Rhapsody Theorem
Disclaimers: Revolutionary Girl Utena belongs to Be-papas and Chiho Saitoh.
Warnings: This is not exactly the most sense-making thing you'll read. You've been warned.
Rants: This takes place after Utena 'escapes' from the TV-series Ohtori. What exactly happened after the vicious stabbing attack? Well... this is one (really random) take. There is a parallel universe, separated by dark matter, connected by a portal called the focal point of a Mobius strip…
Summary: Everyone has an epiphany, sooner or later.
Radishface
13
Syle's hair has lost much of its former green color. When Doug talks to him, Syle thinks of dying it white. Or violet.
"No." Doug's face turns as green as Syle's hair used to be. Syle looks mildly concerned.
"Why?" He asks, jutting his chin out arrogantly. But of course he'll listen to Doug.
"Oh." Doug shakes his head, color returning to his face. "I don't know. Something just—you know. You're a little young for white hair."
"You can just let it grow that way naturally, Syle." Utena calls from the kitchen. Anthy's making curry, or something, something hot and spicy and savory. Utena's mouth waters at the smells coming from the metal pot, and Anthy stirs its contents demurely with a large wooden spoon.
It's late afternoon and her classes have just finished. Doug has invited her over to Syle's apartment (with or without his boyfriend's permission, Utena doesn't know, and doesn't care), and Utena went back to her room to drag Anthy along. She stands behind Anthy now, her arms crossed and leaning against Syle's luxurious granite counter, her eyes a little unfocussed. Most of her nerve cells are concentrating on the delicious flavor coming from the direction of the stove.
But there are other things to notice too, a little less obvious, a little more subtle. The curve of Anthy's back, the soft, seductive undertones of Doug's voice, the slightly nasal quality of Syle's, the soft sunlight that drifts in through one of the big bay windows, illuminating the entire apartment, making everything paler, washed-out. Utena thinks she likes the pastels, and wonders why her life was colored so harshly before.
"How was the party, Doug?" She asks, inching closer to Anthy, so that she can breathe in Anthy's scent—tea and roses—along with the curry. Anthy's hair falls in dark, regal curls down her back, and Utena resists the urge to touch it, to bury her fingers in it. It seems more real—hell, everything seems more real—after that kiss.
"Jerry's party?" Doug calls, and Syle laughs, a little unexpectedly.
"It was great." Syle wheezes, and Utena cranes her neck to see what the two are laughing about. Doug has buried his face in his hands—Syle has an arm draped around the other man's shoulder, fingers kneading the other's man neck.
"Doug?" She says. "What's the matter?"
"Oh." Doug clears his throat, peers at Utena through his eyelashes. "Well. There was just an unexpected guest. That's all."
"Your own sister." Syle laughs again. "Who was a friend of a friend of a friend of Jerry's."
Doug sinks down into the couch, his face flushing. "Don't even go there."
Utena grins. "Oh, now I've got to hear this. Dish."
"No."
"Then I'll tell you." Syle bares his teeth dramatically. "She's a viper, that Nana."
"Nancy." Doug says, his tone formal. "My sister. A wonderful pain in the ass, that one."
"Apparently the girl's hooked up with a lawyer and they're engaged. That lawyer just happened to be in town and so… we met." Syle shakes his head. "The girl saw her brother and freaked. Nearly pissed her evening gown."
"I wasn't too pleased to see her, either." Doug intones, but Utena and Syle ignore him.
"Well, so." Syle says. "There's a lot of history."
"I've got all afternoon." Utena replies.
"It's not that complicated." Doug says. "She was a narrow-minded little bitch and always listened to her parents. I was the black sheep. So when I came out, she was the first one to try and ruin me."
Utena's eyes widen a fraction. "Ruin you? Your own sister?"
"We're not blood siblings." Doug explains. "I was adopted. We didn't exactly get along. "
"Right." Utena says. She has a distinct feeling she'd heard this somewhere before.
"So." Doug shrugs. "I escaped here. It was a nice change."
"Um." Utena doesn't know what to say.
There is an awkward silence for a moment, broken when Anthy says,
"Dinner's ready."
The next afternoon, Utena is walking to class when she feels a hand on her shoulder. She turns around in the crowded hallway and sees
Juri
Jerry standing behind her, orange hair tied back, glasses sliding down her nose. Utena knows that Jerry's just been given a big break by her company firm for a case that she was working on— Jerry had finished the case her way, as usual.
Utena wonders why all the details of this world are so lost to her.
"Hi." She says, a beat too late. She hopes Jerry doesn't notice her awkwardness.
"Hello." Jerry says, strangely distant. "I was just calling your name."
Utena blinks, confused. "I didn't hear you."
"That's all right." Jerry says, and steps aside. A petite blonde woman stands next to her wearing a conservative cream-colored sweater and a pair of dark-colored slacks. Her pale blonde hair is pushed back with a headband and falls in soft waves over her shoulders. Her eyes are blue with a violet tinge to them. Utena feels a disconcerting sense of deja-vu.
"Utena." Jerry says, "I'd like you to meet
Nanami
Nancy."
"Oh." Utena says. "Nice to meet you." She says uncertainly, giving Jerry a bewildered glance. Jerry looks so far away, ice-blue eyes colder than usual.
What's going on?
Nancy extends her hand carelessly and huffs impatiently. "Utena." The woman says.
"So." Utena says carefully, "what brings you here?"
"To town?" Nancy arches an eyebrow arrogantly. "My fiancée is a friend of Jerry's."
"No, I meant." Utena pauses. "To campus."
"Jerry told me that you'd know where
Touga
Doug is."
Utena doesn't know where the hell Doug is. She hasn't seen him all morning. She didn't see him at lunch. She saw Syle walking around campus, a little aimlessly, a while ago.
Utena wonders if all the other students are necessary. Her world—the world—seems to only consist of the specific people around her. All the others are just empty shells.
Utena shakes her head and pushes the thoughts away. They don't make any sense, anyhow. She never thought like this before her coma.
"Oh, well." Utena says, and suddenly she remembers where Doug is. "He's with his environmental science class. They're doing a lab out right now."
"I need to talk to him." Nancy says, her voice demanding. "I need to talk to him now."
"Have you tried his cell phone?" Utena says, tries to reason. She thinks of something else, something else that is a break in continuity. She would have started cussing out this woman long ago. She would have called her bitch, you fucking bitch. But something's changed.
Her physical, mental, psychological entropy—the chaos that had once been there—
It's been replaced. Subtly, gently, but resolutely replaced by something else.
"He's turned it off." Nancy shakes her head, and then her voice takes on a new urgency, a new cruelty. "He's not picking up. He must have turned it off."
A nagging force is tugging at her brain, spindly fingers weaving themselves through her neurons. "All right," Utena says, feeling dazed. "I'll take you to him. But he's in the woods right now. His environmental science class is doing a lab—"
Put a foot forward into the woods, into the woods
That's the forbidden forest, back there, backdrop to the academy
What academy, what academy?
Have you heard?
The pull of the invisible fingers grows stronger, and Utena turns, nodding at Nancy. "I'll show you where he is. Later, Jerry."
Jerry waves her hand in a mechanical salute and as Utena waves back, she sees the professor standing there, smiling sadly.
It's all gone in an instant, and Utena walks away.
There's a forest behind this campus, a luscious forest with dried-out, crisp eucalyptus trees and wet green grasses. The forest is filled with the scent of eucalyptus mint, and her footsteps and Nancy's footsteps crunch against the leaves as they tread the ground.
"So worthless." Utena hears Nancy mutter under her breath. "He won't listen to a damned thing that we tell him…"
It all sounds extremely theatrical and contrite, like Nancy's performance is put on for Utena's viewing pleasure. She's feeling more and more clear-headed with each step, as she breathes in the eucalyptus mint and exhales carbon dioxide, as Nancy's voice rises in pitch and frequency and seems to be the only thing Utena can hear.
Utena is here for a reason, and it's not because Nancy wants to talk to Doug.
As soon as she finishes that thought, Doug steps out from behind the trees and stands on the pathway, looking extremely annoyed and a little worried.
"What happened?" He asks, and Nancy steps out briskly, pushing Utena out of the way.
"You happened, you son of a bitch." She says. Utena decides that she has two choices: she could stay and intervene if their verbal fight escalates out of control; she could tactfully disappear.
"Not this again." Doug says, his eyebrows knitting together in frustration. "Not now. I was in the middle of something, Nancy. Couldn't it have waited?"
"This is more important!" Nancy riles. "This is more infinitely fucking important than anything you have to live for!"
Doug sighs, a heartbroken, resigned, tired sigh, and Utena suspects that the 'history' Syle was talking about might have been something more than the issue of Doug's sexuality.
"I was your fucking responsibility." Nancy's voice breaks into a sob. "And you fucked it up."
Utena walks and walks and walks until their screaming is just a whisper to her ears.
Diamond fish swim past me, Utena thinks, and I'm submerged in a glass aquarium.
Two diamond fish in the same aquarium? Mikage says, falling into step next to her as they walk through the liquid blue, their movements slow and unhurried. Utena watches the bubbles stream out of her mouth.
Why not? Utena asks. Why do you want me to leave so badly? Weren't you the one who brought me here in the first place?
Mikage sighs, the bubbles escaping his mouth and his nostrils. His glasses are perched at the end of his nose, but the water is making them hover in front of his eyes, and Utena is a little worried that they'll fall off.
There can only one diamond fish per aquarium. Mikage laughs. Utena is taken aback, but her surprise is just as slow in coming, just as unhurried, and she attributes it to their aquatic environment. No more than that.
Well, why not? Utena says indignantly. I lived here before you came along.
No. Mikage says, shakes his head at her. I was here before you.
Utena believes him. But you, she says. She doesn't want to lose, not now. He's not real, you know.
Mikage turns his head, closing his eyes. Don't say things like that.
It's true. Utena says, stops walking, and turns around. She takes Mikage's chin in her hand and makes him look at her. He's just a figment of your imagination.
What makes you think that Anthy isn't just a figment of your imagination? Mikage replies. Utena's hand trails down to his throat. She can feel him swallow.
Everybody else sees her. Utena says, and takes a step back. She looks at their aquarium. On one side of the aquarium is the forest; eucalyptus trees and dead leaves and arguing siblings. On the other side is a white marble campus, something hanging in the sky that looks like a castle. Nobody sees Mamiya.
Does it matter? Mikage says. If you turn your back on a tree in the forest, does it exist?
Utena won't let herself be confused again; it's happened once too often. Mikage has played tricks on her, he's made her doubt herself.
You said yourself, she says. Anthy and Mamiya—they're ideals. They transcend everything; they transcend realities because they're ubiquitous and omnipotent. But you and I—we're only human. We can only go so far, believe in so much.
Mikage was silent. Utena closed her eyes, felt the water rush around her.
Anthy searched for me and she found me. You created Mamiya when he didn't come. Your belief system is based on shaky foundations, professor.
"Just go back." Mikage says, and Utena opens her eyes. The water is draining from the aquarium, and Mikage's lips are moving, his speech impaired by the presence of the water. She can barely hear him, but she sees him say it: just go back, because it's easier that way.
"No," Utena says, and stretches out, wanting to grab a handful of Mikage's hair, pull him into Ohtori with her. The water makes her sluggish as it drains out of the tank. The eucalyptus trees recede into the horizon, and Mikage begins his walk back into the forest.
"Son of a bitch." She cries out. "You son of a bitch."
But Utena has escaped before. She always will.
I wanted to tell you that I was sorry. That was the last thing I was thinking. If I had another chance, I would have done what I never had done. I would have apologized, and then we would have started over. We would have started from the beginning, and we would have been great, you and me. Do you know that you saved me too, Anthy, even when I wasn't aware? You saved me from mediocrity, from simple contentment. And loving you- it's so grand, so big. Because you're not just smooth, dark, skin, you're not just silky curls and soft smiles and green eyes. You represent something so much more, Anthy, and I'm afraid to say what it is. The last time I defined you by that I lost everything.
Oh, my dear, my precious thing. I think my heart's going to break from loving you.
Utena blinks, and her eyes focus on the white marble ceiling. Sunlight streaks in from a faraway window on the opposite side of the infirmary. She turns her head slightly to the right. There's a vase of roses on the nightstand next to her, vibrant and vermillion. She squints at the faraway window and thinks she sees a nest, chicks chirping inside. Groggy, she sits up, scratching her head and keeping her eye on the window, on the faint, colorless sky.
"I didn't think you'd wake this time." A chirpy, upbeat voice rings in her ears, and Utena looks around to find Wakaba standing next to the bed, arms crossed, expression faintly puzzled.
"What happened this time?" Utena asks, quiet. She fingers the edge of the sheets, reveling in the clean, crisp feeling.
"You almost drowned." Wakaba sounds exasperated. "What were you thinking, going out into the woods like that, falling into the lake?"
"I—"
"I don't want to hear it." Wakaba shakes her head. "You, of all people, should have known that the forest is off-limits."
"It wasn't before." Utena says. "I used to go there all the time."
"But that was before." Wakaba replies. "Things have changed since you left. Where have you been, anyway?"
Utena had known that this question would be coming. Somebody would have had to ask it, sooner or later. "It's hard to explain," she starts, slowly, and then realizes that she is not obligated to tell the truth. In fact, there is no possible way that she can explain it, because whenever she tries to grasp it, the idea of it—of Mikage, of Anthy, and of Doug and Syle and Michael and Jerry—they fade in and out, like radio static, pulsating and opaque, lost on the other side of the Mobius strip.
"Did you transfer?" Wakaba asks, and turns her head to look out the window. "They said that you transferred. I didn't quite believe it myself because you know, we were such good friends back then and you wouldn't have done something that big without telling me before."
"It was sudden." Utena says emptily. Wakaba is still hurt, Utena sees now. The way she holds herself, proud, confident, yet, but now that they are talking about this thing, this disappearing act of Utena's, Wakaba's kinesics have become closed, more uncertain. Her eyes have regained that lingering vulnerability that had always permeated them before.
"You're damned right it was sudden." Wakaba says. "But by then you really weren't telling me that much anymore."
"I'm sorry," Utena says, and realizes that she's said it before. She really is sorry, for everything.
There's silence for a while, and then the school bell rings, and a few moments later, sounds drift in from the window, students walking and talking and laughing all at once. They listen to the bustle and avoid looking at each other, and then somebody knocks at the door.
"Come in," Wakaba and Utena say at the same time, and two familiar people walk in and take their seats next to Wakaba.
"Touga," Utena nods. "Saionji."
"We heard you were back," Touga says. His charm is more subtle now, hidden beneath a layer of sincerity. His smile is gentle, his demeanor is open.
"So we heard." Saionji says, less smilingly, more seriously. His eyes remain steely, less hysterical, less frenzied. He's composed, cool, and thoughtful, and Utena wonders how she can see it all within one glance.
Maybe she's seen it all before, maybe that's why.
"How have you been?" Utena asks, but doesn't look at them. She feels like she is so far away, so removed from this situation. But really, she thinks, looking at her hands, it's not like she's really here. Mikage put her here, and she needs to get back.
"Things have happened." Touga says, his voice strangely weary. Utena looks up, surprised, and finds his eyes bright and glassy. Wakaba looks uncomfortable, and Saionji's hand is on Touga's arm, solid and reassuring.
"Things." Utena repeats meaninglessly. Wakaba gives a nervous giggle, and Saionji glares at nothing in particular.
"She deserves to know," Saionji says. "It's not like she's a stranger."
Wakaba clears her throat. "Utena, you remember Nanami?"
It's funny how those four words can make Utena feel like a complete outsider. Of course she remembers Nanami, high-pitched laughter, hair soft and fluffy and pale yellow, eyes like a viper's. Of course she remembers.
"Well, there was this accident."
I was your fucking responsibility, Utena hears Nancy say, and you fucked it up.
Are things continuous like that? How much effect does one thing on one strip have on the other strip? How do things like life and death cross over, when they are so transient? Or is it because they are transient that they can pass through?
"She's dead," Touga says blankly. "But things happen."
"I'm so sorry," Utena says, and she means it. She sees Saionji's hand come to rest on the back of Touga's neck, caress the soft hairs there, discreetly, secretly. Wakaba doesn't notice, the brown-haired girl has a high flush on her cheeks, embarrassed by the sudden candidness of the former student body president. And when Touga says, quietly, I'm late for that meeting, Saionji stands up with him, and they're never not touching, they're always close, and they walk out the door like that, the millions of dreams that had separated them before now gone. They've woken up, Utena realizes.
Wakaba clears her throat, adjusts the collar of her black uniform. She smiles disarmingly, and then proceeds to start from square one.
"With budget cuts, the nurses can't afford to be around to babysit you all the time, you know, but I didn't think you'd be so irresponsible and take off!"
"Budget cuts?" Oddly, that's the first thing that strikes Utena.
"Blame the parents." Wakaba shrugs. "The PTA decided that the school's funds weren't being put to use properly. Too much focus on extra curricular activities, they said- our kids aren't getting a solid core education. So they cut a bunch of things."
Utena wonders why reality has chosen to touch Ohtori Academy at this point in time.
"They cut the chairman's salary, for one thing." Wakaba looks smug. "And he's absolutely stricken. They said he had to sell his car to compensate for his salary cut."
"The chairman was always sort of a ceremonial position." Utena says slowly. "He never really did anything, if I recall."
"It's still pretty ceremonial." Wakaba inspects her fingernails, blows on them. Utena thinks the gesture superfluous, but it suits the new Wakaba. Wakaba, in her smart black school uniform, her tight ponytail, and serious expression. Utena wonders if the girls idolize Wakaba in the Sapphic, romantic way that Utena was once idolized.
"So." Utena says, at a loss for words. She has a vague recollection of Wakaba's soft hands in her own, swinging arms as they walked down the school paths.
"Well," Wakaba looks thoughtful as she stares out the window. "…we never needed him anyway."
She's referring to the chairman. Utena remembers that they had this conversation once, not too long ago. She would like to visit, she would like to see how everything is. She would like to see how Wakaba's passive nature has evolved into an active one. She would like to see how Saionji and Touga's relationship has progressed, if they have become true best friends again. She would like to see Juri and see Shiori and see if Juri's still suffering, if Shiori is still basking innocence. She would like to see a lot of things; but there are sacrifices that must be made, and there are priorities that must be given weight.
She knows that if she stayed to see these things, she would grow attached—and she would not be able to return.
"They cut a lot of the after-school clubs, too." Wakaba tilts her head speculatively, and looks a little sad. "The fencing club was the first to go."
"Oh no." Utena says, feeling a sinking feeling tug at her heart. "Not the fencing club."
Wakaba shrugs. "Why not? We didn't need the chairman. We don't need the fencing club. They're all superfluous. They all eat into the budget. And people can still fence if they want to. There's just no central hub for it anymore."
There are some things left unsaid. They don't need the chairman, they don't need the fencing club: they don't need the Rose Bride, they don't need abstract ideals or established institutions to help them fulfill their wishes. People set their own destinies through their own forces of will and don't need mediums to guide them through life. Utena takes one look at the new Wakaba, sharp and aloof and congenial, and knows that this is so.
"So," Wakaba says, and stands up. Utena wants to stand with her, walk out the door the way Touga and Saionji walked out together, shoulders brushing and touching, intimate like that. But she knows that it will be futile, that Wakaba probably has somebody waiting for her, just like Utena has somebody waiting for her too.
"So," Wakaba says again, "rest well. I'll come back tomorrow."
Wakaba's sweet voice has developed authority and power, and Utena heeds the implicit command, and falls asleep. When she wakes up, it's nighttime and there is a nurse standing by, refilling her water glass.
"Thank you," Utena says, and the nurse turns around, startled.
"Oh, it's no problem." The nurse says, her clean white uniform gleaming in the dark. She has dark brown eyes and dark brown hair and has slight signs of fatigue under her eyes.
"What time is it?" Utena asks.
"Four in the morning." The nurse says, and clicks her tongue. "It's still early."
"I thought they didn't have the budget to hire staff so early in the morning." Utena says, more to herself than to the nurse.
"Oh, I'm not hired," the nurse says, and briefly, her brown eyes shimmer green, her short brown hair grows long and wavy and gleams violet in the moonlight. "I'm a volunteer."
Utena chokes on the name, Anthy, and it becomes stuck in her throat. She swallows it, painfully, feels a sudden pang of homesickness, wonders how Mikage really sent her here, if she's really here at all, or if it's just a state of mind; if life is a state of mind.
The nurse leaves and Utena falls back asleep. When she wakes up again, it's bright outside, a clear, sunny day, and her water glass is empty.
Wakaba comes in shortly, ponytail bouncing, fresh and rested. Utena feels groggy still, but awake, as if she's peering through some distant fog at this person named Utena who is feeling groggy.
What a dream, she thinks. What a dream.
"I talked to the nurse," Wakaba is saying, as she plops down on a chair next to the bed, "and she says that it would do you some good to get some fresh air."
Wakaba has brought Utena a change of clothes, a fresh uniform, a black top, just like the one Wakaba is wearing, just like the one that Utena used to wear.
"It's the only thing I have in my closet," Wakaba says. "I have a girl's top, but it's all ripped up."
Utena doesn't ask. She accepts the top carefully, as if it will break apart in her hands. Wakaba finds a pair of shorts for her to wear, and a pair of shoes. Utena wiggles her toes in the shoes, acutely feels the loss of socks.
"So, Utena." Wakaba starts, as they walk out the door together, falling into their old step, like they used to. Utena notes that she is walking slightly ahead, her arms tucked behind her head, and Wakaba, legs not as long, pads along at a quicker, lighter pace to keep up with Utena's leisurely ones. Yes, Utena has to get out of here, before the comforts of familiarity draw her in again.
"I've been busy," Utena says, answering Wakaba's unspoken question. "Things have happened."
Wakaba raises her eyebrows in that new, imperious way. "Well, of course things have happened. That's what things do."
How circular, how odd the conversation is! Utena clears her throat. "I've still been attending school."
"I wouldn't expect you to drop out." Wakaba says lightly. "You were a bright student, after all."
"Not that bright." Utena shakes her head.
"You were smarter than most of the other kids." Wakaba states, her voice assured and confident. Dear Wakaba, Utena thinks, I never would have found Anthy if it weren't for you. I never would have challenged Touga again if it weren't for you. Wakaba, I fought you once, and you were wearing a black top just like this. It's a pity you don't remember, because it's all coming back to me now.
They walk under the shade of the trees, the birds chirping far away somewhere, the quiet hum of the classroom air conditioners heard all the way out on the outskirts of the school. Wakaba is talking now, talking about Miki and how he's improved his piano to the extent that he's barely at school anymore because he's away on tour so much. Utena compares Miki to Michael, who is always stuck in one place, working with his fingers as well, but whereas Miki is digging into the ivory keys, Michael's nails scratch nothing but hair. And Kozue, still is sleeping with half the school population, and maybe more, because she's not shy about girls, either, she is the school's whore, but is that really surprising news?
There are so many others that Utena would like to know about, but there isn't the time. Their stroll has taken them to where Utena knew it would take them: to the gates to the dueling arena.
Wakaba looks at her sadly. "You don't really have to go, do you?"
Utena is taken aback. "What do you mean?" She'd believed that Wakaba thought she had transferred schools. That was the reason, up until now.
"Never mind," Wakaba says, and takes off her ring, her rose signet ring, and hands it to Utena. "I think you'll need this."
Utena slips it onto her fourth finger and grasps the marble handle firmly, and the drop of water extends from the mirrored pool like she'd known it would, like it always has. The sharp coldness of the water, of waking reality, strikes her suddenly, and she bites her lip. Wakaba stands beside her, eyes closed, expression still open, body kinesics closed.
The door opens with a great rush and the fountains spurt, pooling, showering them with stagnant water, putrid with decaying roses. Utena wonders how long it has been since anybody has ventured here.
"What's the real reason, Wakaba?" She says, over the rush of the water. The doors turn in on themselves and slowly open, mechanisms screaming inside their marble walls.
"The real reason?" Wakaba smiles sadly. "For what?"
"For the duels." Utena says. "Why are they gone? Who stopped them?"
"Utena, Utena." Wakaba lets her name roll of her tongue. "We don't need them anymore. We don't need the chairman, we don't need the Rose Bride, and we don't need lofty aspirations of revolution, personal or social or otherwise. Utena, not everybody can be like you and see things where there's nothing to be seen. Not everybody can stumble into a great vision like you. Some of us, Utena, are just bent to mediocrity, and there's no shame in that."
"I never said—" Utena starts, but then Wakaba's mouth is on hers in an incestuous, sisterly kiss, the tip of Wakaba's tongue between Utena's lips, and Utena is more than surprised, and she cannot move.
"I wasn't able to do this before, was I?" Wakaba says, when she pulls away, her lips faintly red and her cheeks very pink. "Not when I was innocent. I could do everything but that."
"Wakaba—" Utena says, wanting, for some mad reason, to return the kiss. It's the pull of conformity, of easiness, of familiarity. But then Wakaba is pushing her into the elevator, and then she is locked inside.
"Goodbye, Utena!" Wakaba says, waving from below, "she's waiting for you."
Utena wants to scream, I'm sorry, there are a million things she is sorry for. She wants to say that she's not a person who sees a vision, she never fulfilled her revolution to herself, and the only reason she's come in contact with greatness is because she's stumbled into it, like Wakaba has said. But even as her fingers are curled around the bars of the caged elevator the briar vines wind around her hands and trap them there, thorns piercing into her skin but not cutting, and the pain is excruciating but she is not bleeding. The briar vines wind around the cage, obscuring the sunlight, and when the doors open to the cracked, dusty dueling arena, Utena sees one lone person standing in the middle of the court.
"Mamiya," she says, and stumbles out of the cage. The elevator doors shut behind her and make their whining descent.
He is a dark-haired boy with freckles, a pale, creamy complexion, a healthy glow in his face that has replaced the sickly pallor that was there before. His eyes are wide, shining, and he smiles sweetly at Utena, an unguarded smile, without reproach.
"Bring him back, won't you?" He says, and looks up at the castle in the sky. Utena looks up as well, feels herself grow dizzy.
"Mamiya," she says, as her head spins. "Does he still know who you are?"
"I hope he does." Mamiya's laughter is soft, unassuming. "After all these years?"
"But—" Utena's throat dries. She doesn't want to tell him that Mikage's created a different counterpart, a dark-skinned, light-haired one that bears striking resemblance to the Rose Bride, to false hopes and dreams and revolution, and that's why Mikage's been missing for so long.
"He's always had trouble seeing the simple side of things." Mamiya says, and his voice comes from another place. Utena closes her eyes. "If I'm sick, I'm sick. If I'm going to die, I'm going to die. He doesn't have to make such a fuss about it."
"But you're not dead." Mamiya is corporeal, real, standing next to her.
"Not completely. Are we ever?"
"I guess not."
Silence, and then Mamiya speaks again, a simple request. "Bring him back. I've missed him."
Utena nods, feels the bones in her neck crick in response, and then her whole back is breaking, every bone in her body is breaking, as the light pours over her in palpable waves and she ascends to the castle in the sky, borne up on angel's wings, and clouds, and the stuff that dreams are made of.
He's hovering there, at the edge.
You can see? She asks. Can you see everything from there?
He makes for a stunning picture, pale and fragile and strong, framed by the focal point of the Mobius strip. The edges around the Mobius are blurred, gushing like the fountains that preceded the arena gates, except they make no sound. It is as if this gateway is composed entirely of water and air and spirit. It does not smell of roses or of anything at all; it is tasteless, odorless, and colorless. Mikage is standing in the forest, still, waist deep in creek water, the dead of the autumn leaves at the edge of the stream, and the smell of eucalyptus drifts faintly from that side of the focal point, reaches her nose in tempting, stinging fumes. He is standing in the water, and she is looking from under the water. She could so easily touch his feet, pull him in, if she wanted. But she has no corporeal being, she has no physical body with which to grasp, to embrace, to ravage.
Mikage, she calls. Mikage. If you're really my shadow— and then she laughs at the aptness of that thought. No, Mikage was not a shadow, not just a dark thing on the surface of something solid. Mikage was a reflection, given life by light, and the projection of his being was made possible by the gleaming surface of his existence. He has that potential to brightness, to enlightenment.
Mikage, she calls, and he looks into the water, his eyes tired and resigned. She wants to materialize. She wants hands that can sink him, that can push him back into this other sphere of existence. It is a selfish wish, she knows. She would like him to leave because the two of them cannot exist. She was born of him, and he of her. If he had not wished so hard to change the world, the Duel system would never been established. If the Duel system had never been established, she would have never embraced her destiny. It would have never approached her, and she would never have approached it. And it was because of him that she was here right now, trapped in this whirling vortex that was the focal point. She willed him to see her.
You have a second chance, she said. So take it!
And something flashes behind her, the white light of gleaming limestone and marble, of castles in the sky. And his face nears her, eyes hopeless and hopeful all at once. He comes down, deeper into the creek, and it is only at the last minute that she realizes that it is not a controlled descent; he has fallen.
He crashes into the waters of the creek with a soundless splash. He sinks, and she is powerless to stop it, but this is what she has wanted. If she had arms, she would embrace him. The focal point swirls behind her, and she doesn't look back. She feels Mikage, their noses touching, first, then their foreheads, then lips, his whole body sinking into hers, a skewed parody of intercourse, without the physicality of it. She cannot close her eyes, because she does not have any. She is just a spirit, immaculate particles, singular and shining, and Mikage is absorbing her as he fuses, then passes through. For a moment she knows everything about him, his loves and his pains, his frustrations and his visions of grandeur, and the true greatness that lies behind his façade as a professor, the potential for greatness in any human being.
And she hears a question,
This is your second chance as well. Are you sure you don't want to take it?
And she answers,
I already have everything I need.
He had aspired to greatness, first. When greatness failed, he aspired to love. When Mikage lost his vision, he succumbed to the inevitable delusions: the Duels were created, twisted manifestations of life's struggles. And hadn't she fallen prey to those as well, hadn't she wanted something she didn't understand? She didn't know what it was to free Anthy, to release the idea of an egotistical revolution. She had meant to achieve something for Anthy; she had ended up revolutionizing her own life.
Mikage would know what she meant. Mikage would understand the purpose of the Duels, of Ohtori. Ohtori was a place where one capitalized upon greatness. Ohtori was a delusion of greatness, with its massive architecture and its high ceilings and cold, impersonal rooms. It was tempting to fall into patterns of greatness. It was tempting to want to seize popularity and become student council president. It was tempting to want power and power games and viciousness. It was tempting to want. It was harder to accept a simple life when one was so convoluted and ambitious; it was difficult to be happy without wanting more.
She feels him pass through her, and she feels as Orpheus did when Eurydice was behind, except she does turn around. She can only go forward. She can only go up.
Water breaks over her face as she breathes in, gulping breaths of water, dirty creek water. She is suffocating.
Utena thinks of opening her eyes, and then thinks the better of it. She instead concentrates on the smells, the sounds, and the feel of things.
The sounds around her echo faintly. She thinks of large rooms, hallways. But the sound is absorbed, though it reflects; a tiled floor, she concludes. She turns her head a little to her right and she sees red through her eyelids—the sun, from an open window. She can hear the sound of cars driving around in a closed environment; a parking lot. She is lying on a stiff mattress, the pillows are warm and starchy under her head. The sheets are scratchy. She breaths in, slowly, deeply, and detects the faint smell of roses and violets. Someone is rummaging. The shuffle of the feet, the faint humming-
"Are you up yet, sleepy?"
She opens her eyes now and sees a familiar face, framed by a shock of red hair. But the red hair has lost its former vibrancy. It is almost auburn now, with hints of brown, of ordinariness.
"Oh, Touga." She says, and the words feel strange. "No, Doug."
"Not relapsing again, are we?" He asks plainly, without reproach.
Utena laughs, and shakes her head on the pillow. "No."
"So."
"So."
They look at each other for a while. Utena knows that Doug can't possibly know, although he looks like he does. After a while, Doug sighs, and grins at her.
"Stupid."
"What, did I almost drown?"
"Yeah. But it saved me from having to explain any more to Nancy."
Utena doesn't ask. She knows that he will tell her, someday. And in this world, it has nothing to do with an accident, or a responsibility. It has to do with something else, something less profound, infinitely more mediocre.
"Somebody left you something, by the way." Doug says, and points in the direction of the foot of the bed. "Take a look."
Utena doesn't know how she missed it. At the foot of her bed is a miniature aquarium, replete with goldfish that are gold and not gold, white and red. They bobble around carelessly, even though they are crowded for space. Their huge, unblinking eyes gaze back at her. She feels a shudder go down her spine, and then dismisses it.
Oh, Mikage.
"Minnows would have saved space, don't you think?" She chuckles.
Doug doesn't quite understand. He doesn't pretend to, and looks at her with obvious amusement. "Go back to sleep, Utena."
When she wakes up again, it is dark outside, city lights glimmering in the distance. She can't wait to recover sufficiently and get out of here and live her life: her simple, uncomplicated life that has been giving new meaning.
Anthy's hand is in hers. The other girl is sleeping, breaths deep and calm, even though she looks uncomfortable, scrunched up in an inadequate hospital chair. Utena holds her hand loosely, as if afraid to break it. Anthy has never looked more beautiful than this, Utena thinks, Anthy's hair an intense violet, her skin a vibrant mahogany, the point of her nose and the curve of her breast beautiful and perfect. Her hand is delicate and strong at once, fingernails glossy like enamel, skin smooth on the palm of her hand. The hair, Utena thinks. Not a strand out of place, almost a dictated level of waviness. What eerie beauty, Utena thinks, and watches the stars outside.
The hand shifts in hers, and Anthy opens her eyes. "Oh, Utena," she says, and her voice sounds pleased and content. Her eyes possess an incandescent quality as they shine with restrained joy. Utena says nothing, but smiles back. Words are not needed.
And in the blink of an eye, the vision fades. Anthy's hair is just black, her skin brown and healthy, but not glowing with the inner luminescence that had shone through it, like she had been made of light and her skin just a container. No, her hair is disheveled from the vigil she's kept at Utena's bedside. The skin on her hands is rough, of one who works and is not tired of working. Two of her nails are chipped. The curves of her body are more angular and harsh. Her eyes are no longer a vibrant green. Utena cannot tell what color Anthy's eyes are. She only knows that they are dark.
Anthy has lost that smooth, gleaming perfection. For a moment Utena wonders if she had ever had it, and then reprimands herself.
Never forget, she promises.
Never forget that she was once an ideal, and your ideal. She was perfect then. She is still perfect now, but in a different way. You have seen man at his best and at his worst. You have seen humanity in these things. You apologized once for your absences. There was nothing you could do but be there for yourself. She once represented perfection to you. She represented what you were fighting for.
But now you have fought your battles, you have won your war. You have seen the world, all its trials and sufferings and pains. All that you ask for now is something small. You ask for peace and normality. And if it sacrifices greatness, so be it. Let another hero lead. Let another Prince reign. The world does not rest on your shoulders.
And with that thought, Utena sighs, and releases her past from her. It still had not made all the sense it should have made, but things like that, such important things, are not important in the context of here and now.
She has somebody beside her now, not an intangible ideal or standard of perfection and revolution, but something bodily and human. Anthy is here as Anthy, not as a princess. No, Anthy had been released from that title when Utena had freed herself from the last vestiges of the prince.
Utena is soaring, if only in her mind. She is weightless and unburdened, only filled with a quiet happiness, a warm, golden happiness that flows from her, from her hand to Anthy's hand. She feels that the world could end right now and she would not care. She feels herself drifting back to sleep, promises of tomorrow, of pancakes and promenades and spring semester parading around in her head.
Outside, the stars wink out, one by one.
End
Comments? Criticism? Confused? Feedback is always appreciated!
And a heartfelt, heartfelt thank you to everyone who has been with this story since the beginning. As corny as it sounds: you made it possible! D