Disclaimer: I don't own FY or any of the characters. This is purely fan fiction. I surely know I'm not getting any dough from this *looks at empty purse and sighs*
Warnings: You are reading this a your own discretion. There will be some very upsetting chapters in this story, addressing situations one might not be comfortable with. So please, if you feel reading this will in anyway disturb you, please refrain. Thank you and to my girls-- *kisses* You know who you are. If you're out there, Sakata Ri Houjun, I'm gonna draw that doggone doujin SOK if it kills me!!! ^^'
It was the summer of my twenty-third year, a torpid season littered with a pale humidity, the sweet fragrance of hibiscus dying silently in the shade of a barren plum. The entire world had ceased to breathe, trembling in an acrid mirage of heat and sweat, borne down by the shadows of branches against a ground scorched and sweltering, ridden with pain.
I had just graduated from the university that spring and was established at the Institute of Mental Health in Wakayama for my internship. I suppose I had been looking forward to the opportunity to work with real people for quite some time; textbooks, notes, professors seemed to know, to know endlessly and completely and yet they could not convey the reality in a suitable manner. It still remained beyond tangible, and now I could feel, gripping the leather cover of my '83 Nissan's steering wheel, that at last I could put my efforts to use, drawing forth finally upon the wisdom bestowed unto me by mindless professionals detached from all.
Anxiety, too, I could feel, as I approached the outskirts of Wakayama. The highway, which had seemed somewhat congested at the first venturing of my trek, was now seemingly empty but for the ice stands riddled about the sides of the road. Ice, of course, being a temptation too great for even a very disciplined student, with my owned skewed sense of direction prodding me, I stopped briefly for a cherry flavored icee and instructions.
- City kid, huh?
- Just graduated, actually.
- You from Tokyo University?
- The Shinjuku University for Medical.
- Shinjuku, ya say? I got a cousin who lives in that district. She's a waitress at the Golden Pavilion in the Red Light District. Momo Ishikawa? Ya know her, maybe? Lighting a cigarette brusquely, the flicker of his lighter competing futilely with the blatant heat of the sun.
- I'm sorry, I don't. I really haven't had the opportunity to go into the red district too often.
- A real shame. She's cute. She just cut her hair, she tells me yesterday on the phone. I'll bet it looks real good. She's got a small face.
- You wouldn't happen to know if I'm on the right road to access the Institute of Mental Health and Behavior, would you?
- Only about a mile or so. You're goin' the right way. You work there, or ya visitin' somebody?
- I'm an intern. Well, today's my first day.
- Uh-huh. Good luck, you gonna need it man. Working with them kooks. Flicking his ashes into a small, geometric shaped ash tray, his deep brown eyes seemed to fade away, into a dream I could not understand, I could not see. He drew back, winking at the blinding glare coming off the hood of my car, a small wrinkle appearing by the side of his mouth.
- Thank you.
- Oh, no problem, man. Have a nice day!
A mile or so, I am in the right direction, supposing the man knew what he was going on about. He seemed suspicious, almost agitated at my presence, yet strangely delighted all the same. Had I broken that sadly droll tranquility of lifelessness, wheels sliding along the gravel, that daydream passing him by like a stolen memory? It seemed, in the rearview mirror, he was lost in thought, thoughts of Momo no doubt, her burnt blondish locks falling with each dedicatory snip of the barbers shears. It seems people like to have their insatiable boredom broken into, thought it perturbs, even riles them to swearing softly into the dusky afternoon wind.
My hand idly finds the radio dial, picking up a faint tune amidst a snowstorm of static squeals and cries. I've never really been one to listen to the new and upcoming bands other young men and women my age are always ranting about. There is something incredibly soothing in the old melodies wafting in through the long dead decades before me, before my generation of loud riotous screaming teenage angst and pop stars. I was teased by my roommate in the dorms about enjoying the oldies but goodies, and yet… perhaps it is my personality. People often say I look much older than I actually am. And I sometimes feel that, too.
The Wakayama Institute of Mental Health and Behavior, next exit : Exit 29.
I swerve gently into the left lane. Somewhat glad to have finally arrived (the heat in my un-air-conditioned car was getting quite unbearable), and yet an apprehension like bile stewing tempestuously in my abdomen, like a sharp knife twisting, causes me to slow my pace considerably. I could not have possibly missed the glaring white signs, the thick, gothic print declaring to the heavens this is where you are, this is where you go when you reach this point, when you go beyond. Just as an expecting father in the hour of birth cannot fathom what he is actually expecting, so was I, entering through the wrought iron gates accented with writhing ivy and lettering, Welcome to Paradise.
If I had known then, known the pain that paradise brought with its end, I may have backed out, burning rubber on the newly painted cement driveway. I may have driven back to Shinjuku, to my small apartment cluttered with newspapers and bedclothes, to my insignificant yet satisfactory part time job at Pomegranate Grocery. I may have driven into the red light district and, throwing caution to the wind, looked for little faced Momo with her raggedly cut blond locks, darkening roots showing, and asked her out for dinner.
But all I knew then was this is what I wanted. This is where I had tried so hard to get an internship at.
I heard so many good things, oh they really help people, it'll look really good on your resume, son, your mother is so proud.
If I had known, I might have wept for them.
*
Dum-da-dum-da-dum!!!! Hiya!
Tasuki: *no comment*
Chichiri:….What the hell izzat, no da?
It's the promontory, Cha-cha-cha-chiri!!!
Tasuki: It's the lavatory!
Can you guess who's telling the tale?
Chichiri: ….um…me, no da? (isn't it usually me, no da?)
Keep reading, my love, my precious. Things is about to get good. ^^
