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"One, you're like a dream come true…"
-Back at
One by Brian McKnight
She'd had dreams before, of course. Those kind, the special kind. As a little girl, she'd had dreams of the future. Once, she'd dreamt of a summer day at her grandfather's house by the lake. She and Sonomi, her cousin, had been out in the woods, dressed in white sundresses. She remembered details perfectly. Sonomi's hair had just been cut, sharp angles and lines framing her sharp-featured face. Her white dress was decorated with large, bold red roses. She, on the other hand, had loosely tied her hair back in a ponytail. The loose curls got caught occasionally as they ran past trees and bushes. Her dress was covered in tiny pink flowers, so small she couldn't tell what kind they were. In just one night she dreamt a whole day in those dresses—from skipping stones across the pond to picking flowers in the garden to jumping into the lake.
It had been a night in late January, during a snowstorm.
Six months later, one August day, she and Sonomi walked out of their adjacent rooms at the summer house. They were wearing white sundresses, Sonomi's with red roses, Nadeshiko's with tiny pink flowers. They went out that day, skipping rocks, picking flowers, jumping in the lake.
She never told anyone about her dreams, of course. They wouldn't understand. Besides, she liked to keep them to herself. It was like her special secret, an entire dreamworld that only she could see. She imagined eventually she would share her secrets, but it had to be with the right person. Not just any person—not just her mother or Sonomi, even if Sonomi was her best friend. No, it had to be someone that understood that the dreams were real.
To her dismay, the dreams became less frequent and detailed as she grew older. By the time she was twelve, she could barely remember the dreams, able to remember only vague sensations like happiness. After her thirteenth birthday, she'd stopped having dreams at all. If she did dream, they were normal, everyday sort of dreams. Those vague, fuzzy, confusing ones that really don't amount to anything—nothing at all like what she'd once known.
She'd never been one for moping or complaining, so she took the disappearance of her psychic dreams in stride. She never forgot, of course, but she learned to do without. When she turned fifteen, she started dreaming again. But this time, there was only one dream that repeated itself once a month, with great regularity.
She knew she was off the ground. Probably in a tree, on a branch. Gold sunlight filtered through the thick foliage, leaving its intricate, stenciled pattern over her pale hands and clothes. She recognized the dark skirt as the one she would wear when she went to the high school. Faintly she could hear Sonomi's voice calling to her. Her ears, however, were trained on the sound of footsteps approaching. They were loud, but not overbearing, in her ears. An even, confident, yet light and joyful tread. She could tell that whoever was walking would walk right below the branch she was on, and that she could get a clear view if she looked down. But for some reason, she couldn't. She couldn't move. Her eyes were fixed on the pattern of light and leaves directly in front of her, the sound of footsteps ringing in her ears.
It was that sound that truly transfixed her. She didn't dare move, for fear of losing the steady, even rhythm. She closed her eyes, tilting her head back, reveling in the simple sound. She didn't reach out to stop herself when she felt her skirt slip, when she felt the rough branch scrape against the back of her thighs as she began to slide off the branch. She let herself fall through the air, entire being focused only on the sound of footsteps.
Then everything went dark, and in the darkness, a beautiful voice said something she would never forget—a voice and words with which she fell in love.
"I thought an angel fell from the sky."
After leaving the girl and her friend behind (earning a glare from the friend—what had he done wrong?) he hurried onward, certain that Okada and his student would already be at the restaurant waiting for him. He shook his head and ran a hand through his pale hair, trying to calm himself.
What had just happened? It was an interesting question, one he didn't even think he could answer. He'd always been a bit of a romantic, so he appreciated the beauty of the words… but what possessed him to say them was beyond his knowledge. He'd thought such thoughts many times, but had never found the right person to say them to. And then—a high school student dropped from a tree and he spit them out!
He resolved not to think of the incident now and instead focus on the upcoming meeting. It wasn't such an important meeting, but he would make it important. At least it would help get his mind off the pretty girl from the tree.
Or so he thought.
Like all good closet romantics, Fujitaka was a daydreamer. This morning in his kitchen had only been the tip of the iceberg, and the storybook day had only gotten better. As he walked, he found himself thinking absently of the dark-haired girl. How soft and silky her hair and skin were, how bright and laughing her eyes. How much he wanted to know, to understand, to be part of the happiness and joy behind her eyes. He let his mind and thoughts wander, thinking absently yet avidly about the girl he'd just met. He was so lost in his daydreams he nearly missed the restaurant he was supposed to meet Okada at.
Smiling sheepishly but good-naturedly, he backtracked a few steps and opened the door. Okada grinned broadly at him, letting Fujitaka know he'd seen the little slip-up. Fujitaka laughed and went over to greet his friend, sliding into a wooden chair after a warm handshake.
"It appears my student is a bit late," Okada apologized, smiling. "She's like that, you know."
"She?" Fujitaka asked curiously. Okada had never introduced him to a female student before.
"Yes, I know. Not like me at all, is it? She's quite smart though. A little on the naïve side, I grant you, but intelligent and thoughtful all the same. I thought you'd like her…" Though Fujitaka didn't know it, Okada was tempted to add, "Like you," to his comments, but kept his mouth shut. He really did think Fujitaka would make an excellent senior advisor for his student, if only because they were so much alike.
"Ah, well in that case…" Fujitaka smiled his sweet, gracious smile and nodded. "I'd be glad to meet her."
A loud clatter outside followed by a voice faintly whining caught their attention. Fujitaka was instantly on his feet and headed for the door, looking to help whoever or whatever had met misfortune. Okada merely sat and shook his head, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"That would be her," he murmured, almost amused, to no one in particular. "And that, Fujitaka," he continued as he watched his friend kneel down beside the fallen girl, "is why I want you to be her mentor."
"This just isn't your day, is it?" Fujitaka asked with a smile as he knelt beside the dark-haired girl, resting his left hand lightly on her shoulder.
She laughed—a bright, refreshing laugh filled with summer and sunshine—and replied, "If you ask Sonomi-chan, no day is my day."
"And yet every day is," Sonomi murmured under her breath, so that Fujitaka had to strain to hear it. The comment escaped Nadeshiko's hearing entirely.
"Please, don't worry about me," Nadeshiko smiled brightly. "It happens often." She made no attempt, however, to stand or brush away Fujitaka's comforting hand. Sonomi coughed loudly and glared at Fujitaka, who took notice but didn't know what he had done to incur her wrath. Again, Nadeshiko remained oblivious to her cousin.
Slowly, almost reluctantly, Nadeshiko made to stand. Fujitaka offered her his other hand, and she gladly took it. Sonomi's eyes narrowed—experience told her that Nadeshiko rarely needed a helping hand to get up.
"Oh, I'm sure I'm late for my meeting now…" Nadeshiko murmured, hurrying past Fujitaka into the restaurant. Fujitaka paused briefly, intelligent brain oddly slow to put together the pieces…
"Stay away from my cousin," Sonomi hissed, venom filling her every word.
"I had no intention of doing anything," he said honestly, holding his hands up in defense.
"Hmph. Just don't go near her again." And with that the other girl turned on her heel, stalking away from Fujitaka.
Shaking his head, puzzled, he turned and headed back into the restaurant. He was only slightly surprised to see the dark-haired girl sitting at the table with Okada, across from where he would be sitting. He dusted off his jacket and made his way back to the table.
"Fujitaka, this is the student I wanted you to meet," Okada said, standing to introduce the two.
The girl looked up, eyes wide and innocent. Fujitaka smiled. "I don't believe we've been properly introduced today."
"Kinomoto Fujitaka," Okada announced.
"Kinomoto-sensei," she murmured. "I'm so sorry!" she burst out suddenly, clasping his outstretched hand. "I'm terribly sorry about earlier today…"
He laughed good-naturedly. "Don't worry about it at all. I'm no worse off for it… In fact, I think it only made my day better."
She flushed slightly and shook his hand firmly, yet delicately. "Amamiya Nadeshiko."
"Nadeshiko-san is going to be a senior next year. I was hoping you would consider being her senior advisor…?" Okada took the fact that they seemed to have met earlier in stride, not allowing it to ruffle him.
"Of course. It would be my pleasure. If Amamiya-san would agree…?"
"I'd like that very much," she agreed, smiling prettily.
Okada smiled in relief—his naïve, innocent student had an advisor, and his smiling, too-kind friend had someone to advise. So far, so good… "Well, now that that's all settled, why don't we get to know each other over food?"
Fujitaka chuckled and sat back down, motioning for Nadeshiko to do the same. "Providing the brilliant suggestion, as always?"
"Doumou arigatou, Okada-sensei," Nadeshiko whispered to her teacher.
"It was nothing," he assured her. "You and Kinomoto-sensei will get along brilliantly."
The sparkles in her eyes were agreement enough from her.
As she lay in bed that night the memory came back, the same as before. Only this time, it was different… more real, more vivid—a dream come true. She could smell and feel and hear as never before…
She was off the ground, floating, flying, perched in the tree branch, hand outstretched towards the tiny baby birds hiding in the nest. Gold sunlight filtered through the thick foliage, leaving its intricate, stenciled pattern over her pale hands and clothes. She traced one of the gold streaks with a finger, marveling at its fresh purity. Her high school uniform was flared out around her, hanging around her knees, dangling off the branch. She could hear Sonomi clearly, calling to her, telling her to get out of the tree. But now she knew to listen for the sounds of the approaching footsteps. They were soft, gentle, yet strong and dominant in her ears. An even, confident, yet light and joyful tread—so much like the man who made them. Soon he would be right below her, and she gently craned her neck to look down on him, on his tall, upright frame and light sandy hair. Now she could move freely, knowing what was happening. Her eyes darted back up cautiously to the pattern of gold and emerald before her, then back down to the man walking beneath her.
No longer was it the sound that transfixed her, but the vision of him coming closer. She didn't move, for fear of losing sight of him amidst the leaves even for a moment, and then losing sight of him entirely. Her eyes were wide open as she watched him come, slowly able to make out his gentle, kind features and careless, unknowing smile. She didn't reach out to stop herself when she felt her skirt slip, when she felt the rough branch scrape against the back of her thighs as she began to slide off the branch. She let herself fall through the air, entire being focused only on the man she knew would be there.
In the light she saw images flash before her eyes: a young boy, dark haired like her, serious and yet laughing, reaching out to her, pleading with her; a little girl, barely three years old, green-eyed and brown-haired, confusion evident in her young eyes; and then him, smiling through a film of tears, clasping her white hand in his and mouthing words she could not yet understand.
Sunlight broke through the visions as she saw the tree above her, not mocking her in her fall, but gracing her landing. The impact was not hard, the jolt not sudden. It was as if the air had carried her down from the boughs and laid her in his lap.
"I thought an angel fell from the sky."
She looked up into Kinomoto Fujitaka's face, and smiled.