The second card she drew was the Tower
{"Do you know, Tsu-kun, that all the cards, like a family are related? Look at how your strength of mind is tied so tightly to this card. The Tower - you're about to lead a rebellion against something that tears at your mind. I do not know if this is your fight, and no one else. But you're strong, Tsu-kun. You really are."}
Fragment Two: The curse that came in spades
The women in my family have a curse set on them. That's how Dad explained it, one day when the sun was setting, and the golden rays lit the lawn with a faint glimmer. Up perched on the roof, with my shirt cast aside, sweat dripping down my body in tired beads, Dad tended to my blistering hands. It's not every day when the roof needs to mend, and gutters fixed, the chimney cleaned. But it was typical of Dad to do the work all by himself. I guess that's why I said yes so quickly when Dad asked for my help.
And how that moment, sitting on the newly patched roof, could live forever in my mind. The touch of Dad's firm callous fingers seemed as gentle as the summer wind blowing from the sea. Our prefect little house, set in the prefect little street. I loved this moment, if only it could live in all eternity, suspended in perfection, not marred by the sounds of Mom and Hitomi arguing in the kitchen.
Hitomi - I loved the delicate symbols of my sister's name and thought it fitting to tell Dad that. After all, wasn't it Dad who named her? The prefect selection of Hitomi's name, to fit her character was just another success in a long line of accomplishments that Dad achieved in his lifetime. Back then, Dad could not be defeated. Back then, Dad was sheer power and grace, like the sea I smelled and heard, but never saw.
"Dad, I know this sounds weird, but you gave me and Hitomi such good names."
"Really, why would you say that, Tsuyosa?"
His eyes seemed like Hitomi's, clear and penetrating as he looked into my own. His arms, harden by years of work and family responsibilities caught the reflection of the weaning sun and bespoke of a strength I could never mimic. All my life, I was running to catch up with Dad, be the man that I dreamt of being. I never saw Dad cry.
"I'm strong because of you, Dad. It's a good name."
"Names make you who you are, Tsuyosa."
"But Dad, what if I'm not strong?"
"Then you're gonna grow up to be strong, that's all there is to it."
Strength. Clear Eyes.
The strength of clear eyes.
Or rather, clear eyes to see strength.
My and Hitomi's names were everything to Mom and Dad, and to them, one without the other can not exist, or truly see, feel, live and love. What a special feeling it was, knowing that I was loved so fully, and Hitomi too, but a curse in itself. Back then, I was 12, on the verge of manhood, but still longing to be a child again, where everything was simple and Dad never gave me such a pained look, tingled with expectance and hope, and Mom didn't scold me half-seriously to stop playing with Hitomi and I could just sleep, ride my bike around town and not give a second care about such concerns of being a 'true man', as Dad liked to put it.
Because Mom and Dad loved us so much, I felt as growing up to be like Dad should be my number one priority. I remember that thought entered my mind, as quick as that, while I watch Dad pull his shirt over his head and gather together his tools in one quick fluid motion. My hands were blistered and bleeding, the very nerves on the tips of my fingers raising in pain. I doubted that if Dad threw me a hammer I could catch it without crying out. I was weak. Where will my strength come from?
And then my eyes watered up, and why then did Dad have to look up from his work? Even one quick swipe of my hands couldn't hide the tears that fell, and my head just started to scream. I'm never going to become the man Dad wanted me to be.
Sitting on the rooftop that day, with my Dad sitting so close to me, but never turning to look at my upturned face, I felt a sadness creep into my heart. And no, it wasn't a desperate, 'I'll never amount to anything that you are, Dad' kind of sadness. No, the feeling that wrapped itself around my heart bespoke of a true sadness.
"Dad, do you think Hitomi is happy?"
"Why do you ask?"
"I saw her crying last night."
"All women cry, Tsuyosa."
"But this is a different kind of crying."
"How so?"
How so indeed, Dad? I wanted to tell him how I felt when I walked into Hitomi's room last night, only to find her reclined on her bed, like a cat. How my heart thumped with worry as she flung back her arms to the ceiling above her and took a deep breath of air. How the tears that started to well in my eyes at her lonely self disappeared the moment she let out a cry. She was crying, and all my tears were gone.
She was crying for me.
She was crying for you too, Dad, and for Mom.
But how could I explain that to Dad, when he already saw my own tears catching the light of a mockingly prefect sunset? I think even Dad hasn't reached being a true man, because so intent was his hatred for tears and sadness that this because his own weakness. I don't think Dad ever felt that wave of knowing something before it happens, or the beautiful tragedy of walking by a tree and feeling its sadness. I know this feeling. Because Hitomi taught me how to feel. Dad's missing so much.
"Dad, I don't think Hitomi's happy. Something's wrong with her."
I wanted to add 'and me too', but one sign of emotional breakdown was enough for Dad to witness. Maybe that's why he can not feel the love that surrounds him, his true source of strength. Mom and Hitomi, and me too, love Dad with all our hearts. I think in a way, our will to give him power even in the cost of our own strength, was what made him strong. Not muscles, not a job that allowed us two vacations every summer, not even his highschool and college years of playing soccer could have given him the outright valor and strength that made Dad so weak, and so gentle all at the same time.
I guess we really were a family.
"Ah, Tsuyosa, I'll tell you something that you might not know."
A strong hand grasped my shoulder and pulled me closer to Dad. His body was firm, and even his sweat seemed like a coat of armor. If I was as strong as Dad, maybe I could have done something that day that will live on in blasphemy, the day where I found out how weak I was, and accepted my fate with tears and one feeble scream. Dad should have gave me back some of the strength I gave him since the day I was born. Then maybe, I would have done something that day where even the rain bit my skin in anger and in shame.
"The women of this family have a curse set on them. Now, don't look at me like that, Tsuyosa. Don't argue with me until I tell you what I mean."
The look that Dad saw, surely it wasn't a look of disrespect that crossed my face. I wasn't thinking about how wrong Dad was, because I was thinking about how wrong I was, how wrong my mind and heart were. I shouldn't have been that weak. If anything, I should have yelled, and yelled until my voice gave out and nothing, no regrets, nor pain, nor shame was left. That's the wrong I did, there's my sin. There was my curse.
"Tsuyosa, if I told you something, would you listen and not say anything?"
"Of course, Dad."
"The Kanzaki women are cursed, Tsuyosa. They can see things that other people can't normally see."
Dad's saying something I known for years. Ever since my seventh birthday, Hitomi called me to her side and often told me stories of things that happened before they happened. Like when she said Sei was going to become my friend, when back then, he was my 'eternal rival'. Or when she told me that Keidan really didn't hate me, no, he just needed space, like how I will need space one day too, and really, Keidan will give me the space I need, but will I be able to do the same for him? Hitomi knew so many things.
"And yes, sometimes, that's okay, to know something before it happens. But you know, Tsuyosa, they'll be weak then. They'll know the future and will be prepared for it. No real challenges are needed, no hard battles, do you know what I'm saying, Tsuyosa?"
I remember sitting there, one arm cradling my left elbow in quiet thought as Dad went on and on, his hands growing more angry and more sure of himself as he spun more and more theories about the weakness of the Kanzaki women. Because you see, only the women have 'the gift' as Hitomi lovingly referred to it. Only women since the time of Oba-chan's own grandmother. Only women, from generation, to generation to generation. A tradition I would call it, if only it was true. Yes, the women of the Kanzaki family have something that make their eyes more clear, and more focus on the world surrounding them, the true world that lies beyond the physical. Deep into the spiritual they can drive, in and out, weaving strands of the future with that of the present and past. Only women until the day I was born. Only women until the day Hitomi taught me to drowse for hidden objects and I got so good at it, I didn't need to envision anything, not even her swinging pendent to see what laid underneath a blanket or behind a door.
I am no woman. But I am not a man either.
At least not the man that Dad wanted me to be. Or the man that I wanted to be after seeing Dad's true strength. Twelve years I lived and that day on the roof, I knew that even if I lived another twelve years, I would never usher in my manhood with strong, tanned arms [working in the sun makes my head dizzy], a robust love for food [I can barely finish one bowl of rice sometimes] and being particularly good in any sport [kicking a soccer ball feebly across the school's field doesn't count for anything.] I would never be like my dad.
As I climbed down the ladder, following Dad's big, brazen steps somewhat timidly, I thought of something else that made my face grow grim. Mom told me that I ought to stop playing with Hitomi. Never one to lock her door, or tell me to go away, lately, Hitomi held my hand while we walked down the streets, or brought me ice-cream for no apparent reason. She was eighteen then, fresh out of high school, still flopping around in college. Hitomi never felt at home any place but the track field. Dad used to tease her and call her Rab-chan, short for Rabbit.
But that year, that year where Dad brought me up to the roof with him and told him I had to work like a real man and Mom and Hitomi fought long and loud in the kitchen below, that year I remember Hitomi always patiently smiling as if she was hiding a great surprise. At first, and even Mom and Dad thought so too, I thought her surprise was that she quit the track team, but that wasn't it either.
You see, before Dad asked me to help him on the roof, we were having a lazy dinner by the open porch door. All of us, Mom bending over the barbequed chicken as if it was her new baby, Dad propped up on one elbow, me and Hitomi sitting on the porch, our bare legs swinging against the hard, sun warmed wood, all of us there like some storybook family. I felt so good, I ate twice as much as I normally did, and just laughed when Dad asked if I was finally going to act like a boy.
Full of laughter, full of life, I want to remember my family like that forever. And then Hitomi brought her glass of iced tea to the floor with a gentle resolute gesture and looked up at Mom.
"I'm not going to marry Reisuke, Mom."
Reisuke Masujima, the son of one of Nagasaki's biggest retail owners, was the dream and silent prayer Mom held so close to her heart. And this was what Hitomi broke when she placed her plate on the floor, gathered her hands to her lap and stared at Mom with sincere, so serious, it was almost sad eyes.
"Why, Hitomi-chan?"
"I love someone else."
"Then why did you agree to a marriage, Hitomi-chan?"
"Because I didn't know how much I loved him until he was almost taken away from me."
"Hitomi-chan. That was a fairytale. Its time you saw reality."
"I am seeing reality Mom, and it is a fairytale."
At that moment, Dad stood up briskly, rubbing his chest with one satisfied hand. He gestured to me as he bent over his tool box. His eyes spoke everything I needed to hear. I didn't want to hear Mom and Hitomi fighting. My prefect picture would be shattered in two million pieces. Being broken is not something the summer sun called for.
I was almost out the door when I heard Hitomi's quiet answer to Mom's long stream of screams. It seemed so simple, so pure what Hitomi answered.
"I love Van."
If only you knew what I knew, what I can't tell you right now because its not time yet to tell. Then you would understand how heavy my heart was to hear her voice, so strong, saying love.
Hitomi's not weak, not at all.
I am not a woman. I'm still not a man. But at that moment, hearing Hitomi mutter the name of a man I never met before, I believed.
Love mostly, but also in freedom of choice, and not having to listen to anyone. Even my twelve year old self, back then, knew the true esecence of Hitomi's words. She made me believe.
And it was that belief that made me not grow angry or bitter at Dad, six hours later when he caught me lying in bed, cradling my hand to my side to ease the pain of gripping a hammer for so long, and pounding away at title that refused to break. And when he muttered, "How are you going to be a man?" Hitomi's words came flying back at me, her simple voice, her clear, unwavering dedication to a man I never met before.
Dad's missing so much, he can't even see what strength lies beyond that of blood and muscle.
If this is the curse of the Kanzaki family, then I am not a man, nor a woman. Just someone who believes that yes, nothing in this world is predetermined, everything is changing, and so will I one day.
One day, I'll declare my value and power to the world, as strong as Hitomi, who went though something that took away her faith in everything that exist in this world - she killed herself three days after her fight with Mom. She lost faith in even herself. She didn't believe in anything, not me, not Mom, not Dad, nothing in this known world but a man named Van.
I'll give everything to make Dad see this curse that was so strong that her dead body was lit with a smile and her hands wide open, as if she was waiting patiently for Van to drop from the sky and carry her away from everything.
She should have been gone from this place. It holds nothing but bad memories of a soiled embrace, lust gone wrong and large hands pulling at her from a darkness that shouldn't have claimed her.
I'm not saying that she should have killed herself. It gets far more complicated after this, because I don't know how to tell you this without holding a bit of my leg between my thumb and forefinger, making sure that I'm not asleep and that yes, this is reality.
Because you see, four days after Hitomi's death, I met him.
I met Van.
And the story gets even more confusing after this. I don't really mind if you don't believe me from here on out, because in some ways I don't believe myself.
But I met Van. And I didn't know it then, but he made everything okay again. He didn't take away the tears that Mom was crying for Hitomi, or the bottles of sake Dad drank, no, none of that.
Instead, he took away the ache in my heart, and in my bones. He became my brother.
See? I told you - like Hitomi said, I'm not even sure when this stops being a fairy tale, and becomes reality - my and Van's reality.
Author's Notes – No, I wasn't supposed to tell everyone that Van's in this story till Chapter 3, but it just came out. So far, so good right? Sorry for the dismantled way that Tsuyosa presents this story. I was aiming for a fairly traumatic tale being told though a young boy [he's 12 when Hitomi committed suicide, 15 as he's retelling this story] who just started to heal. I hope my style didn't make people feel like, oh great, just another soap opera story.
{"Do you know, Tsu-kun, that all the cards, like a family are related? Look at how your strength of mind is tied so tightly to this card. The Tower - you're about to lead a rebellion against something that tears at your mind. I do not know if this is your fight, and no one else. But you're strong, Tsu-kun. You really are."}
Fragment Two: The curse that came in spades
The women in my family have a curse set on them. That's how Dad explained it, one day when the sun was setting, and the golden rays lit the lawn with a faint glimmer. Up perched on the roof, with my shirt cast aside, sweat dripping down my body in tired beads, Dad tended to my blistering hands. It's not every day when the roof needs to mend, and gutters fixed, the chimney cleaned. But it was typical of Dad to do the work all by himself. I guess that's why I said yes so quickly when Dad asked for my help.
And how that moment, sitting on the newly patched roof, could live forever in my mind. The touch of Dad's firm callous fingers seemed as gentle as the summer wind blowing from the sea. Our prefect little house, set in the prefect little street. I loved this moment, if only it could live in all eternity, suspended in perfection, not marred by the sounds of Mom and Hitomi arguing in the kitchen.
Hitomi - I loved the delicate symbols of my sister's name and thought it fitting to tell Dad that. After all, wasn't it Dad who named her? The prefect selection of Hitomi's name, to fit her character was just another success in a long line of accomplishments that Dad achieved in his lifetime. Back then, Dad could not be defeated. Back then, Dad was sheer power and grace, like the sea I smelled and heard, but never saw.
"Dad, I know this sounds weird, but you gave me and Hitomi such good names."
"Really, why would you say that, Tsuyosa?"
His eyes seemed like Hitomi's, clear and penetrating as he looked into my own. His arms, harden by years of work and family responsibilities caught the reflection of the weaning sun and bespoke of a strength I could never mimic. All my life, I was running to catch up with Dad, be the man that I dreamt of being. I never saw Dad cry.
"I'm strong because of you, Dad. It's a good name."
"Names make you who you are, Tsuyosa."
"But Dad, what if I'm not strong?"
"Then you're gonna grow up to be strong, that's all there is to it."
Strength. Clear Eyes.
The strength of clear eyes.
Or rather, clear eyes to see strength.
My and Hitomi's names were everything to Mom and Dad, and to them, one without the other can not exist, or truly see, feel, live and love. What a special feeling it was, knowing that I was loved so fully, and Hitomi too, but a curse in itself. Back then, I was 12, on the verge of manhood, but still longing to be a child again, where everything was simple and Dad never gave me such a pained look, tingled with expectance and hope, and Mom didn't scold me half-seriously to stop playing with Hitomi and I could just sleep, ride my bike around town and not give a second care about such concerns of being a 'true man', as Dad liked to put it.
Because Mom and Dad loved us so much, I felt as growing up to be like Dad should be my number one priority. I remember that thought entered my mind, as quick as that, while I watch Dad pull his shirt over his head and gather together his tools in one quick fluid motion. My hands were blistered and bleeding, the very nerves on the tips of my fingers raising in pain. I doubted that if Dad threw me a hammer I could catch it without crying out. I was weak. Where will my strength come from?
And then my eyes watered up, and why then did Dad have to look up from his work? Even one quick swipe of my hands couldn't hide the tears that fell, and my head just started to scream. I'm never going to become the man Dad wanted me to be.
Sitting on the rooftop that day, with my Dad sitting so close to me, but never turning to look at my upturned face, I felt a sadness creep into my heart. And no, it wasn't a desperate, 'I'll never amount to anything that you are, Dad' kind of sadness. No, the feeling that wrapped itself around my heart bespoke of a true sadness.
"Dad, do you think Hitomi is happy?"
"Why do you ask?"
"I saw her crying last night."
"All women cry, Tsuyosa."
"But this is a different kind of crying."
"How so?"
How so indeed, Dad? I wanted to tell him how I felt when I walked into Hitomi's room last night, only to find her reclined on her bed, like a cat. How my heart thumped with worry as she flung back her arms to the ceiling above her and took a deep breath of air. How the tears that started to well in my eyes at her lonely self disappeared the moment she let out a cry. She was crying, and all my tears were gone.
She was crying for me.
She was crying for you too, Dad, and for Mom.
But how could I explain that to Dad, when he already saw my own tears catching the light of a mockingly prefect sunset? I think even Dad hasn't reached being a true man, because so intent was his hatred for tears and sadness that this because his own weakness. I don't think Dad ever felt that wave of knowing something before it happens, or the beautiful tragedy of walking by a tree and feeling its sadness. I know this feeling. Because Hitomi taught me how to feel. Dad's missing so much.
"Dad, I don't think Hitomi's happy. Something's wrong with her."
I wanted to add 'and me too', but one sign of emotional breakdown was enough for Dad to witness. Maybe that's why he can not feel the love that surrounds him, his true source of strength. Mom and Hitomi, and me too, love Dad with all our hearts. I think in a way, our will to give him power even in the cost of our own strength, was what made him strong. Not muscles, not a job that allowed us two vacations every summer, not even his highschool and college years of playing soccer could have given him the outright valor and strength that made Dad so weak, and so gentle all at the same time.
I guess we really were a family.
"Ah, Tsuyosa, I'll tell you something that you might not know."
A strong hand grasped my shoulder and pulled me closer to Dad. His body was firm, and even his sweat seemed like a coat of armor. If I was as strong as Dad, maybe I could have done something that day that will live on in blasphemy, the day where I found out how weak I was, and accepted my fate with tears and one feeble scream. Dad should have gave me back some of the strength I gave him since the day I was born. Then maybe, I would have done something that day where even the rain bit my skin in anger and in shame.
"The women of this family have a curse set on them. Now, don't look at me like that, Tsuyosa. Don't argue with me until I tell you what I mean."
The look that Dad saw, surely it wasn't a look of disrespect that crossed my face. I wasn't thinking about how wrong Dad was, because I was thinking about how wrong I was, how wrong my mind and heart were. I shouldn't have been that weak. If anything, I should have yelled, and yelled until my voice gave out and nothing, no regrets, nor pain, nor shame was left. That's the wrong I did, there's my sin. There was my curse.
"Tsuyosa, if I told you something, would you listen and not say anything?"
"Of course, Dad."
"The Kanzaki women are cursed, Tsuyosa. They can see things that other people can't normally see."
Dad's saying something I known for years. Ever since my seventh birthday, Hitomi called me to her side and often told me stories of things that happened before they happened. Like when she said Sei was going to become my friend, when back then, he was my 'eternal rival'. Or when she told me that Keidan really didn't hate me, no, he just needed space, like how I will need space one day too, and really, Keidan will give me the space I need, but will I be able to do the same for him? Hitomi knew so many things.
"And yes, sometimes, that's okay, to know something before it happens. But you know, Tsuyosa, they'll be weak then. They'll know the future and will be prepared for it. No real challenges are needed, no hard battles, do you know what I'm saying, Tsuyosa?"
I remember sitting there, one arm cradling my left elbow in quiet thought as Dad went on and on, his hands growing more angry and more sure of himself as he spun more and more theories about the weakness of the Kanzaki women. Because you see, only the women have 'the gift' as Hitomi lovingly referred to it. Only women since the time of Oba-chan's own grandmother. Only women, from generation, to generation to generation. A tradition I would call it, if only it was true. Yes, the women of the Kanzaki family have something that make their eyes more clear, and more focus on the world surrounding them, the true world that lies beyond the physical. Deep into the spiritual they can drive, in and out, weaving strands of the future with that of the present and past. Only women until the day I was born. Only women until the day Hitomi taught me to drowse for hidden objects and I got so good at it, I didn't need to envision anything, not even her swinging pendent to see what laid underneath a blanket or behind a door.
I am no woman. But I am not a man either.
At least not the man that Dad wanted me to be. Or the man that I wanted to be after seeing Dad's true strength. Twelve years I lived and that day on the roof, I knew that even if I lived another twelve years, I would never usher in my manhood with strong, tanned arms [working in the sun makes my head dizzy], a robust love for food [I can barely finish one bowl of rice sometimes] and being particularly good in any sport [kicking a soccer ball feebly across the school's field doesn't count for anything.] I would never be like my dad.
As I climbed down the ladder, following Dad's big, brazen steps somewhat timidly, I thought of something else that made my face grow grim. Mom told me that I ought to stop playing with Hitomi. Never one to lock her door, or tell me to go away, lately, Hitomi held my hand while we walked down the streets, or brought me ice-cream for no apparent reason. She was eighteen then, fresh out of high school, still flopping around in college. Hitomi never felt at home any place but the track field. Dad used to tease her and call her Rab-chan, short for Rabbit.
But that year, that year where Dad brought me up to the roof with him and told him I had to work like a real man and Mom and Hitomi fought long and loud in the kitchen below, that year I remember Hitomi always patiently smiling as if she was hiding a great surprise. At first, and even Mom and Dad thought so too, I thought her surprise was that she quit the track team, but that wasn't it either.
You see, before Dad asked me to help him on the roof, we were having a lazy dinner by the open porch door. All of us, Mom bending over the barbequed chicken as if it was her new baby, Dad propped up on one elbow, me and Hitomi sitting on the porch, our bare legs swinging against the hard, sun warmed wood, all of us there like some storybook family. I felt so good, I ate twice as much as I normally did, and just laughed when Dad asked if I was finally going to act like a boy.
Full of laughter, full of life, I want to remember my family like that forever. And then Hitomi brought her glass of iced tea to the floor with a gentle resolute gesture and looked up at Mom.
"I'm not going to marry Reisuke, Mom."
Reisuke Masujima, the son of one of Nagasaki's biggest retail owners, was the dream and silent prayer Mom held so close to her heart. And this was what Hitomi broke when she placed her plate on the floor, gathered her hands to her lap and stared at Mom with sincere, so serious, it was almost sad eyes.
"Why, Hitomi-chan?"
"I love someone else."
"Then why did you agree to a marriage, Hitomi-chan?"
"Because I didn't know how much I loved him until he was almost taken away from me."
"Hitomi-chan. That was a fairytale. Its time you saw reality."
"I am seeing reality Mom, and it is a fairytale."
At that moment, Dad stood up briskly, rubbing his chest with one satisfied hand. He gestured to me as he bent over his tool box. His eyes spoke everything I needed to hear. I didn't want to hear Mom and Hitomi fighting. My prefect picture would be shattered in two million pieces. Being broken is not something the summer sun called for.
I was almost out the door when I heard Hitomi's quiet answer to Mom's long stream of screams. It seemed so simple, so pure what Hitomi answered.
"I love Van."
If only you knew what I knew, what I can't tell you right now because its not time yet to tell. Then you would understand how heavy my heart was to hear her voice, so strong, saying love.
Hitomi's not weak, not at all.
I am not a woman. I'm still not a man. But at that moment, hearing Hitomi mutter the name of a man I never met before, I believed.
Love mostly, but also in freedom of choice, and not having to listen to anyone. Even my twelve year old self, back then, knew the true esecence of Hitomi's words. She made me believe.
And it was that belief that made me not grow angry or bitter at Dad, six hours later when he caught me lying in bed, cradling my hand to my side to ease the pain of gripping a hammer for so long, and pounding away at title that refused to break. And when he muttered, "How are you going to be a man?" Hitomi's words came flying back at me, her simple voice, her clear, unwavering dedication to a man I never met before.
Dad's missing so much, he can't even see what strength lies beyond that of blood and muscle.
If this is the curse of the Kanzaki family, then I am not a man, nor a woman. Just someone who believes that yes, nothing in this world is predetermined, everything is changing, and so will I one day.
One day, I'll declare my value and power to the world, as strong as Hitomi, who went though something that took away her faith in everything that exist in this world - she killed herself three days after her fight with Mom. She lost faith in even herself. She didn't believe in anything, not me, not Mom, not Dad, nothing in this known world but a man named Van.
I'll give everything to make Dad see this curse that was so strong that her dead body was lit with a smile and her hands wide open, as if she was waiting patiently for Van to drop from the sky and carry her away from everything.
She should have been gone from this place. It holds nothing but bad memories of a soiled embrace, lust gone wrong and large hands pulling at her from a darkness that shouldn't have claimed her.
I'm not saying that she should have killed herself. It gets far more complicated after this, because I don't know how to tell you this without holding a bit of my leg between my thumb and forefinger, making sure that I'm not asleep and that yes, this is reality.
Because you see, four days after Hitomi's death, I met him.
I met Van.
And the story gets even more confusing after this. I don't really mind if you don't believe me from here on out, because in some ways I don't believe myself.
But I met Van. And I didn't know it then, but he made everything okay again. He didn't take away the tears that Mom was crying for Hitomi, or the bottles of sake Dad drank, no, none of that.
Instead, he took away the ache in my heart, and in my bones. He became my brother.
See? I told you - like Hitomi said, I'm not even sure when this stops being a fairy tale, and becomes reality - my and Van's reality.
Author's Notes – No, I wasn't supposed to tell everyone that Van's in this story till Chapter 3, but it just came out. So far, so good right? Sorry for the dismantled way that Tsuyosa presents this story. I was aiming for a fairly traumatic tale being told though a young boy [he's 12 when Hitomi committed suicide, 15 as he's retelling this story] who just started to heal. I hope my style didn't make people feel like, oh great, just another soap opera story.
