The shade under Sensei's tree is always best at noon. Despite the limited area of shade due to the position of the sun, the leaves of the tree seem to be angled just right so that at noon, under this tree is the most comfortable spot in all of New York, even when compared to those buildings with the refrigerated air that makes the skin feel clammy and cold when compared to the heat inside the body. The summertime humidity fails to venture under here, and leaves the whole area more desirable than anywhere else.
I love days like this, when the coolness of the shade makes Sensei fall asleep. Although I've always rather enjoyed his lessons, since he is an author and writing is my favorite pastime, seeing him asleep and being able to admire him closer than from afar makes me feel wholly relaxed and content. Thoughts of my hardships in Japan and my struggles with my father don't even threaten to enter my mind and trouble me on days like this.
Today, I feel braver than usual. I don't know why, but something about today is different, so plainly different that it's almost foreboding, and I take the warning to heart. If I don't do something today, I will never do anything at all. Crawling across Sensei's lap so that I'm straddling him on my knees, I lean forward and place a feather kiss on his lips. I never had many friends in Japan, so I've never kissed anyone before, but I feel like I'm doing it right. I lean back and watch Sensei until his eyes flutter open to reveal those beautiful blue eyes.
I wish I had blue eyes. I don't know how mine came out to be the color they are. I've never liked my eyes. They just don't seem to belong to me.
"Eiri-kun, what are you doing?" Sensei asks, a smile playing at his lips again. I lean forward to kiss him again, now that he's awake, but he pulls away, discouraging me from trying further.
"Sensei…" I begin, but my words trail off. That wasn't a good way to start, but I can't think of anything else, so I continue on anyway. "I love you," I say as a thick blush quickly swarms my cheeks. Immediately, though, I realize I haven't finished. It wasn't right. It has to be perfect. I pause for the briefest of seconds before repeating myself, fully and clearly, and this time with the appropriate ending. "I love you, Yuki."
"I love you too, Shuichi."
No, that isn't right. Shuichi hasn't come into the picture yet. I don't meet him for another…six years.
I look back at the tree and see Shuichi laying there, his eyes closed and a peaceful smile touching his face. I want to show Shuichi this tree sometime, how wonderful the shade is here during the summertime. I think Shuichi would just love a place such as this.
Slowly I crawl over to where Shuichi is resting and touch his cheeks tenderly, only to be repulsed by the sickly coolness that is welling on their surface. I pull away and look at him again, and notice for the first time that his hair is greasy and dull, his skin ghastly pale, and his body impossibly limp. He's dead. He has the dead look about him. I'm only glad his eyes are closed, so that he can't stare at me.
"Ah, Uesugi-kun, you've killed him," Sensei says, and I turn to see him standing there, just at the edge of the shade.
"Please don't call me Uesugi-kun," I whisper, turning my eyes back to the dead Shuichi.
"Then what shall I call you?"
"Call me…" I start, but allow my voice to fade as I try to think of an answer. I look back to Sensei for help. I'm not Uesugi; that's my father's name. My name is… "Yuki Eiri."
Sensei smiles, the same way he was smiling in that dark room with crazed eyes, and a cynical snort escapes his nose. His head tilts to the side, and I watch as his eyes slowly slide down towards Shuichi. I look too, though my body tenses when I see not Shuichi there, but Yuki Eiri, in his twenties, his blond hair a mess and his clothes uncharacteristically wrinkled. He's dead too, I can tell, just by looking at him. But despite that, he's beautiful, just the same as when he was alive.
"Ah," I say, tilting my head to the side as I look over at Shuichi crouched on the ground in front of him. "Shuichi-kun, you've killed him."
"I'm sorry," Shuichi says, looking up at me apologetically. "I didn't mean to. Please forgive me, Sensei."
……………
I actually welcome the usual suffocating sight of the coach seating of a cheap international flight, made worse that I am currently sitting, due to the fact that we were the last ones to board this flight, in one of the worst seats imaginable, right next to the wing where the loud roar rattles one's skull. My dream is still vivid in my mind; it doesn't appear to be the kind that fades very fast. With a shaky breath I glance over at Shuichi, who is staring out the window and craning his neck in order to see the ocean past the edge of the silver wing.
"Shuichi," I whisper, remembering my nightmare still too clearly. Shuichi flinches at the sound of my voice, and the gesture causes my blood to run cold. I stare at his hand as he turns his head towards me, and I debate whether or not to lace his fingers with my own. Finally I decide it's best not to, and lift my head up to meet his eyes.
In my dream, though, I realize his eyes were all wrong. His eyes are much more beautiful than what they were there.
"Shuichi, don't be afraid anymore," I say, somewhat in way of apology. "I'm not going to hurt you."
Even now I'm feeling regret for what I did—not necessarily because technically that was kidnapping and thoroughly illegal, but because I hurt Shuichi and had made him afraid. I've never wanted Shuichi to feel like that, much less because of me. I guess the momentum of anger really got the better of me. I wonder what I'm really capable of doing to him; maybe it would be better if I just let him move on with his new lover, whoever that may be.
Even just the thought of that, though, sends anger running through my spine again, and I quickly decide against it. The truth is, I know I'm capable of hurting Shuichi whether he's with me or not, but the problem is that I'll be more likely to hurt him if he's with someone else. I've never been too wonderful at dealing with jealousy. I am…just too selfish, I suppose.
"Yuki," Shuichi says, and takes my hand in his own. "You were having a bad dream, weren't you? I'm sorry I didn't wake you up sooner."
I look away from him, feeling something resembling disappointment overcome me. I don't want him to change the subject, no matter how awkward or painful it is. I want to know whether or not he's forgiven me.
I close my fingers around his hand, relishing in just the small touch. I suddenly realize that perhaps for a while there, I had actually thought I'd never be able to touch him again. I don't know when I must have thought that, but I don't know any other reason for taking this much pleasure and relief from just holding his hand.
Shuichi's eyes return to the window, and he leans back a little in his seat. "Yuki, where are we going?"
It dawns on me that I haven't told him anything yet, and the guilt rises a little bit more inside me when I realize that that must have only added to his fears. "To America."
"New York?" Shuichi asks, and I can detect a hint of apprehension in his voice.
"Iowa," I correct and watch his face as the name spurs recognition in his eyes. He turns to me again, a look of pure thought across his face.
"Is… Is this why you bought it, then?" he asks. I ponder for a second about why I really did buy the house, and then slowly shake my head before letting it drop onto his shoulder. I'm not tired, really, but rather I just want an excuse to be able to touch him a little bit more. Even so, I manage to slip into a daze, so light that it couldn't be considered sleep. I've always loved this place especially, when I'm not quite awake yet not quite asleep either. Here, in this purgatory, I neither have to deal with the reality of the world nor the haunting of my nightmares.
……………
I'm still not entirely sure why I bought a house in Iowa. I couldn't answer Shuichi when he asked, and I wouldn't be able to answer him were he to ask again. I don't even know how I found this place, hidden in a clearing of cornfields along with the rest of the miniscule town. This place is one for the elders, the ugly ancient people that I hope to never become, the people that I hate to look at. In the very center of the town is the most luxurious of all old folks' homes. It doesn't make much sense to me, but perhaps that was the appeal that this obscure town held for me, this idea that I will be surrounded by the people I hate.
At least, what dwindling population there is all speak English, each and every one of them, and their brains are so deteriorated that they would maybe be able to learn perhaps one or two words in Japanese. Shuichi doesn't even know how to say "hello" in English, much less to ask for directions or figure out how to call a cab. This place is in the middle of nowhere, and he's stuck here, his only escape route being me. It's cruel of me, I know, to force him into situations where he has to depend on me, but I can't help it. Not now.
The house I have purchased is huge, especially when compared to the common house size in Japan. It's old, too—probably one of the oldest still standing. In fact, everything about this town is old: the people, the structures, and even the way of life. Surrounded by nothing but farms and ranches, this place can't help but be overrun by typical American rednecks. At least, those are the only 'young' people around, though I still have yet to see anyone under the age of forty, excluding the scattered little kids who seem to grow no older than eight. The whole town reeks of conservatives, old people concrete in their 1950's way of life, and kids who are being fed false information in order to keep their faith lifelong. Of course, I really have no right to criticize, but I can't help but wonder again and again why exactly I chose this place out of all the other possibilities.
On the taxi ride out here, I could only watch the almost hypnotizing cornrows as they whisked by, admiring that so-called, "man walking the cornfields." Shuichi was about ten times more interested, after apparently never seeing so much corn in his life. Although it's not like Japan doesn't have corn, but Shuichi is just one of those sheltered city kids, I suppose.
Still, something about the endless corn is relaxing and terrifying at the same time. It can be seen in every direction, and it grows so tall that even looking at the sky does not block it completely out of vision. Shuichi is absolutely fascinated, and I can only help but grin as I watch him run around and giggle like a little kid. I can tell he's impressed by the sheer size of the house; he already took it upon himself to run throughout the hallways and rooms until he had fully explored the entire area.
"Yuki," I hear his voice as he creeps up behind me. "I've chosen our room. Come on and see."
I turn around to see him take off down the hallway, though I do not go out of my way to follow him too closely; I have a pretty good idea of which one he's chosen. In fact, I was pretty impressed with it myself when I came to see the house before I bought it. It's a titanic master bedroom, coupled with an ivory bathroom that probably is the most valuable thing in the whole town. I meander my way over to this room, and sure enough I find him sitting on the king-sized bed in the center of the room, his legs crossed and an excited grin plastered across his face.
"Isn't it cool?" he says, and bounces a little on the mattress. I nod curtly, though secretly pleased with his happiness.
"It needs sheets," I utter. "We can buy some not too far away. I'll go do that now."
"I'll come with!" Shuichi calls, jumping off the bed and hurriedly rushing to grab my arm. "I want to see what this town is like!" So he says, but I can tell it's more that he doesn't want to be left alone. I nod silently and lead the way outside.
The grocery store is only a few blocks away, though by cutting through a cornfield, which apparently belongs to me, it cuts the distance in half. As we make our way through the narrow walkways in between the corn, Shuichi clutches onto my arm in both enchantment and uncertainty. His eyes never lower, and continue to linger on the tops of the cornstalks, which tower even above my head, the entire time. It's strange, inside the cornrows, though, there is an infectious silence that contaminates everything within it. Even Shuichi remains quiet the whole way through, which is a marvel concept, especially considering his anxiousness. It seems as though the whole world has disappeared, and even its voice cannot venture underneath the tall stalks of corn.
Once we exit the cornfield, Shuichi's voice starts up again, chattering about how cool that place was, and I can hear the tractors and the wind and everything else of the world once again. It's almost as if time had just stopped a moment there.
The grocery store is small compared to those in the cities, but it seems to contain plenty enough items to live on. I quickly pick out linens—cheap ones, though there are only cheap ones—and bring it up to the clerk, a man who appears to be in his fifties with a thick mustache and a wide torso. He rings up my linens, eyeing us both curiously, and only when I take out my wallet to pay does he finally say anything.
"The name's Kurt. Kurt Westbrook. You two appear to be new here, on account of I've never seen you around. Where're you from?" the clerk says, donning an impossibly large grin, so incredibly open that it seems almost forced, as he holds out his hand in greeting. I feel Shuichi's fist clench around the hem of my shirt, and I quickly glance down at him, studying his face. I think it's just sunk in to him that people here don't speak Japanese.
"I am Eiri Yuki," I say, taking his hand, despite my disgust with having to touch him. "And this is Shuichi Shindou. We've come from Japan."
The man lifts his eyebrow at me as he lets go of my hand. He appears to be surprised I have an accent, though I'm used to that by now. I get it a lot in America.
"Japan, eh? Well, what a place you've chosen to come to. You'd best be careful—most of the old folks here are leftovers from World War II, and quite a few of them are still bitter at you Japanese."
I can tell he's trying to be polite, not to use the usual terms such as "Japs" or "Chinks," or whatever other offensive slang he's grown up with, but despite that I can't help but allow that sickly smile to cross my face again. I had never considered it before, World War II making the old folks hate me, but anyway the idea is welcome. It gives me a certain masochistic pleasure to think that these ancients hate me as much as I hate them.
Setting a few bills down on the counter—American dollars, since I had all my money changed at the airport—I pick up my linens and drag Shuichi behind me out of the grocery store without bothering to thank the man or whatever other formality was expected of me. We make our way back home in silence, even though this time we take the long way instead of cutting through the cornfield.
……………
In the center of the town is a large park, decorated with a few trees here and there, and off to the side is a large public swimming pool. I gaze at Shuichi perched on one of the wooden benches off the trail through the park as he aptly stares at the fence around the pool, listening with rapt attention to the gleeful screams of the little children inside.
"Yuki," he says, only halfway turning his head towards me, though his eyes remained locked on the wall of the pool, despite the fact that he can't see past it. "We should get swimming suits, don't you think?"
My eyes trail down to the cigarette burning between my two fingers. The wispy smoke is more difficult to see during a bright sunny day such as this one, but I watch it anyway, for lack of anything better to do. The smoke seems to stretch itself out, one side growing faster than the other so that it curves and curls to the side. A small breeze picks up and blows the smoke trail into nothingness, and I allow my eyes to return to their previous spot on Shuichi.
"I don't like to swim," I give a long overdue reply before putting the cigarette back into my mouth.
"Have you ever done it before?" Shuichi asks, smiling at me. He stands and slowly makes his way over to where I'm sitting in an opposite bench, bending over so that our faces are level.
"Yes." I remove the cigarette from my mouth again and blow a puff of smoke into his face. My action's result is just as intended—he winces and pulls away from me.
"I bet you're just embarrassed because you're afraid of drowning." Another smile flits across his face, and he takes a seat uncomfortably close to me for such a public place. Instinctively my eyes roam around the park, studying my surroundings to make sure there are no passersby about to see our spectacle. However, to my dismay, my eyes manage to target a pair of old men a little ways down the trail staring at us with equal loathing as I am at them.
"You're an idiot," I say, pushing Shuichi away. His lips curve into a luscious pout, and I have to look away from him again. A subdued silence passes between us, though it is Shuichi who seems to be adamantly trying to fight it.
"Yuki," he says, poking my shoulder playfully. "How long are we going to be here for?"
"You don't like it?" I frown, even though I can't exactly say that I like it either. Still, something about Shuichi's feelings strike a note of disappointment in me.
"Well, no, it's not that, but…" his words trail off, and a tiny blush touches his face. "I want to sing again."
For a moment I lost in a maze of speechlessness, and I direly try to break it, but I only manage to choke out a few sounds. I don't know why it strikes me as so novel, this idea that Shuichi misses singing. I expected it anyway, but I hadn't really considered it in my plans. I open my mouth with some brilliant speech in mind to say to him, only to be interrupted by a rather insulting irritation.
"I never expected a foreigner to come to this little town."
I guess, without turning around to see, that the possessor of the voice belongs to one of the old men that were gawking at us before. The voice is rough and dry, burning like the noise of nails on a chalkboard, signaling that it can only belong to one of the many grotesquely withered ancients that inhabit this place. I don't turn around to confirm my suspicion, though, and continue to stare at Shuichi apologetically, though I note that he is watching whoever's behind me with a curious attention.
"Hey, Jap."
Finally, my anger gets the better of me, and I turn with the worst scowl across my face that I can muster. I am sure to be wearing that characteristic glare that everyone gets so uptight about, though the ancient in his thick old age doesn't even notice it.
"Goddamn, you look like fags," the man blurts out, and I wince at the revolting appearance about him. His head is wide and misshapen, covered in malignant red and purple spots. Every vein sticks out a sickening shade of dark blue, and his skin is sagged and a discolored yellow. I remove my eyes from him immediately, wishing I could look back at Shuichi without being too obvious.
"At least we don't look like you," I manage through a jaw clenched with both anger and disgust. I hear a low growl in the man's throat, though it is a vile sound, laced with the gurgle of overproduced mucus.
"Look at this kid!" the ancient bellows, and with a twitch turns away. I start to follow him with my eyes as he gimps away on his cane, though immediately my gaze is diverted to another figure that I had not noticed in my anger with the other. This one's another ancient, barely looking any different so sickly he is in his appearance.
"Forget about him," this ancient says with a grin that shows broken yellow teeth, rotten black with lack of care. "And don't look so disgusted. We're not as gross as you think. Besides, you'll be like us someday too."
I know I should accept his kind assurance, but I retort back anyway, I am so repulsed by his words. "That's what I'm afraid of."
The ancient chuckles, adding a few more thick creases among the already thousands of existing ones on his face. Only now, with a smile, do I realize how droopy his skin is, like if I were to cut a slit in the top of his head, it would all slide off like an oversized outfit.
"That's some attitude you've got there. Anyway, I'm not fazed. I bet to you, we all look the same, right?" he asks, his smile still stuck on his face, even though it looks as though it only remains that way because his skin caught somewhere on his skull. "Well, to us, you young folks are all the same too. And let me tell you, once you get this old, things fall into different perspective, and physical appearance isn't so great anymore." He laughs again, and then starts to hobble away, though he stops once more. "You'll realize later, when you come close enough to death, that it's better to be alive than to be pretty." And with that, he continues on his way after his friend.
I run a hand through my hair, feeling the silkiness that it naturally retains and imagining what it will feel like in fifty years—rough, old, gray, if it's even still there at all. I can't imagine myself being ancient like those men; people like those two seem like they've never been young at all, their bodies are so far deteriorated and gone. Ancient people are only slowly fading away, bit by bit, and one day they will disappear completely. I'm not that weak. I will never let that happen to me. I will go out with a bang, leaving my memory fresh and painfully engrained upon the minds of the people who know me, rather than waning so slowly that those said people hardly notice when I finally succumb to death and vanish. I will die gloriously, leaving people to think about me for years to come.
Like…Sensei, leaving his memory on my brain to remain there until I myself die. And I will leave such a memory on…Shuichi…
Guiltily my eyes turn back to the one sitting beside me and staring at me inquisitively. I can't do that—I don't want to do that to Shuichi. Shuichi's so naïve now, I can't imagine him ever sitting here thinking about things like I am now. I'm not that weak…
But I can't fade away. I can't do anything, or change anything. I hate this world, this life that I am living, and this paradise that doesn't exist except in a place so obscure that it cannot be seen.
There is a paradise among the cornfields, and resolutely I grab Shuichi's hand to drag him to it, this place where time stops, where silence lingers, and where death can be found. I lure him to follow me to this Elysian world.