*
It's when we are closest to destruction that we can't detect it.
*
This one time, I went insane. True story.
I'm sorry I can't describe it too well. See, the threads of my brain were being slowly ripped apart. My thoughts and my actions were growing less and less connected. I started acting on instinct rather than reason. Why? Simple: there was no reason left in my head.
Time passed. Not sure how much. I think it was only about a day, but, for all I know, it was weeks. I will do my best to relate events in the order they occurred, but my guesses could always be wrong. I'm sure most of it was before the earthquake, though; Tokyo wasn't in ruin when I was riding the trains through its many districts or sampling its clubs and karaoke bars.
Earthquake? Forget I said that. I got ahead of myself. Way ahead.
So I took the train deeper and deeper into the enormous metropolitan hub known as Tokyo. I stared out at the collection of giant skyscrapers, watched the cars zoom by below me on the crowded streets.
Massive clumps of people marched down the sidewalks, halting on command whenever the streetlights directed them to do so. They would wait, an impatient throng of humanity, screaming into their cell phones over the noise of the other pedestrians, the honking of the cars and trucks, the music blasting from open department store doors. They were such a funny sight. All those professionals in their business suits, their freshly shined black shoes and high heels. The light would change and at once they set out, clutching their purses or briefcases to their sides as they pushed by one another on their way to yet another intersection, where the same spectacle would occur over and over again.
I laughed at the sight of them. The increasing number of business people boarding the train silenced me at last. That, and the storm that had earlier frightened my neighbors indoors was now commandeering the skies of Tokyo. Sheets of rain passed over the skyscrapers, pulling down the grime left by pollution and taking it to the streets below, washing it down into the labyrinthine sewer system running beneath the city.
The fog and the rain was a much nicer blanket that that of the smog that continuously poured from smokestacks during better weather. I was happy for the storm, if only for the sake of my lungs. Still, I could now observe very little, so I turned about in my seat and faced forward. The train was almost bursting with passengers now; a middle-aged woman's canvas bag was projected into my face. She looked tired, and even more annoyed, so I relinquished my seat to her. She thanked me profusely before almost falling onto the bench.
I smiled, a little. It was not too much trouble to let her rest in my stead. I reached up one arm and grabbed hold of one of the metal poles. The train jolted into motion, and practically flew on its journey deeper and deeper into the city. My thoughts were allowed to carry me away.
There's this story they have in Japan. I know it because there are alway references to it in books, movies, and even on television. Most of the Japanese know and believe in it, although people from other countries accuse it of being a silly myth. Still, doesn't any group have its own collection of tales in which they all believe—perhaps for the simple fact that it would be so good if there the tales held some truth? I challenge China, England, or even the United States to give up their fables before trying to take away ours. Even on Destiny Islands we had plenty of our own mythology!
So, back to the story. It involves a train station and a dog. The station is Shibuya, and the dog Hachiko. Shibuya is a ritzy area of Tokyo often populated by wealthy Japanese youth. Hachiko was an Akita in the 1920's. Her master was a teacher at the Imperial University, and every evening she would go to a specific entrance of Shibuya Station to meet him. After a while, her master died, but every day she went back to the station to wait for him. She continued going for years until she herself passed away. There stands, at the entrance now bearing her name, a statue of Hachiko. It is a very popular spot to meet someone, actually.
Realizing the train had arrived at Shibuya, I got off the train and went for the famous entrance. I saw the statue and stood there for quite some time, reflecting on the loyalty of the dog. Hachiko was now immortal in the hearts of all Japanese people. Even as I lingered behind the glass doorway, I saw dozens of couples and friends meet up and depart from the place, all of them struggling to hurry while sharing umbrellas.
"You get stood up?"
I turned, surprised that anyone had been next to me and I hadn't noticed. It was a girl, tall and dark, with a friendly smile on her face but something unusual in her eyes. She looked to be only part Japanese—a "half" as pureblooded Japanese sometimes said. Still, she was slender, graceful, beautiful. The tight-fitting leather coat she wore betrayed her wealth.
I had taken all this time to examine her and not a second to reply to her question. I realized this and explained that no, I hadn't been waiting for anyone.
"That's what they all say," she laughed.
"No, really," I insisted, a bit offended. "I was just bored."
"I believe you," she told me. The girl then crossed her arms and glared at the Hachiko statue. "I was waiting for someone."
"Who?"
"My b—ex-boyfriend. No one breaks a date with me two times in a row." I thought she was frighteningly angry, but after a second she just grinned and laughed it off and patted me on the back. "The bastard. But, you and me, bored girl. Let's go have a fun time, huh?"
I had nothing better to do. "All right."
She pointed to her face, as most Japanese girls did when talking of themselves. In a sing-songy voice she announced herself to be "Kuroko!"
"Kairi," I said simply, gesturing to myself in the same fashion. As we walked, I thought about how her name meant "black child," which was somehow fitting given the look she harbored in her eyes…
Our first order of business was to stop by a store nearby and get me into a new outfit. I emerged from the place with a black headband holding back my shoulder-length hair, an intensely orange halter top, and a short pleated skirt of orange, red, and black. I was wearing black high-heeled sandals on my feet and, to protect me from the rain, I had on a sweeping cape of a dark red. Kuroko helped me do my makeup, giving me fiercely red lips and very long, dark eyelashes. Incidentally, one of Kuruko's numerous credit cards had been the means for me to receive my new ensemble, and by way of them her apparently wealthy parents.
She herself was wearing her leather coat, still, and under it a tight-fitting pantsuit of muted green and black. We were quite a pair as we stepped out onto the walk and headed into the glowing Shibuya district. Night had come and the rain greatly lessened in strength. Huge monitors on the buildings projected images of attractive young people using colognes, alcohol, and many brands of expensive clothing.
We walked through the streets, many young men and women approaching us to inquire who Kuroko's no friend was. They begged us to join them in the coffee shops in which they dined, but Kuroko took me instead to an even trendier area of the district. Neon signs buzzed ahead, enticing us to dance in the club basements, sing karaoke, drink beer and have fun. The street here was thin, and many attractive and richly dressed individuals bumped into us, more than a few smelling strongly of alcohol.
Kuroko seemed delighted. I could guess she spent many of her nights this way, especially since she could name almost every person and inform me of the good and bad points of each establishment we passed.
"Are we going to stop anywhere or just keep walking?" I wondered eventually.
"There," she pointed, almost as though she hadn't heard me. We were to enter a large dance club, from which blasted loud music and from which poured the mixed scents of cigarette smoke, perfume, incense, and I thought some types of strong-smelling drinks.
Our coats were taken by a muscular attendant by the door. The two of us descended the stairs and were immediately absorbed into the pulsing mass of Tokyo's youngest, wealthiest, and most stylish. Each and every one of my senses was overwhelmed. The music and the deafening hum of the contestation filled my ears, the smoky atmosphere clouded my vision. I was moved into a bizarre dance by the throbbing of the mob, pushed against countless partners in a continuous stream of movement.
Kuroko got me something to drink. Without thinking, I drank it. It burned down my throat. The music grew louder, the smoke thicker, the scents more odious. My arms were wrapped about the neck of a man who held me for a while and danced me across the room. He made an attempt to kiss me. Appalled, I slapped him away and pulled my body through the crowd to the far side of the room. There was a doorway there. A bit unsteady for the drink, I went through it and found a large screen on one wall. The screen was connected to…to a giant metal platform that I recognized.
"DDR!"
Indeed, it was the arcade version of my favorite game. And no one else was playing, so…
I slipped off my sandals, put my money in the machine, and stepped onto the hard platform. I was ready to dance. I selected a moderately challenging song at first, since it had been a while since I had last played.
As I moved around, the steps coming back to me, the room began to slowly fill with people. At first it didn't affect me, but I soon found myself showing off, hopping around the pad and moving my entire body even when the arrows displayed on the screen didn't necessitate such actions. My steps were perfectly in sync with the rhythm of the music.
All I had to do…was let myself feel the beat of the music. I didn't have to think about where to put my feet. It was instinct now. I watched the screen and my feet moved to the right places. I swayed and jerked to the music. I could hear people cheering.
My last song ended. I was ready to dismount from the platform, but the man who had been trying to lock lips with me before was suddenly right there, blocking my way.
"Competition!" the mass shouted, raising their glasses of wine and beer.
I grinned at my challenger as he aggressively took his place next to me. I laughed. I was the best. There was no way he could beat me in anything. Even if I was slightly drunk…
"What song?" he asked gruffly. I knew he was checking me out. Pervert.
"You pick," I replied confidently. I could do any song. Perfectly.
He picked a difficult song, one of the highest level. I only smirked, shook out my arms and neck a bit, and got ready to start.
The music was slow at first, but before I knew it the notes came closer to closer together and the arrows scrolled impossibly quickly across the screen. Move, feet! I commanded, and at last I was dancing with all my might.
Right. Left. Right. Up. Up. Downleftrightupjumpjumprightleftdownrightleft.
The crowd was screaming now. The lights were bright. The arrows blurred in front of me. Damn. I missed a step. Now another one. Frustrated with myself, I pushed my legs more, forcing myself to twist and turn around the stage with a lot more flare that was required. Some people in the audience begged for more. Others accused me of showing off.
I was showing off, but why not? I had a lot to show. I was the best.
One, two, three, four. I counted the beats in my head, swinging my arms from right to left. Everyone was screaming now. I loved it, absolutely loved it. I was the best. And now they all knew it.
The song ended. I had beaten the pants off my competitor, who insisted on a re-match. I did even better this time, up until the very last bit. The alcohol was really taking its hold on my brain by that point.
One—three—four—one—two…! No, that wasn't quite right.
Up—left—right—down—down—jump! Jump!
I only had to hold on for a few more seconds. I had to overcome the overwhelming temptation just to tip over, drunk and weak. But I couldn't. I had to show them all how great I was. The Keyblade had chosen me. No one could best me in anything.
I stomped the last steps with the last of my dwindling energy, and managed a nearly perfect score. To the disappointment of the crowd, I pushed my way through them in order to leave the club. I stumbled around until I finally got hold of my cloak again, which I draped over myself before stepping out into the rain.
It was cold and refreshing, instantly soaking me. I felt more awake, which was quite nice, actually. The club had been dark and bright all at once, had been so clogged with people I had been more than touched with the affects of claustrophobia. I could breathe outside.
It was nice.
But then there was a hand on my shoulder. I looked around, saw I had come to a back alley of sorts. The hand belonged to that stupid guy who had tried to kiss me and who couldn't dance. I glared daggers at him.
At first he seemed startled, but he leaned in and tried for a repeat of his first assault.
"Asshole." I summoned the Keyblade and clubbed him over the head.
*
Sometime later, sometime deep into the night, Kuroko was by my side again. This time she took me to a karaoke bar. A few of her friends were in our booth too, but they weren't as drunk as the people had been at the club. I was just about sobered up myself, so I was able to think as well as could be expected, read the lyrics that were projected on the screen.
I stretched out on a couch as some of the other girls sang, drinking an orange flavored pop like me and Riku had gotten that time from the vending machines at the school. I ate norimaki, delicious rice crackers wrapped in dry seaweed. Lounging and snacking was all good, but Kuroko eventually forced me to stand up at the microphone.
She had sung beautifully, so I felt a little embarrassed to follow her. Still, I was forced to select a song, and I did my best to do justice to the original.
Before the next sunrise, I found myself face down in Tokyo Bay. That was just as the "Earthquake of the Millenium" rocked the greatest city on the face of the planet.
***