35 Millimeters III: Fisheye Lens

By Lady Aishiteru

Chapter 5: Denial: It's Not Just A River Anymore

Makoto glared at Usagi from the far end of a billiards table. "You ready to lose, Usagi?" she challenged.

"Never! You're just…lucky!" she yelled, partially because it was a bit loud in the bar, and partially in a display of pointless bravado.

It was Tuesday night, a girl's night out. We had decided to shoot a game of pool over at The Bug Jar, which was a big mistake for Usagi and Ami. They were losing horribly. Ami had sunk only one solid herself, and Usagi did far worse. She was so bad at playing pool that it almost hurt to watch her. Whenever Usagi had a turn, the cue ball made a beeline for one of the pockets, hopped off the table altogether, or bounced uselessly around the sides. I wished that I had brought my camera.

It was a perfect distraction from a few nights ago. As far as I was concerned, that kiss had not happened. Especially not twice. It was all a very strange dream, one that I was due to wake up from any day. But why did my lips tingle every time I thought about it? Why did my skin shiver oh-so-pleasantly at the remembrance of his touch?

I wanted a pretend relationship, not a real one. Didn't Jadeite know that? I had made my intentions perfectly clear from the beginning. I know I did. How did things turn out like this? Why did my life have to be so complicated? I shook my head at myself. Only I would contemplate ending a phony courtship.

I brought my attention back to the present, where Makoto was squinting her eyes and sticking out her tongue a bit. "Are you ready for this?" she said, winking over at Usagi. She turned around and stuck her arms over her chest in an exaggerated grunt. The cue ball shot straight at the seven like it was a missile, and with that, the last of the solids rolled into the corner pocket. "That girl's good," I thought to myself, my raised eyebrows the only indicator that I was impressed.

Makoto was a regular pool shark; she learned everything she knew from Nephrite. I wasn't doing too badly. I had sunk one or two, and I scratched one. Nothing to write home about.

I grinned and gave Makoto a high five. "All right! Way to go!"

Makoto made a bow. "Thanks coach! I do what I can for the team. Now, if only the Gipper had been here to see this…" she said, trailing off. She wiped a pretend tear from her eye.

I chuckled at her American football player act bit despite myself. Makoto was too much, really. "Would you like to make the next shot, Coach?" she asked me.

I almost said no, but then I noticed how she had lined up the shot perfectly for me. The eight ball was right in front of the corner pocket, with the cue ball scant inches away from it, and at a perfect angle, no less. I couldn't lose. "Sure," I said, grinning.

"Aren't you going to call it?" Makoto grinned at me.

I laughed. "Hm. Well, I just don't know. Should I call center, or should I just say that I'm going to scratch? Aw, the heck with it. Eight ball, corner pocket." I grinned, and picked up the cue in preparation to line up my shot.

Somehow, I must have tapped the eight ball too hard, because the cue ball bounced against the sides of the pocket, but didn't sink. I breathed a sigh of relief. At least I didn't scratch. But how in the heck did I miss that one? Irritated, I blew a stray hair out of my face.

Usagi smiled over at me with her best patronizing grin. "Tough break, Rei," she said, her voice oozing with fake sympathy. "Now watch a pro!" she crowed triumphantly.

I walked over to Makoto, and whispered in her ear, "I had no idea you were up next." She giggled, but was otherwise silent.

Getting into the whole "football" theme, Usagi smacked Ami on the butt, hard. "You're up! Go get 'em tiger!"

Ami glared at Usagi, all the while rubbing her sore bottom. "Ow! That hurt!"

Usagi had the grace to grin sheepishly "Sorry. Guess I got carried away there."

Ami harrumphed at her overzealous teammate and began setting up the shot.

Just then, I saw the door start to open. Something told me that I didn't want to see who was about to walk in. Sure enough, Jadeite walked into the bar, took off his jacket and began scanning the bar, most likely for familiar faces. Was he looking for me?

My blood turned to ice right there and then. "Oh no…" I mumbled. I dropped my pool cue and ran into the bathroom.

I heard Jadeite's voice from outside the doorway. "Um…Hello?" I nodded, blushing furiously but saying nothing and not moving an inch.

I heard something like a sigh, and then Ami's voice from the other end of the door. "I guess that's game."

A bright, chipper voice chimed in, "Well, at least we won!"

I smiled. I could practically see the other two smacking their foreheads. "Okay, Usagi, let me explain a little bit more about the game of billiards, and why it is that you did not win the game," said Makoto.

"What?" asked Usagi. "It was clearly a forfeit!"

After that, no more voices came from the pool table. She had them there.

With no more distractions from the peanut gallery, I began to think about my mother. I visualized a time that I had snuck out of bed because I smelled tempura shrimp. I poked my head out from the corner of the hallway, and I saw candles burning on the table. Glasses sat at opposite ends, filled with a mysterious liquid from the cabinet that my father had always kept locked.

I was about to rush in and sneak a sushi roll from the table when I saw Mother coming to the table from the kitchen. Then I saw my father come in the front door. I flattened myself against the wall, not willing to be caught.

I heard Father's footsteps going towards his home office. The coat closet had been undisturbed. I knew because it had a creaky hinge that Father never bothered to fix. Father's dress shoes clicked impatiently against the hardwood floors, as if he hadn't stopped to take them off, and then I heard the sound of papers rustling.

Mother called him over from the table. "Honey, aren't you going to stay for dinner? I made it special, just for the two of us."

I heard a pause in the shuffling, and then it resumed. "No, I've got a big meeting at work. I could get a promotion if this deal goes through."

Mother protested, "But I've made your favorite. And look! There's also sake, tempura ice cream and miso soup. Your favorite."

The rustling sounds stopped altogether, and I heard the sound of something snapping shut. Now that I think of it, it was probably his briefcase. Then I heard Father's footsteps start again, then stop. "My mind is made up," he said firmly.

"But we never spend time together! At least talk for a second!" exclaimed Mother.

I stuck my head out from the corner just in time to see the front door opening, and Father walking out, his head down to the ground. Mother poured herself a glass of sake and put some sushi on her plate, but she just pushed it around with her chopsticks. I remember wondering why she had food on her plate if she wasn't going to eat any. And then she poured another glass of sake. And another. After awhile, she cried herself to sleep, face down on her supper dish.

After awhile, Mother stopped trying. I remembered nights where Father would watch TV and Mother would wash dishes. Both were silent. She'd pretend it didn't bother her, but it really ate Mother up inside. Father was out later and later at work. Father eventually stopped coming home.

Years later, when I was about eleven, Mother became ill. They never said what her illness was. The doctors couldn't find the cause of the problem. Her body became weaker and weaker. Mystified, the doctors sent Mother home. I spent the last few months of Mother's life waiting on her hand and foot. Father didn't even have the decency to attend her funeral. He sent one of his associates to do it. Despicable bastard.

I clenched my fist. If that's what love is, what love does to you, then I want no part of it. I refuse to end up like my mother, wasting her nights away sobbing into a pillow, crying out, "Why?" I refuse to fall in love.

My vehement resolutions were rudely interrupted when I felt a push against the door I was leaning on. Jadeite walked into bathroom, a concerned look on his face.

"Rei!" He exclaimed.

I gulped. All six foot two of him seemed to tower over me, making the bathroom seem incredibly small all of a sudden. He was wearing a T-shirt that clung to his musculature slightly, and a pair of faded blue jeans. His normally curly hair looked slightly wavy, as if he had been running his hands through it. And his eyes were filled with so much that I had to turn away. I felt my clothes becoming damp with sweat, but I wasn't going to let him see it. I broke out into a fake smile and tilted my head to the left. "What are you doing in the ladies' room? Is there something I don't know about you?" I said.

"I'm not in the mood for your acerbic wit right now, Rei. I just want to talk to you!" Jadeite ran his hands over his head, gripping his hair as he went. "Why are you intent on pushing me away?"

As I stood silently, Jadeite stepped in between the door and me. "Can't we just talk like normal people?"

"No," I said grumpily.

"Ah, so she speaks!" said Jadeite. His hands rose and then fell from his sides, making a distinct smacking sound.

"Don't get clever with me," I retorted. "I don't want to talk to you." I pushed past Jadeite, and then ran out of the bar as fast as my legs would carry me. My momentum carried me all the way to my doorstep. I slammed the door, and then went straight to bed. The sheer nerve of that man! I never wanted to see him again.

I drove to work the next day, whistling the whole way. I was so relieved that it would be a Jadeite-free environment that I was actually happy. The less I saw of that man the better. I practically skipped through the front door, drawing puzzled glances from my secretary, Keiko.

When I had settled in for the day, I heard the phone ring. "Hello?"

"Ms. Hino?" It was my secretary. "Your nine thirty is here."

I smiled. "Send her in."

"Okay, but it's not a she, it's a-"

Not particularly paying attention to decorum, I clicked the phone, and busied myself with gathering my notepad and patient files. "Humph. Wonder what Keiko could have meant by that. Today's client was Ellen Smith, the American wife of a Japanese citizen. I knew she was having trouble adjusting to life here, but could my client really be cross-dressing? "This could be…interesting," I thought. I had no idea.

I heard a knock from my desk. "Come in," I said, giving the client an imperious wave of my red pen. Jadeite walks through the door.

"Hello, Ms. Hino," said a nervous voice.

I looked up with a start. That was definitely not Ellen! "Jadeite, what are you doing here?"

"I have an appointment," he said, sitting on my overstuffed loveseat.

"Hey! Get off of there! You're not in my calendar, so you shouldn't be here!" I got up and pointed to the door.

"Well," he said, "Someone canceled and I took his or her spot."

"Very well," I said through clenched teeth. "I see you've made yourself comfortable, so why don't we get this over with?"

Jadeite sighed. "Come on, Rei. I paid good money for this. I believe your rate is 30,000 yen per hour?"

I nodded. "That's right."

Jadeite handed me the check. "Then I have an honest hour of your time," he said, smiling.

"I guess you do," I said. Looking for something to distract me, I got out my notepad and started scribbling.

Jadeite let out a huge breath and began, "Good. So what's been going on? Ever since our date, I've been getting the cold shoulder."

I stared a hole into my clipboard, not willing to face the man sitting across from me. "I have no idea what you're getting at." I scribbled some notes hastily on my notepad.

"Yes you do," he countered easily. "You don't return my calls; you sent back the roses and then there was last night at the billiards hall. Ever since I kissed you, you went crazy." He paused, and I looked up long enough to see his crooked grin. "Oops, can I say that word in here?" I nodded and smiled. He was so cute when he was flustered.

Jadeite "Is that your problem? If you didn't want me to kiss you, all you had to do is say so. I don't think that's it, though."

"What makes you say that?" I asked. I put down my notepad. I had the feeling it wasn't going to help me anyways.

"Well," he said slyly, "You did kiss me back."

At that, I blushed as red as a tomato. "I did not!"

"You said that you hated men. Is that still true?" Jadeite said, probing deeper.

"Yes. It is," I said, wondering where he was going with this. I was beginning to wonder if I should have given him the clipboard and the notepad. I mean, who was psychoanalyzing who here?

"Why? Were you…hurt as a child?" he asked, tapping his chin thoughtfully.

"Okay Freud, the armchair analysis stops right here. First of all, I'm the one with the master's in psychology. Not you. Second of all, that's none of your damn business." I finished, my voice laced with a deadly calm.

Jadeite narrowed his eyes. "I've struck pay dirt, haven't I? You don't have to say anything. I can tell. What did he do to you? Did he abuse you?"

"No," I said slowly. "He did nothing."

"So it was neglect," Jadeite deduced.

"Your time is up," I snapped. It's time to go. The door is over there," I said, pointing.

"My time is not up, and you know it isn't," he said, sighing. After a brief pause, he asked, "Why are you afraid of me?"

"Me? Afraid of you? Hardly," I said, laughing. The laughter sounded hollow, even to me, and it made both of us cringe.

"Are you afraid of what happened when we kissed?" he asked.

"I wish you would stop bringing that up," I said. "Besides, nothing happened. We kissed. That's all, end of story."

"You're scared because you felt something, aren't you?" he questioned. "It's not me you're afraid of at all; it's your own feelings,"

I felt the sting of his words, and they hurt. I sat at my desk silently, fiddling with my red pen.

"You don't have to be afraid of your feelings for me," said Jadeite. He took my red pen from me and held my hand in his.

Admittedly, the feel of my hand in his was pretty comforting, but I just couldn't do this. I snatched my hand away from his as if it was a snake. "I'm a therapist. My stock and trade is feelings."

"Then why can't you handle your own?" he asked softly.

My eyes began to well up, and I squeezed them shut and willed the tears not to flow. "Because of what my father did to my mother!" I exclaimed. "He just tossed her aside, and me with her! Just like we were garbage! There! I've told! Are you happy now?

Jadeite looked down at his hands, shocked at my admission. "I'm sorry."

A long silence followed, where neither of us said anything. Jadeite, far from triumphant, looked like a little kid whose balloon had just floated away. I felt bad, but he had wanted to know. Now he knew the whole sordid truth. Like the old psych cliché, my negative views on men were my parent's fault. Blame them on good ol' Dad. I sighed. Anyways, it was Jadeite's fault for prying like that. I stared out the window, my head resting on my hand.

"So," said Jadeite, "Where does that leave us? Is there an 'us'?"

"I don't know," I said, sighing. I began massaging my temples, but it didn't help much. My migraine was far too insistent. "I need some time to think about it, okay?"

"Take all the time you need. I'm not going anywhere. When you figure it out, call me. You know my number, right?" he asked.

"Yes. You gave it to me at the restaurant," I said.

My alarm went off, and Jadeite looked at his watch. He chuckled. "I guess my time is up anyways. Goodbye." He gave me a peck on the cheek, and shut the door gently behind him.

It sounded like a maybe kind of goodbye, like maybe it wouldn't be forever. My heart flew upwards a bit, but it fluttered uncertainly. Did I want a forever goodbye? I knew then that I wasn't even remotely close to figuring it out.