully. A bit of caution on his face, but nothing remorseful. A smile easing into his dark eyes.
So what do I do? I start laughing.
I wonder if it matters much
if time is on my side.
I'd rather press on,
I don't wanna rest easy, anywhere I stray,
I will make it a brand new day.
Anyway, that's all I've got to say.
My solution for troublesome situations is two-fold. First, get smashed. Second, laugh. So I approached things backwards that night, but I managed to get both in. Which is why I'm not looking my best this morning. I haven't made it to church. I'm skipping. And this is going to throw my whole week off.
Not as if my life hasn't been derailed already.
I lean against the bathroom countertop and stare at myself in the partially fogged mirror for a few moments from different angles. Thinking smart ass things like how my profile from the left is just a bit more charming than from the right. Brushing my teeth twice and splattering toothpaste all over my reflection. Basically becoming a bathroom hog. Hayate's reminding me of his turn every five to ten minutes or so by rapping on the door. He's not used to having me around on Sunday mornings. I run a comb through my wet hair and wonder how I could have slept so late.
God's going to get me for this one.
I spent the rest of last night getting drunk, finishing one crazy beer after another until I'm sure my friend repeatedly demanded that the waitress stop coming back. It took a while and a truly threatening glare from my companion for her to give up, since I kept opening my wallet and waving green bills around. We had some good laughs. He must be a pretty good listener, since, as I've been told . . . when I'm on a mission to be intoxicated I tell some pretty crazy stories. I wonder how much of my life he knows now.
Holding my head, I feel a crazy sinking in my stomach. I was kissing someone, and I don't want to know his name. I don't know who he is. I'm ready for just about anything to put it out of my mind.
Deciding it's a prime day to test my tolerance for alcohol, I head for the fridge. Cold beer sounds good. It's after noon.
I suppose I should count myself fortunate that I took a moment to check the answering machine.
I had said I was ready for any sort of distraction. And God has a funny way of providing the most ludicrous and unwelcome situations as a solution.
I'd rather be by the seaside, than be playing a one night stand.
I've been too wrapped up in my own dreams, I will change things if I can.
I gotta press on, don't wanna rest easy.
"We make quite a pair," Hayate says, shrugging his shoulders in such a way to loosen them from within his suit jacket. "We go from one night of absolute hedonism, straight to another of pristine perfectionism."
"Hedonism?" I start, as we're walking toward the manor after letting one of the valet's take my car. I'm still smarting from the hired help's comment about driving a true rusting classic, while taking my keys with a sudden snatching motion. "And you think this is perfectionism? Just wait, my boy. You haven't seen what nastiness can root itself into the elite of our society." That's my nervousness talking for you.
"You just keep opening my eyes to all of these different facets of your personality." Hayate smiles, easily enough. He's along for moral support. In spite of the potential danger neither of us has mentioned.
Sylvia Noventa was finally hosting her promised party, and I had been official invited. Along with a date. Which was uncommonly kind of her. Who was I going to invite? Did she expect that I would have managed to find anyone permanent for my life? No. Sylvia would know me too well. My lack of a date was only pointed out to remind me that she had tried.
She had tried to be everything, for me.
Which is odd, because I loved her. Strangely enough.
And as much as I dread seeing her again, I know I also really want to.
The first person to recognize me, tugging at his aristocratic collar which would always sit wrongly on him, calls out with a reserved voice but a twinkle in his eye. "Keisuke Yuuki. It's been a long time. How is Duo?"
Heero Yuy. He had the misfortune of being born wealthy, luck had certainly played her tricks on his spirit. Because there was nothing that Heero wanted to do more than drive a racecar.
"Good to see you, Heero. Duo's as always," I smile, "Are your parents still paying to put you through law school?"
"Yes, sorry to say," Heero swirls his drink in one hand, putting on false airs for a moment. "Although I'm pitifully behind in my studies. I'm starting to feel awful for real because *this* semester, which is all on- line, I've truly been studying. I wonder if my father will ever give up."
"I can verify the studying," says Heero's constant companion and best friend, Hilde. She's become more beautiful since I last saw her, but still soft, short and trim. Relaxing as I see her take Heero's elbow comfortably. Some things will remain consistent in this life. Some couples are just meant to always be together. I feel my face warm with pleasure. I like happy couples.
And what would always make these two so perfect was their mutual façade of fancy clothes and mutual love for all things motor oil and grease. Forgetting, of course, the little mix up years ago, when I thought that Hilde was Heero's little brother.
"And your friend is?" Hilde reminds me, politely, but with a wicked smile on her face.
"Dear God, no," I stammer, her subtle suggestion dawning on me, "This is my roommate, Hayate. Hayate, this would be Heero and Hilde. Duo met Heero in some sort of intramurals, so we became acquainted."
While they shake hands, I realize how similar Hayate and Heero might be. Except that Heero had found his peace by forging a straightforward commitment to his passions, including Hilde. If only Hayate wasn't so shy.
"Sylvia's around here somewhere." Heero says, taking a drink. His dark blue eyes glancing around the other guests but not finding our host. The room where we've gathered in mostly red woods, polished and shining in the light of the chandelier. Everyone dressed comfortably, but shining in their own ways. I feel a bit out of place in my best church clothes. But I should be used to it. This vague uncertainty was how I always felt visiting Sylvia.
"You really work in construction?" Hilde eyes my roommate with new wonder, her mouth dropping open and she tugs on Heero's arm to gain his attention as well, "I just love men who aren't afraid to get a little dirty."
"He's also an artist, and filthy rich." I lean in coyly and add in a stage whisper.
Hayate flinches, but he's feeling at ease with these passing friends of mine. Hilde has a way of making everyone feel as if they're the most interesting person in the universe. She gets excited about everything. That's probably why Heero likes her, she always gives him the best perspective on things.
"Rich?" Heero repeats.
"An artist?" Hilde laughs, "What do you do?"
"Stuff."
I wander away a little, letting Hayate happily be at the center of their attention. Somehow being back in this circle feels unnatural and yet familiar. I lean against the back of one of the red upholstered chairs near the large window facing the gardens. The silver haired woman glances up at me and smiles. I smile back.
"You're little Keisuke Yuki, aren't you?"
"That's right." I wish I could remember her, but I don't. Do I know her? She takes one of her arms and crossing it over her chest reaches up to stroke my hand where it's curled around the back of the seat.
"It's been a long time since you've come to see us. I remember when you and Sylvia would visit her grandmother before she passed away."
Then I remember. The visits to see Mrs. Noventa, Sylvia's father's mother, after her grandfather had died unexpectedly. Reading to her in the library, listening to Sylvia read to her. I read so many books aloud that summer. And upon occasion, being joined by Sylvia's great aunt.
The woman who's beaming at me with those clear blue eyes of the elderly that seem to still see everything with such perception that goes beyond simple sight.
"Yuuki."
Everyone's recognizing me, but this voice I do remember.
"Hajime." Sylvia's great aunt puts a small amount of pressure around my fingers, before returning her weathered hand into her lap.
"Aunt." He says formally, and I admire how his coldness has a milder flame toward his aged relative. Dressed smartly in his military uniform, Hajime Saitou, I notice with passing intrigue, still smells sharp of cigarette smoke. He must have just come from the outside then, because his step- father would never allow smoking indoors. He turns his narrow eyes toward me, appraisingly. I'm sure he's taking in my rumpled, light tan suit and unruly hair, badly in need of a trim. I am always just a little under par when it comes to good grooming.
"Hello, Saitou." Sylvia's half-brother is the only person I find more comfortable when referring to him by his last name. Not to remind him that his mother had entered the marriage after his birth into a different surname, but because this man deserved respect. That, and he could kick my butt if I provoked him with untoward familiarity.
And he started it. No one else calls me "Yuuki."
Regardless of parentage, it seems inevitable that this family would either dedicate their careers to the armed forces or politics. While Saitou had followed his adopted grandfather's legacy of service, Sylvia had been impressed with her father's ideals for government.
She had always been very forthcoming with her opinions, and often had tried to bully me into having them as well. Defying my own family's more passive tendencies. I will never understand what she saw in me. They say that opposites attract.
The way that Saitou's gaze remains cool, I realize he has not forgiven me for leaving Sylvia. But that is the way a proper brother should behave, I wouldn't expect otherwise.
"Tisk, Hajime. You reek of smoke. Couldn't you have waited for an hour or two before indulging in that habit of yours?"
Then she's at his side. And I find her . . . overwhelming.
Wouldn't it feel fine to return to the women
and the wine and all of the sunshine that we knew?
You will never know what blue is until you have played the game,
till you live life in solitaire where no one knows your name.
I'd rather press on, I don't want to rest easy.
With Sorata, I can pinpoint moments. Days. Feelings. Exacts.
I remember escaping into the closet and in my dreams recall how he tasted like chocolate popsicles. I remember walking home with him one day in sixth grade and as he took a step in front of me I had been allured by the way his ball cap was twisted to cover his neck, and how the ends of his dark hair almost curled. And I was in love. And the day in high school that I tried to call him, tried for hours. Just to ask him to hang out for the afternoon. And realizing that any time spent with him was too special to approach with such casualness. I remember how he smelled like unusual aftershave just last night.
Every moment with him secured into the walls of my memory with color-coded push pins.
On the other hand, Sylvia is like forgetting. Or being dazzled. I can't remember meeting her, or when we started dating. I'm not certain if I kissed her, or if I had liked it. I have impressions of eating, reading, sitting, talking. Daily things done together.
Every time I see her, it's as if it were for the first time. Waking again to ask, "And your name is?"
"Good of you to come, Keisuke." She says my name gingerly, almost as if she's out of practice with those particular syllables put in that particular order. She stretches out her arm, honey gold hair pulled back into an elegant pony-tail. Her blues eyes striking. Friendly.
I shake her hand.
I'm glad to see her. So I say so.
That seems terribly understated.
"How have you been?" She tips her head forward just slightly, with genuine interest. But I'm puzzling over the sophisticated grace I'm seeing. Was she always like this? So, Gwenyth Paltrow? So charming?
"The same," I grin sheepishly, bewildered. "Still at the pet store, still following Duo around Four Doors."
"Duo?" She lifts her eyebrows, smiling and something like teasing flickers in her eyes, "I don't remember you chasing Duo. If I recall . . ."
But the panic I feel as she starts to mention things I'd rather not hear her say aloud, or here of all places, is gone when she never finishes. She instead turns to her great-aunt and says instead, "Auntie, you do remember Keisuke, don't you? He came with me a few summers ago to read all those Dickens novels to you and Grandma. We called him Pip remember?"
Her aunts nods and smiles at me.
Pip? They called me Pip? I have a fuzzy recollection, and feel the same general uncertainty that seems to cloud everything just then.
What day is it?
Where am I?
Sylvia is introducing herself to Hayate. Hilde tells jokes. Everyone laughs. As the evening comes, we go out into the garden for the late summer sunset and Saitou smokes openly there.
And then the flavor of the fresh scent causes me to snap from my building trance-like state.
I remember dark eyes close, finger against my cheek. His kiss and then his lips tasting lightly of smoke. The reflexive shudder purges some of the automatic memory. Of all place for the Transylvanian Concubine, no . . . of all places for him to follow me.
Naturally, as I glance over, everyone is staring at me.
"Keisuke?"
"What, sorry?" I grin half-way as a dopey apology. Caught daydreaming.
Have it anyway you will, I will be with you
right up until the spell is broken and all is well.
If you'd rather be by the seashore, well, I sure can understand.
Are you too wrapped up in your own scene? I would change things if I can.
I'd rather press on, don't wanna rest easy.
"Come to the races next weekend. Heero's in some of the first sprints." Hilde's tone isn't accepting excuses. And, bless him, Hayate even looks eager to agree to the invitation.
"You need to see my car." Heero nods, grasping Hayate's arm in farewell in an almost brotherly manner. I continue to inch toward my car which is waiting. The valet twirling my keys around his finger and I want them back . . . now.
Most everyone has left. Near the end, Sylvia disappeared to make her proper rounds to everyone attending. Tonight she was entertaining, but the diplomatic Sylvia was still performing her duties as expected.
"Are you all leaving me?" Sylvia says lightly, humor dancing around the complaint. "If you insist." She kisses Hilde's cheek, and taps Heero's chin with affection. They incline toward Hilde's Jaguar which is more polished than any car I've seen before. I can just imagine them stroking it down together. They are a strange pair I'll never get used to and never fail to be happy for.
"Hayate, it was a pleasure." She shakes his hand, and they study each other for a moment long than I expect.
Hayate opens the passenger door and hovers for just a moment. It meant almost more for him to allow me to do the driving. Hayate doesn't manage co-pilot status very well. I'll have to make it up for him.
And I have an idea how.
"Keisuke," she starts, and suddenly I know I haven't done her any justice by simply coming to her party. Reminding her family of the days I had been there, and the days after I left. Putting her in that position when she was least able to react as openly as she might want to, need to. If she had to.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have come."
"Stop apologizing." She says sternly, her blue eyes narrowing not unlike her half-brother. "You don't change, do you?" Without hesitation she adds, "And how is Sorata?"
I don't wince, I owe her this at least. "He's exactly the same. Everything is exactly the same."
"To be expected," Sylvia shakes her head, and if I read her expression correctly, she's allowing me a look of muted affection. "You are such a doormat, you know that? But are you happy? Happy now?"
"I suppose." I go from compassionate to being appraised as a doormat in the matter of twenty-four hours. Let it not be said I am not versatile. Or, I suppose there is more than one way of looking at it. I know that I believe Sylvia. "We should . . ."
"I'd like to see you again."
I almost laugh in relief, "Okay. Yes. This was a little stressful."
"For me too." She laughs, then covers her mouth with one hand to cover how enthusiastic it had been. Watching that movement feels so familiar.
"And I need to ask you some questions." I add.
"About?" She's listening closely now.
"About your new assistant, for starters. I want to know more about Henry Feist, Sasame."
Wouldn't it feel fine to return to all of the sunshine that we knew?
But remembering the rhythm and the rhymes and all of the good times makes me blue.
Wouldn't it feel fine?
tbc