Chapter Three: Tectonic Shifting

Originally composed on August 15, 2002

Quote: "The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen
or even touched. They must be felt with the heart."

--Helen Adams Keller

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I released a small 'meep'. Makoto stared into my eyes from the alley.
She grinned, finally. "Sorry about that. It just kind of slipped out."

I nodded, my eyes opened wide. I was about to panic then. Makoto was
quite an imposing figure, being athletic and several inches taller than me. I
was not quite sure what to expect. This was definitely up there on my incredibly
odd conversations list. "Yah," I said weakly.

Obviously not noticing my discomfort with the situation, she
continued, "I just wanted to say-"

"Wait!" I said in a more ancy voice than I had intended. I took a
couple of deep breaths, and collected my composure. I still was not sure
that Makoto had not called out to me just to be me up in an alley. "Would
you mind coming out of that alley before we continue this exchange?" I asked
shrilly. Damnit, damnit, damnit! I cursed myself mentally. Not for the first
time in my life I wished that I could have a facade of calm in what I considered
precarious positions. Helping Ami earlier that day did not qualify, as I
accounted that to a momentary lapse in sanity.

If Makoto had not sensed my nervousness, she did then. "Sure." She
slid smoothly out of the alley and onto the street. "Sorry about lurking in
the shadows. I was afraid that you would run away or something if I just called
out to you on the street," she said sheepishly. I resisted the incredibly strong
urge to roll my eyes. Lurking in an alley was definitely a better idea, I thought
sarcastically to myself.

"Anyway," she said, studying my face closely, "I wanted to apologize
for my behavior earlier today." The way she said it implied that I was more at
fault, but I ignored the tone. "I was thinking that we could start over. Maybe
we could be friends. I really don't need anybody else at school to be afraid of
me," she finished matter of factly.

"Who ever said that I was afraid of you?" I asked blandly.

She raised her eyebrows, glanced down at my bag, which still sat on
the ground, and finally turned her gaze back to me, still with the same
expression. I knew that she had not forgotten my little 'meep,' or my shrill
tone that had implied uneasiness. We stared into each other faces for a while,
and finally erupted into gales of laughter. Life's like that sometimes. You just
have to laugh. It occurred to me later that throughout the day people had decided
that we should be friends. I found it quite peculiar. But then, I had always been
one of those people who had random people strike up a conversation with them. After
they have finished telling him or her all of their problems, they promptly decide that
the person that they have trapped would make a good friend. So people in Tokyo just
skipped the whole burdening me with their problems. They just went straight into the
"Let's be friends." Or, in Mamoru's case, "Let's be antagonistic towards each other."
I hesitate to use the word enemies. That word implies hate, rather than the immense
dislike that we shared for each other.

Once our shared laughter receded, Makoto said, "I was thinking that I
might go to the Cherry Hill Temple. It's a Shinto temple. They sell good luck
charms and stuff like that. You up for it?"

I nodded, stooped over to collect my bag, stood up, and followed
Makoto, who was already weaving through the throngs of people, assuming that I
could keep up with her. I hurried my pace to catch up to her, and we walked
together briskly. It felt the need to start up a conversation, so I said, "So,
were you born in Tokyo?"

She glanced down at me briefly. "Yes, I'm from Tokyo." She did not
elaborate. Perhaps there was nothing more to say on the subject. I mean, I
asked if she was born in Tokyo, and she said yes. Not that I had really been
expecting an in-depth family history along with her origins, but I had still
hoped for it.

We walked in awkward silence for a while. Makoto finally exclaimed,
"There it is, the path that leads up to the temple."

We mounted the stairs into the park surrounding the temple. After
what seemed like endless wandering, we emerged into a picturesque scene. The
temple sat in the middle of a garden with blooming hibiscus, narcissus, azalea
bushes, tiger lilies, African lilies, and a small patch of casablancas. About
thirty feet from the temple in all directions there were cherry trees, and three
weeping willows stood a little closer in, forming a triangle around the temple.
Under each weeping willow was a stone bench. I stood there next to Makoto, mesmerized
for several minutes. It was hard to believe that this scene from out of a movie was
in the middle of a city. "What an astounding garden. African lilies are especially hard
to grow. I don't know how they managed to keep them alive in this atmosphere."

I nodded. I feared that if I were to express my opinion, I would show
Makoto my ignorance of horticulture. I could have said something like, "Wow,
this is really beautiful," but I felt that if I was going to comment, it should
be something more expressive, and less overused. Sometime during the period when
we had been standing around, gaping like goldfish, a young woman wearing the robes
of a priestess have emerged, and was sweeping the small set of stairs leading up
to the temple.

We approached the priestess, who was turned away from us. When we
were almost on top of her, I called softly, "Hello?"

The woman gave a start, and spun around. The broom swung up and flew
from out of her hands. It caught me square in the face. Right before it hit
me, I yelled "Aaaaaaaaaa," which was promptly cut off by the broom muffling me.
I toppled over, waving my arms wildly, and landed on the stone in front of the
steps with a sickening thud. When everything came back into focus, I lay flat
on my back, staring up at the picturesque blue sky. I saw a puffy cumulus cloud
passing by lazily. If I recall correctly, it vaguely resembled a hamster. I had
started a stream of thoughts about interestingly shaped clouds that I had seen in
my life. As I was recalling seeing one that looked like hand, a face suddenly loomed
over me. The entire episode of course took much less time than it took to describe.

I stared up blankly into her striking mauve eyes. I could feel her
black, silky hair brushing against my face and arm. "Are you alright?" a sultry
voice inquired.

I held out my arm. The woman stood up, walked around me, grasped my
arm so that we were grabbing each other's wrists, and pulled me up effortlessly.
I took my time brushing my skirt off. Finally, with agonizing slowness, I looked
up at her. I opened my mouth, and before I could stop myself, I said, "You threw
a broom at my head!"

She rolled her eyes. "I guess you are ok, then. Anyway, it was your
own fault. You should not sneak up on people like that," she said in a patronizing
tone.

Obviously I was not expressing what I was trying to say properly. I
tried again. "You," I paused and pointed at her with both fingers. She nodded
for me to continue. "Threw. A. Broom. At." I paused and pointed to myself,
"My. Head!"

The priestess sighed. "Well, I apologize. But it was still your
fault. My name is Rei, by the way. I am the priestess at this temple."
She bowed.

"I'm Serena. I'm in Tokyo through an exchange student program."

Rei nodded in a disinterested, cocktail party manner. "That is
fascinating. Is there anything that I can help you with?"

Makoto emerged from somewhere in the background at this point. "I'd
like a good luck charm." The two looked over at me, waiting for my response.

I noticed that the sun was setting, and decided that I should probably
get home. "I should head home, actually. Maybe I'll come back tomorrow. I'll
catch you at school tomorrow, Makoto." I turned to Rei. "It was nice to meet
you."

Rei nodded her acknowledgement, and I waved goodbye to Makoto. She
looked after me a little forlornly, but waved. I guess that getting the
charms was supposed to have been a bonding experience for us.

I made my way out of the temple, noting how everything had taken an
orange tinge from the rays of the setting sun. It had a very pacifying effect
on my personage. I plodded home slowly. It had been quite a day. Sadly, it was
not over yet. As I was nearing the house, a man popped seemingly out of nowhere
and blocked my path. He leered at me in a most unbecoming fashion. "Hello, darlin',"
he rasped out. I wanted to sit down on the sidewalk and cry right then. I had not
cried in years, but the built up trauma of the day was almost proving too much. It had
just been one thing after another all day.

As the man neared me, I prepared to try to make a quick escape. I
dashed out into the street. I was not quick enough. I felt an iron grip on my
arm. I was pulled back onto the sidewalk. "Oh, come on, sweetie. Be a good sport."
He leaned over me. I waited until he was positioned in front of me, and close. I
brought my kneeup and rammed him in the groin, hard.

It had the desired effect. He released a guttural howl of pain, and
relinquished my arm, using it instead to grip his injured package. He fell over
and curled into a fetal position. I jumped over his huddling form and dashed
back to my host family's house. Upon reaching it, I yanked the door open, kicked
off my shoes, and sat down on the stairs leading into the main part of the house.
I put my head on my knees, curled my arms around my legs, and sat. I am not sure how
long I sat there, but I was brought out of my daze by the voice of Ikuko. "Hello, Serena.
How was your first official day here in Tokyo?"

I rose, and turned to face Ikuko. I looked at her with half-lidded
eyes, and replied, "It was the kind of day that you never want to have again."

Ikuko looked sympathetically at me. "I'm sorry, dear." And she
really was sorry, as though it were somehow her fault. "Well, things can only
improve, right? I'm sure that tomorrow will be better." I somehow doubted it, but nothing
productive would have come from saying so, so I remained silent.

Ikuko led me into the kitchen. Shingo and Kenji entered shortly. We
sat at the table and ate dinner. There was of course some conversation, but I
tuned it out and dined in silence. I helped Ikuko clean up, and then grabbed my
bag from the foyer. I walked up the stairs to my room. That was when I realized
that I still had hours of homework to do. I dropped my bag on the floor and flopped
face down onto the bed. The dam broke then. I began to sob uncontrollably into the
comforter.

I thought then that the entire idea of coming to Japan had been
foolish. I was not strong enough for the drastic changes in culture. Not only that,
but I was thousands of miles from home. Not that my parents and I had a wonderful
relationship, or that I missed them all that much. I just missed the familiarity of
someplace that I had been in for years. I also desperately desired to have a conversation
in English with someone. The entire situation just made me tired; I was stuck in Japan for
several more months.

People throughout history, and in the present have and do deal with
much worse dilemmas than a very bad day, but I felt that I was justified in a
certain amount of self-pity. So I just lay there, soaking the down comforter with
my tears.

I felt his presence before I heard him. "Oh, poor baby. Did the
little baby have a bad day? Boohoo," Shingo said in a whiny, mocking voice. He
continued briskly and in a more serious tone, "Jeez, Serena. Stop feeling sorry for
yourself. Lying there on the bed isn't going to make your problems go away. Besides, whatever
mountains have been formed the by shifting of your life will be eroded by morning. You'll
see." I looked up from the bed to see Shingo leaning against the doorway. "That's right,
Serena. Now get off your lazy ass. You have homework to do." I stared at him. People
say the strangest, more uncharacteristic things sometimes. I grinned.

He took on a confused expression. "You heard me. When I come back in
five minutes, you had better be working." That was the Shingo I was familiar with. It was cute,
I thought. In his own, awkward way, he was trying to cheer me up.

I turned and sat up. "I did hear you. I just can't believe that you
just compared my problems to mountains formed by the shifting of tectonic plates."
I giggled.

Shingo scowled at me. "We're learning about earth science in school."

"Nonsense, Shingo. You're waxing poetic. That's so cute!" I knew
that this comment would make Shingo blush, and it brought me a certain amount of
satisfaction. He turned beet red and fled.

Surprisingly enough, the little exchange had left me feeling a lot
better. And it was over like that. All the stress and depression that I had felt
just moments had just flown out of the window. I hopped off of the bed and sat down
at my desk. I began working on my Chemistry homework.

Time seemed to pass quickly, then. At some interval Ikuko came up
with a snack; she said it was for energy. I knew that she was worried about me, and
was using food as an excuse. It felt nice, to have people concerned about me. Or
rather, it felt nice to see that they had any interest in my welfare. It had been an
unfamiliar sensation for years, now, the feeling of security and caring.

You see, my parents had been living in a horrific marriage for years.
It was a mockery of love. They lived together, but separate; they each have
different friends, and countless affairs. Of course, they did their best to hide
it from me. We had the outward face of the perfect family. My friends at school all
said that they wished that their family was like mine. The grass is always greener, I
suppose. When I was fourteen, naive, innocent, cheerful, endlessly optimistic, and somewhat
of a wimp, I came home one afternoon, earlier than I usually did, and heard a loud crash. I
watched through the French doors that led into the living room as they had their altercation.
The crash that I had heard had been the sound of the Ming vase that my mother had chucked at
my father's head hitting the wall.

I do not remember what they said to each other. Their voices were so
loud that their words were drowned out by the sheer volume. I understood the
general gist of it. They had too much pent up energy from doing something that they did
not want to do together. At that time I had not known what. After standing there,
viewing the scene in horror, I finally slid open the doors, unable to take it any more.
Arguments have always upset me greatly. "Stop it," I shrieked. My parents turned to face
me. My mother opened her mouth to speak. Her eyes beseeched me to understand.
"Serena, sweet-"

My father cut her off with a loud, "Get out, Serena. This is an adult
conversation. Go do your homework."

It was quite a shock to me. My father had never raised his voice at
me. I turned to my mother, and saw the pained expression on her face. Suddenly all
of the clues to what had been going on for years came into place. I suddenly
understood why I had done so many activities with one parent, but not the other. I had
just thought that it was supposed to be bonding one-on-one, but now it was all painfully
obvious. It was that way because they hated each other. I could see it in their eyes. All
this time I had been blinding myself to the truth. They were making themselves miserable
because of me.

I just stood there in the doorway, and cried. Not the wracking sobs
that shake the entire body, but the silent, melancholic kind of crying in which all
one does is let tears fall down one's face wordlessly, as if every other part of the body
were immobile. I do not think that even if I had wanted to move that I could have. "Crying
again? You're always crying! Grow up. Stop being such a baby. Be mature, and
leave," my father raved, practically screaming.

"Don't yell at her," my mother yelled.

She successfully brought my father's attention back onto herself.
"Don't tell me what to do, bitch. She's my child, I'll yell at her if I want to,"
he snarled.

"I gave birth to her, you bastard," my mother snarled back.

"If you were so unhappy together, why didn't you just divorce? It
would have been better that way," I said softly.

"We stayed together for you. Your mother," he spat out the word,
"thought that it would be too damaging to have divorced parents."

"Oh yes, and parents who quietly hate each other with a fiery passion
unrivaled by anything on earth is far superior to divorced parents." That was the
first time in my life that I ever remembered being sarcastic. I had never been a
moody, sarcastic teenager. It's hard to be optimistic, though, when your father just
practically accused you for being the source of his despondency. We were all too agitated
to be shocked by my uncharacteristic manner.

"Serena, I don't want you to think that this is your fault," my mother
said seriously.

My father had yet to finish. "It is her fault."

That was it. It was either tear my hair out, or get angry. I chose
fury. "Don't blame me for the bad choices you've made in your life," I shrieked.
"I think that you owe it to me to get counseling, or get divorced. You're both acting
like fools. I suggest, though that you get the divorce papers signed as soon as possible,
since it's doubtful that counseling could ever mend the years of distrust and lies," I said
in a much calmer tone.

I pivoted, and began to walk out of the room. "Serena, please stop.
I'm sorry," my mother called feebly. I turned to face her. She ran over to me and
hugged me tightly, sobbing painfully into my hair. "So am I, mama. So am I," I whispered
into her business suit. I really was sorry that my mother had suffered so much because
of a mistake caused by a misdirected sense of sentimentality about me. After a moment's
hesitation, I wrapped my arms around her, and soaked her blouse with my salty tears.

The entire discussion had taken less than ten minutes. It was brief
and bitter.

I could hear my father release a disgusted sigh. We barely noticed as
he walked past us, and slammed the door as he exited. We pulled apart after a
good cry. She went to the bedroom and changed. When she came back, her face was cleared
of runny make-up. She had such a beautiful face. I do not understand to this day
why she insisted on cluttering it up with cosmetics. We ordered pizza, and sat on the
couch waiting for it to arrive. I looked into her pale, watery blue eyes. Mislead people
say that eyes are the windows to the soul. Really, they are the windows to the heart. It is
just that the heart and the soul are so closely intertwined that it is often easy to
mistake one for the other. Well, I looked into her eyes to see what was behind the windows,
but all I could see was shattered glass. I could not help but pity her. She was not the type
of strong willed person who gets back up on her feet. She was utterly crushed. She
thought that she had destroyed my innocence. Maybe she was right.

She smiled weakly at me, and said, "Well, we're all going to need a
good shrink after this one."

I nodded. She was right about that. "Yeah. I guess it's going to
take some time to get over the fact that my entire life has been one big lie." The
pizza finally arrived, and we had a good long discussion after that.

The divorce was long and mess. That seems to be the nature of them.
It was bitter and painful to everyone, but my heart felt a thousand times
lighter when it was all over.

After that it had been a downward spiral. My father became
exceedingly depressed after the divorce, which had taken place shortly after that
afternoon. He wandered through life like a ghost. Though he had cheated on my mother
countless times, he still had like the feeling of being able to come home to
someone, I believe.

I spent months going to the psychiatrist every week. We had deep
conversations that practically bored me to death. I was tired, and my entire world
had just shifted off kilter, and I needed someone to make me laugh, not to discuss platonic
love, non-platonic love, and hate. Telling the psychiatrist how I felt did not help me at
all. I still felt the same as I had before my illusion was shattered, just a little jaded.
I had never truly blamed myself for the divorce, or thought that my parents did not love
me. I was perfectly content with the new situation. It was hard to be weepy and
sad when I knew that I had helped to release my parents from bondage, or at least my
mother. I pushed away the wish to have my illusionary family back whenever I saw my
mother's face, so much younger and brighter in appearance and personality. It was for
the best. Finally, the psychiatrist said that she had done all that she could, and I was
released from my weekly appointments.

After my mother recovered from the stress of the divorce, she was had
trouble with her new liberation. Now that she was free, she did not know what
to do. On the other hand, she looked healthier and a good deal happier than I had
ever seen her. She laughed more, joked more, and I found her to be a much more
enjoyable person. She at last realized that she was in a meliorated state, and she
acclimated herself. She looked at me one day, after days of brooding, and said, "Serena,
today I'm going to do something that will change my life. I've been listening to my mind
all of my life, and it has only made me, as well as others, unhappy. Today, for the first time,
I'm going to do what my heart tells me, just like my psychiatrist told me to. I'll see you this
evening." She finally decided to follow her dream, quit her job at her law firm, and went back
to school to become a veterinarian. She was too caught up in her new found happiness to have too
much time for me. She was unconsciously neglectful. I understood in a way. This was her time to
shine, to glow. I took care of myself, matured, and we ended up living together more like
roommates than mother and daughter. That was why the sense of familial concern was so
foreign to me. When I saw the Tsukinos, I saw the family that I had always thought that I had, and
wanted then.

I finally finished my homework at around eleven o'clock. I stretched
languidly in my chair. I finally stood up and made my way to the closet. After
changing, I jumped into the bed, and fell into blissful slumber.

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"Would you like some tea, Sienna?"

"Yes, thank you, Serena," I replied, smiling politely.

She struggled into a standing position, waving my hand away when I
offered to help her. I sat in silence while she made the tea. She brought me
back a steaming mug, and after bestowing it to me, sat down and began to sip her
own tea. "Tea is very soothing for me. It warms up my bones, and makes my pain go
away for a while. So, why don't I rest my voice for a few minutes. What is happening in
your life right now? I eagerly anticipate your response."

So I told her what was happening in my life, which was nothing much,
and we conversed for a short while.

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I know, I know, what a cliff hanger. Whatevs.

Please send me email or write a critique.

Email me at icefaerie0719@earthlink.net