Mireille in Japan, Chapter 11
Author's Note: Although I was supposed to go to France (and Spain) this summer, I never did get to go (we went to Mexico instead), and hence I have no idea what the Paris airport is like. . .all details are purely my imagination. : )
Kirika hadn't brought any heavy baggage that needed to be checked in, just two bags-one, in fact, that she had purchased in Spain to contain all her souvenirs and gifts for her friends in Rhode Island. She ran her hand over the yellow embroidering of the words "Segovia, España". She'd come on this vacation to enjoy herself and to relax, but after leaving Mireille's apartment and doing some deep pondering, she wasn't sure if she had achieved that goal or not.
She stepped into a chamber of the revolving door and entered the noisy airport again. Kirika walked through the very hallway where Hammond had once stood, waiting for his daughter, but no memories stirred in her mind. Her eyes were focused only on the wide TV screens displaying the lists of arrivals and departures.
Flight 295, direct to Providence, Rhode Island, was on time. Kirika increased her pace.
The Paris airport was a grand building, with terminals and gates in every direction Kirika looked. To make things more confusing, there were gift shops and restaurants in every corner-as well as several McDonald's. Kirika smiled wryly. Those Americans spread everywhere, she thought, and remembered with a happy smile that she was one of them now.
Despite the fact that she had just arrived in this same airport two days ago, Kirika still felt like a moth trapped within the intricate web of a clever spider. She wasn't flailing madly for life, however. She had almost an hour until her flight would depart. One bag slung over her shoulder, the other one's wheels running smoothly on the floor as she pulled it by its black plastic handle, Kirika stepped onto a moving walkway, not caring if it was leading her in the right direction or not. She wanted to savor her last moments in France-perhaps she would never return to France again. She didn't know.
Did she care? Well, yes.
Advertisements for restaurants and tours to the Eiffel Towel and the Louvre were hanging by the wall, crying out for tourists. Kirika watched them go by, a small smile playing about her lips. In all her days in France she'd never visited either of those places.
There was a map at the end of the walkway, and Kirika studied it for a moment. Gate C14 was just down the hallway; she was going the right way.
Kirika took a seat and crossed her legs. She reached into her little pull- along suitcase and drew out some Japanese essays that she had yet to grade for her students. From her other bag she plucked a red pen and began to scour the papers for errors. Most of them were done quite well, with only a mistake here and there, consisting mostly of mixed up hiragana symbols, but a few were covered with red scratches when she was done. It looked, Kirika thought disappointedly, like someone had bled all over it. She toyed with the idea of sending the student back to first year. He certainly wouldn't pass the exams if she let him stay, anyway.
Kirika checked her watch. Just forty minutes until takeoff, and presumably they would start boarding half an hour before that. There wasn't enough time to do anything else, so Kirika crossed her arms across her chest and leaned back.
She knew people were walking back and forth behind her and had relaxed, something she had become very good at. Kirika didn't tense up at all, didn't even notice when someone walked up and stopped right behind her chair.
"Kirika?"
= = = = = = =
The moment stretched on forever. Mireille had felt her voice surge up through her throat, her lips move to form the name, but now there was nothing. She wanted to talk, but had no words and no voice. All she could do was stare.
Which was what Kirika did. Kirika didn't dare believe it at first-wanting to-but afraid to, knowing that it couldn't be Mireille. You're seeing things, she told herself sternly, and tried to close her eyes, to shake her head and free her mind of the image. But her eyes wouldn't close, a silent protest to her brain, insisting that it was telling the truth.
The moment stretched on forever. Kirika was different now, Mireille reflected, and it showed in every inch of her still-lithe body. Those deep brown eyes were still wide and huge in the Asian face, but now they were open not from confusion and hurt-they were the large, open eyes of a warm and friendly girl. Around her neck hung a little golden locket, weaving in and out of the lace neckline of her off-the-shoulder shirt with her every movement. Her jeans, Mireille noticed, had fringes down both sides, falling cowgirlishly over the white sandaled feet. Only the spiky mop of hair remained the same.
Mireille hasn't changed, thought Kirika, surprised thoughts whirring around in her mind. I thought she'd be married now, with kids and a family. But no, she still wears the same clothes and keeps her hair the same way; she's still-
"Mireiyu," whispered Kirika, but the word came out as a strangled cry of happiness. "Mireiyu!"
She was kneeling on the chair now, her fingers grasping the edge of the cool leather seat, a wide smile blooming on her face as Mireille's face broke into a wild grin of joy and threw her arms around the Japanese girl. Kirika freed her arms from Mireille's iron grip and wound them around the Corsican blonde's neck, whispering, "Mireiyu, Mireiyu. . . Mireiyu. . ."
"You came," whispered Mireille, feeling tears of joy well up in her eyes.
"No," said Kirika, who was having trouble forming words due to the huge grin in which her face seemed permanently plastered, "you came!"
= = = = = = =
People walked by, smiling at the joyful reunion they were witnessing, although they had no idea what had happened between the two girls. Mireille and Kirika paid no attention.
They held each other for a long time, the hard back of the seat between them, exchanging no words at all. Finally Mireille loosened her grip and Kirika saw tears in her eyes. Tears of joy.
"Come and sit over here," she said, patting the seat beside her. Mireille happily obliged and Kirika found herself reluctant to let her past partner walk even the short distance away to circle around the row before coming back to her side.
Mireille tucked her arm around Kirika's shoulder again and Kirika leaned contently against her. "How did you find me?" she asked.
"I called every airline I could think of and checked all of them for your name, since I had no idea where you were flying to. You led me on a wild chase," Mireille laughed.
"I didn't know you would be chasing me," whispered Kirika.
"I saw your painting," said Mireille, her voice of a softer tone now, "and then I. . . I couldn't let you go without telling you. . . I'm so sorry for that night. I'm sorry for letting you go, for not taking you seriously-"
She seemed to have choked and didn't go on. Without hesitation Kirika replied, "It's all right, Mireille. I was never mad at you. When I left France, it was a hasty decision and probably not the best one. . . but it was one I. . . I have never regretted."
Kirika was afraid that Mireille would take that as a slap in the face, but she didn't. Instead the Corsican blonde seemed to be holding back a dam of tears and didn't reply immediately.
"Thank you for the painting," she whispered quietly, when she could control her voice again. "It was the most beautiful gift I have ever received in my life."
"I wanted you to remember us," Kirika, feeling a lump rise in her throat as well. "I didn't know if. . . I would ever see you again."
Mireille leaned over and put her other arm around Kirika as well, drawing her into a tight hug. "I'm so glad I found you," she whispered into the dark locks.
"I love you, Mireiyu."
A sharp voice cut through their thoughts and Mireille and Kirika abruptly broke apart. A flight attendant was watching them with a slight smile on her lips as she announced, "Northwest, Flight 295, direct flight to Providence, Rhode Island, is now boarding."
Mireille's glance dropped to the bags lying forgotten by Kirika's feet. Kirika, too, looked down at them with a mixture of guilt and pain on her face. She picked up the handle of the bag of souvenirs and stood slowly, not looking at Mireille.
Although her mind was screaming at her not to do it, Mireille's hands moved on their own. They uprighted Kirika's other bag for her and wheeled it over so that the handle was by her hand. Kirika's delicate right hand closed over it.
"Merci," she said stiffly, but didn't move otherwise.
Mireille was standing now, her eyes focused on Kirika's face. Kirika, on the other hand, stared down at the floor, not meeting Mireille's eyes. She swallowed hard, tears in her eyes. The sharp voice cut through their thoughts again, this time making Mireille flinch as if a cruel blade had sliced through her flesh.
"This is the final boarding call for Northwest Airlines Flight 295, direct flight to Providence, Rhode Island."
Kirika looked up at last. The seating area around them was almost empty. Her hand tightened on her bag handle until the knuckles were white. She turned and forced herself to meet her partner's eyes.
"Sayonara, Mireiyu."
With that Kirika turned away. Her eyes overflowed with tears until she couldn't see a thing and they streamed unchecked down her face. Her mind scolded her, told her feet to move, told her hand to pull on the plastic handle, yet nothing happened. Then Mireille's voice registered in her distorted mind.
"Onegai." The word was saturated with grief. "Onegai, Kirika."
Kirika's brain stopped instructing her body. She rotated around freely to look at Mireille, who had sunk to her knees, her hands a quavering mass in her lap. She was not meeting Kirika's eyes, but she was crying a river of tears onto the carpet.
"Kirika," whispered Mireille in a trembling voice, slowly lifting her head, "come home with me. Please. Onegai."
There was a very pregnant pause, during which Mireille made no eye contact with Kirika, instead looking at the fringes on her jeans and struggling to keep her jaw from quivering.
And then Kirika let go of her bags, knelt down and put her hand on the Corsican blonde's shoulder, and drew her into a tight hug.
"Let's go," she said, a smile on her face. "Let's go home."
Author's Note: This is the last chapter of "Mireille in Japan". Thank you so much to all my wonderful reviewers!!!! I hope you've liked the story, as I certainly had fun writing it : ) Maybe Crystal should come back in a sequel. . .
Author's Note: Although I was supposed to go to France (and Spain) this summer, I never did get to go (we went to Mexico instead), and hence I have no idea what the Paris airport is like. . .all details are purely my imagination. : )
Kirika hadn't brought any heavy baggage that needed to be checked in, just two bags-one, in fact, that she had purchased in Spain to contain all her souvenirs and gifts for her friends in Rhode Island. She ran her hand over the yellow embroidering of the words "Segovia, España". She'd come on this vacation to enjoy herself and to relax, but after leaving Mireille's apartment and doing some deep pondering, she wasn't sure if she had achieved that goal or not.
She stepped into a chamber of the revolving door and entered the noisy airport again. Kirika walked through the very hallway where Hammond had once stood, waiting for his daughter, but no memories stirred in her mind. Her eyes were focused only on the wide TV screens displaying the lists of arrivals and departures.
Flight 295, direct to Providence, Rhode Island, was on time. Kirika increased her pace.
The Paris airport was a grand building, with terminals and gates in every direction Kirika looked. To make things more confusing, there were gift shops and restaurants in every corner-as well as several McDonald's. Kirika smiled wryly. Those Americans spread everywhere, she thought, and remembered with a happy smile that she was one of them now.
Despite the fact that she had just arrived in this same airport two days ago, Kirika still felt like a moth trapped within the intricate web of a clever spider. She wasn't flailing madly for life, however. She had almost an hour until her flight would depart. One bag slung over her shoulder, the other one's wheels running smoothly on the floor as she pulled it by its black plastic handle, Kirika stepped onto a moving walkway, not caring if it was leading her in the right direction or not. She wanted to savor her last moments in France-perhaps she would never return to France again. She didn't know.
Did she care? Well, yes.
Advertisements for restaurants and tours to the Eiffel Towel and the Louvre were hanging by the wall, crying out for tourists. Kirika watched them go by, a small smile playing about her lips. In all her days in France she'd never visited either of those places.
There was a map at the end of the walkway, and Kirika studied it for a moment. Gate C14 was just down the hallway; she was going the right way.
Kirika took a seat and crossed her legs. She reached into her little pull- along suitcase and drew out some Japanese essays that she had yet to grade for her students. From her other bag she plucked a red pen and began to scour the papers for errors. Most of them were done quite well, with only a mistake here and there, consisting mostly of mixed up hiragana symbols, but a few were covered with red scratches when she was done. It looked, Kirika thought disappointedly, like someone had bled all over it. She toyed with the idea of sending the student back to first year. He certainly wouldn't pass the exams if she let him stay, anyway.
Kirika checked her watch. Just forty minutes until takeoff, and presumably they would start boarding half an hour before that. There wasn't enough time to do anything else, so Kirika crossed her arms across her chest and leaned back.
She knew people were walking back and forth behind her and had relaxed, something she had become very good at. Kirika didn't tense up at all, didn't even notice when someone walked up and stopped right behind her chair.
"Kirika?"
= = = = = = =
The moment stretched on forever. Mireille had felt her voice surge up through her throat, her lips move to form the name, but now there was nothing. She wanted to talk, but had no words and no voice. All she could do was stare.
Which was what Kirika did. Kirika didn't dare believe it at first-wanting to-but afraid to, knowing that it couldn't be Mireille. You're seeing things, she told herself sternly, and tried to close her eyes, to shake her head and free her mind of the image. But her eyes wouldn't close, a silent protest to her brain, insisting that it was telling the truth.
The moment stretched on forever. Kirika was different now, Mireille reflected, and it showed in every inch of her still-lithe body. Those deep brown eyes were still wide and huge in the Asian face, but now they were open not from confusion and hurt-they were the large, open eyes of a warm and friendly girl. Around her neck hung a little golden locket, weaving in and out of the lace neckline of her off-the-shoulder shirt with her every movement. Her jeans, Mireille noticed, had fringes down both sides, falling cowgirlishly over the white sandaled feet. Only the spiky mop of hair remained the same.
Mireille hasn't changed, thought Kirika, surprised thoughts whirring around in her mind. I thought she'd be married now, with kids and a family. But no, she still wears the same clothes and keeps her hair the same way; she's still-
"Mireiyu," whispered Kirika, but the word came out as a strangled cry of happiness. "Mireiyu!"
She was kneeling on the chair now, her fingers grasping the edge of the cool leather seat, a wide smile blooming on her face as Mireille's face broke into a wild grin of joy and threw her arms around the Japanese girl. Kirika freed her arms from Mireille's iron grip and wound them around the Corsican blonde's neck, whispering, "Mireiyu, Mireiyu. . . Mireiyu. . ."
"You came," whispered Mireille, feeling tears of joy well up in her eyes.
"No," said Kirika, who was having trouble forming words due to the huge grin in which her face seemed permanently plastered, "you came!"
= = = = = = =
People walked by, smiling at the joyful reunion they were witnessing, although they had no idea what had happened between the two girls. Mireille and Kirika paid no attention.
They held each other for a long time, the hard back of the seat between them, exchanging no words at all. Finally Mireille loosened her grip and Kirika saw tears in her eyes. Tears of joy.
"Come and sit over here," she said, patting the seat beside her. Mireille happily obliged and Kirika found herself reluctant to let her past partner walk even the short distance away to circle around the row before coming back to her side.
Mireille tucked her arm around Kirika's shoulder again and Kirika leaned contently against her. "How did you find me?" she asked.
"I called every airline I could think of and checked all of them for your name, since I had no idea where you were flying to. You led me on a wild chase," Mireille laughed.
"I didn't know you would be chasing me," whispered Kirika.
"I saw your painting," said Mireille, her voice of a softer tone now, "and then I. . . I couldn't let you go without telling you. . . I'm so sorry for that night. I'm sorry for letting you go, for not taking you seriously-"
She seemed to have choked and didn't go on. Without hesitation Kirika replied, "It's all right, Mireille. I was never mad at you. When I left France, it was a hasty decision and probably not the best one. . . but it was one I. . . I have never regretted."
Kirika was afraid that Mireille would take that as a slap in the face, but she didn't. Instead the Corsican blonde seemed to be holding back a dam of tears and didn't reply immediately.
"Thank you for the painting," she whispered quietly, when she could control her voice again. "It was the most beautiful gift I have ever received in my life."
"I wanted you to remember us," Kirika, feeling a lump rise in her throat as well. "I didn't know if. . . I would ever see you again."
Mireille leaned over and put her other arm around Kirika as well, drawing her into a tight hug. "I'm so glad I found you," she whispered into the dark locks.
"I love you, Mireiyu."
A sharp voice cut through their thoughts and Mireille and Kirika abruptly broke apart. A flight attendant was watching them with a slight smile on her lips as she announced, "Northwest, Flight 295, direct flight to Providence, Rhode Island, is now boarding."
Mireille's glance dropped to the bags lying forgotten by Kirika's feet. Kirika, too, looked down at them with a mixture of guilt and pain on her face. She picked up the handle of the bag of souvenirs and stood slowly, not looking at Mireille.
Although her mind was screaming at her not to do it, Mireille's hands moved on their own. They uprighted Kirika's other bag for her and wheeled it over so that the handle was by her hand. Kirika's delicate right hand closed over it.
"Merci," she said stiffly, but didn't move otherwise.
Mireille was standing now, her eyes focused on Kirika's face. Kirika, on the other hand, stared down at the floor, not meeting Mireille's eyes. She swallowed hard, tears in her eyes. The sharp voice cut through their thoughts again, this time making Mireille flinch as if a cruel blade had sliced through her flesh.
"This is the final boarding call for Northwest Airlines Flight 295, direct flight to Providence, Rhode Island."
Kirika looked up at last. The seating area around them was almost empty. Her hand tightened on her bag handle until the knuckles were white. She turned and forced herself to meet her partner's eyes.
"Sayonara, Mireiyu."
With that Kirika turned away. Her eyes overflowed with tears until she couldn't see a thing and they streamed unchecked down her face. Her mind scolded her, told her feet to move, told her hand to pull on the plastic handle, yet nothing happened. Then Mireille's voice registered in her distorted mind.
"Onegai." The word was saturated with grief. "Onegai, Kirika."
Kirika's brain stopped instructing her body. She rotated around freely to look at Mireille, who had sunk to her knees, her hands a quavering mass in her lap. She was not meeting Kirika's eyes, but she was crying a river of tears onto the carpet.
"Kirika," whispered Mireille in a trembling voice, slowly lifting her head, "come home with me. Please. Onegai."
There was a very pregnant pause, during which Mireille made no eye contact with Kirika, instead looking at the fringes on her jeans and struggling to keep her jaw from quivering.
And then Kirika let go of her bags, knelt down and put her hand on the Corsican blonde's shoulder, and drew her into a tight hug.
"Let's go," she said, a smile on her face. "Let's go home."
Author's Note: This is the last chapter of "Mireille in Japan". Thank you so much to all my wonderful reviewers!!!! I hope you've liked the story, as I certainly had fun writing it : ) Maybe Crystal should come back in a sequel. . .