This time: Something blurs the line between waking and dreaming. Naruto works through it in an odd way, and meets old friends.
Disclaimer: I
own absolutely nothing of the Naruto series.
Warnings:
unresolved angst. Breaking heads. Some minor poetry.
Recap. 'cause I know this is a long story, updated at odd intervals.
Naruto crashes his car when he and Sasuke argue over something pointless. As far as Naruto's concerned, this drives his lover to madness, and the young blond must learn to cope with the new situation. Sasuke is admitted into a mental facility. One summer, Naruto takes Sasuke to see fireworks. When Sasuke's transferred to the adult ward, Naruto is forced to take a break from seeing his old flame, and meets Gaara...the two hook up, and Naruto muses about life. Thus done, Naruto takes Sasuke to his work, they play around, and Naruto gets depressed. He wanders around for a while, meets up with a mysterious Sasori...and faints. Things at work become more complicated for Naruto. He spends time with Gaara over Christmas, meets up with Sasuke and recalls a strange memory where Itachi gives Sasuke a rose. Over the New Year's holiday, Naruto volunteers his time at the mental institution, where he unexpectedly runs into Sasuke's parents. Later, Naruto tells Sasuke the English fairy tale, Mister Fox. Naruto returns to Gaara to fall into a curious experience of losing time.
My Sasuke.
thrown in shadows...by Taes
It's getting closer to that time of year again…always seems like it smacks me over the head without much warning, but y'know what? It's not really too unexpected…I mean, time flows whether or not I'm looking.
God, it's just one of those days, isn't it? One of those tight-assed mornings where I can't seem to raise my head from the pillow…shit, even after I opened my eyes I wasn't sure whose apartment I was at, y'know? So I'm lying on a stiff bed with my head cradled in a soft, full pillow…even glancing around doesn't help my sleep-fuddled mind. Me, here…it could be my place or Gaara's…
…until I notice the framed picture, facedown on its makeshift stand…soon to be buried in a pile of clean sleep shirts.
Home.
…or as close as I'm to get, anyways.
I fall back into the comfortable pillow, rest my aching shoulders and wait for the heaviness to ease out of me…only it doesn't. I'm still cold, tired and achy all over…
God, I'm getting to hate Christian holidays…
Saint Valentine, will you marry us?
Of course, my children…for this is the will of
God.
Help me, hate me, fuck me over, but don't even try to give me that shit. I fucking don't want God! He's a fag. He's too good, too idealistic—
—fuck, I'm tired.
Stupid Valentine. Screw cupid…why the hell is a Greek demigod coupled with Valentine anyways? Religion's screwed, I'm telling you… say one thing? Do another.
Uuugh, my head hurts, but I'm rolling outta bed anyways, and pulling my sorry ass to the shower…and then it's off to work, damn it all…
I walk through the double doors with my hands in my pockets, hair barely dry and cheeks red. It's one of the last times I'll get here fifteen early—the bus, you know, which conveniently stops running after nightfall, so I walk a hell'uv'a lot. Forgetting that, I got a call from my lazy-ass mechanic friend…he told me my car's almost done…and what I gave 'em already should be—
"—thank god, some help!" The Daughter calls, older 'n me, chatty as hell, and a fucking irritating old bitty whose name I can't—
"—where'd the money go?" old, watery blue eyes turn on me, and I almost groan.
I blink at the two of them, asking, "huh?"
She gives me a look that says, you know what I'm talking about. "We're short some—"
I sigh, wave my hands vaguely, and brush past her. "Give me fifteen, Karin…I'm too tired for this shit straight off the bat," so I walk off, undoubtedly earning myself a corner of hell-fire in just a few minutes…
…fuck it all, I hate money…
Minutes later, yawning as I pull on the tacky blue vest from Wall-Mart—'How can I help You?' the bold letters screech, and my scowl adds, 'dumb bitch,' to the phrase as clearly as anybody could say it.
Still grimacing, I turn my attention to The Daughter, knowing Karin to be about as agreeable as a bulldog. "Now what's up?" I ask, no more wiling to hear now than I had been fifteen minutes earlier.
Frowning at me as one of my teachers might've, she says sternly, "when we counted the drawer this morning." She waits dramatically for me to blanch or something stupid like that.
Instead, I pull the logbook with scratches 'n scratches of monetary figures. I see in just a minute what happened. "It went missing Monday night," I murmur, "…not this morning, yeah?"
So the whole game starts all over again, me wanting to roll my eyes at the utter futility of it all…
Finally, I shout, "Kale!" like some kinda alarm bell, some code name of emergency or somethin' when it's really just the assistant manager's name…
I see him, with his black ski-hat and beautiful Hawaiian eyes, and not for the last time, I wonder, what brought you here, when you coulda had paradise?
…opportunity, maybe, when I see his worried eyes shift towards me.
"Kale m'man…" I begin slowly, muttering a little low as he smiles his slow, easy-going type grin…makes it hard to remember that he gets so damn anxious. Well. I go on anyways, "…why is everyone telling me we're short fourteen dollars?"
His shoulders kinda tense, his whole being stiffens, and his lovely eyes seem to turn down. "I dunno," he sighs, and I wonder how much grief he gets, "they say on Tuesday it's gone—"his accented voice seems too fast, too edgy. He's told me before, that he worries they gonna look at me!" or, if I'm gonna steal money, I'm gonna steal a million. Make it worth the trouble.
Great. "Y'know, neither of us work Mondays anymore, dude…"
The two hens cluckle a little at each other, stiff and sore from lack of a target to jump.
"…and we can't do anything 'till the big boss says so, yeah?" I continue.
An easy smile washes over Kale, he's the guy appointed manager instead'a me, thank god…I'm kinda glad I got both've us outta hot water.
"You shoulda watched the drawer better," Karin says, still grumpy on account of the z-racks piling up, no doubt, and she stiffens her lower lip. Her jaw juts out a little, and her smile is sour…the perfect accent to her watery eyes…
Hell take me for saying it, but I don't want those lackluster orbs when I get old. Save my sparkle, keep my deep blues and almost-purple shades…my eyes are all for star gazing, and I sure as anything don't wanna turn watered-down-paints-for-eyes up to the heavens when I make my last wish…
I smile weakly, and hope. "leave it alone, Karin, we're all fine…"
The Daughter's smug attitude, I know something worse, gets to me, just as she opens her mouth. "The store's gotta inspection next Tuesday…"
"Valentine's." I guess with a wince.
She nods, pride or whatever in her chubby face. "Well, y'know, Monday they said, but when do they ever come on time?" she chuckles at her joke, the only one laughing.
I just nod, grab some Windex and head off for the dressing rooms…full of clothes as a laundry matt, and all of 'em needing to be put on hangers…figures. First, those go in their lovely baskets—to be dealt with later—and now I can get to it…the basic cleaning that'll need to be done in case the inspectors come early.
I'm still busy scrubbing at walls and mirrors when the door behind me opens. Without turning to look at the culprit, I call, "wait just a second, and I'll be right out—" a glimpse in the glass; a small widening of my cerulean eyes to match hers…
A toddler, clutching a toy. Hispanic, Mexican, probably, with curly black hair and golden-brown skin that's so pretty, even in the winter. She's cute.
I smile. "Okay, sweetie, time to go out now, okay?"
She won't budge when I gesture.
I try again. "Where's your mama?" I coax, and wave for her to get out of the small dressing-room.
She hides her round, adorable face in the corner, showing me a bushel of curly hair…
In my mind's eye I see it. Sasuke, grinning, steps easily into a great, old gray bin on wheels. A finger to his lips, and a bit of shuffling into position…Let's play a trick,
I frown. "I'm gonna pick you up, sweetie, and bring you to your mommy, okay?" and I have to wonder if she knows what I'm saying…so I put my hands around her tiny, doll-like waist, and take her out…she's lighter than I thought she'd be, and with a puffy winter coat, she's very, very soft…
I smile, put her down, and wonder how anyone could leave such a baby alone…but nevertheless, I'm happy by e encounter. I guess blessings come in small, cute sizes, too…
Mentally, I make a list of things to do, cleaning, organizing and generally making the whole place look like a shiny piece of glass; pretty, but bound to get messy again…like the corners of my eyes or the fingers of a poor child in paints, chalk or—
—blood
on everything.
on me and mine and—
—the little girl, who just left my arms to touch ground, collapses into a ball of sorrow. She's so tense, screaming and sobbing, and I can't help it but to jerk away, cover my ears and stare. My head smacks against the white door with an audible thud, but I won't notice 'till later…
…the baby's mother waits for a minute before leaving her would-be purchases. I can tell she's a ghoul with gnashing teeth and red stained fingers and ruby lips. Her long hair is pinned tightly to her head, framing the skull behind thin flesh, ghastly white skin that doesn't quite stretch to cover parts of her jaw.
My breath catches.
The girl is cradled up to her mother, and reality crashes down on me like a ceiling of glass.
…someone's tapping me on the shoulder, and a faintly accented, musical voice brings me back…the world is painted in shades of gold, not crimson, and my friend of exotic origin bleeds into focus like a slowly closing flower.
Hoping to clear my mind of fog, trying to make sense of what words are said, I snap my head from side to side. The jolt makes my vision float, and I wince.
Taller, more heavily built and stronger-seeming Kale.
I try and step back to give my eyes some leave, to get everything into focus and try—
—but there's nowhere to go.
Large hands, tilted Islander eyes, "you okay?" Kale hums, he's always singing, not talking…low and heavy like he gets when serious, "Naruto?" he reaches to touch me.
No, I duck under him, put my entire weight on my arms to spin my legs like a propeller. My whole mass swings so that I feel weightless, a turning top or spindle on a single pivot. Falling, tumbling from the stars so great and high…dizzy. Crashing into the sea of reality so quickly I can't tell what's what.
He jumps up unexpectedly, grabs for my shoulders to steady us—me and him—
but I'm gone
skidding backwards to find my fate
in white walls
of plaster, with
sharp
corners to tear my head.
I choke, keenly aware of all eyes on me, and roll under the metal bars—meant to hold shopping-carts—to whirl between the gray bins left out for donations to the store. All of it to be sorted, priced and put on the floor for charity, remember—not meant to be
for a minute
I thought I saw the black-haired, black-eyed slip of a boy ducked in there. A ghost
of my memory
Naruto, Sasuke said, from his bin on wheels, cover me up with your clothes.
What! I squeak. I'm not gonna—
—your clothes to buy, idiot, not what you're wearing. I can't believe you…
I flush red, mumbling, well, you aren't exactly known for your modesty in romance—
—just shut up already and do it. Sasuke commands, a snarky smile on pale lips—is he cold?—and a sparkle in dark eyes.
"Naruto!" Kale's accent is thick in his voice, now; worry clouds his eyes.
My head hurts.
I touch my fingers tenderly to the soft spot of my head…where spine meets skull, the tense muscle that never gets proper blood-flow…and I draw my hand away
red
on me, of me
"…Sasuke…" I breathe, and I can feel my eyes shake in their sockets…
…someone's hand on my arm, firm voice in my ears, filling my crowded, salty and spinning head. "Naruto," heavy "come to the office, okay?"
I find my feet shakily, but I can barely see for the salty water pouring from my head, can barely feel for the throbbing…strong arms under my shoulders, under my legs. Blood dripping, ptt, ptttt…as we walk.
Why am I bleeding so much?
spinning, falling
into black
eyes of
all.
Why do I carry so many tears?
Lay me down on your
bed,
Touch. Me gently, not
at all,
Bring me to rest
please
"…Naruto…" the voice nearly jolts my mind to waking, "this is gonna hurt."
White hot pain tears my eyes open, sets my mouth ajar and pulls the noise from me. "St…" a quiet moan, and a hissing inhale of breath. "…stop…"
Quiet tsking. "You should be more careful." Somber eyes and a serious mouth. "You hear me?"
My eyes hurt, my head stings. "…yeah…" I wipe my face, "yeah."
His mouth is pinched a little, weariness shows in his face. "Something going on?"
I swallow. "…I can—" choke, touch my cheeks, "…can't handle screaming…" my voice shakes as my eyes jiggle… "it—it's nothing…"
His dark chocolate eyes study me for a minute. "You need to go to the hospital?"
I blink, reach to touch my head, only Kale pushes my hand away. "…is it bad?" I wonder.
"Nah," Kale smiles, "just bloody…" he stands up, a fist full of band-aid things in one hand, a cotton pad in the other. "Le'me…wrap you up, okay? And you can tell me about your 'nothing.'"
Sighing, I lean my head foreword—away from Kale—and let him part my hair. "You've lived here a while, yeah?" I wait for his quiet confirmation before going on. "…y'know…the summer before last…there was a murder in an old family…the older brother died at—"
"—by the younger one, hmm? With the kid let go for being insane." His voice comes easy, his hands strong, firm and unbothered by the subject.
I sigh. "…the 'kid' was my boyfriend." There isn't anything else to say, really.
Kale mulls this over for a minute before it clicks. "Oh."
I let out a shaky laugh. "…geeze…" swallow before I choke, "I found the brother…the body…and the kid…there was lots of blood…"
He licks his lips a little, as though to stall for time while thinking of what to say. Finally, he takes a guess, "lots of screaming, too?"
Silent for a moment. "Yeah."
There's tight pressure on my head while Kale applies the cotton square and Band-Aid—is that a butterfly stitch, or no?—and my head divides in two. I can't help but moan a little, and squeeze my eyes tightly shut.
His voice is almost unrecognizable to my head, and I can sorta make sense of his words—if I try—so he says it again, "you wanna go home?"
Dizzy, I shake my head, knowing a certain redhead'd kill me if he knew what I was about to say, "I can't afford to, m'man…" it ain't like I'm a weak ass anyways. I can take care of myself.
His laughter surprises me, and he leans a little closer, "gotta date you're saving up for?" teasing eyes, sweet smile. He's a nice older brother type guy…but I guess he thinks the critical moment's gone and passed.
Wan smile. "Somethin' like that…" my eyes sting, even as I push cold fingers into the corners. Wet. "…damn it, something's in my eye…" I sniff a little in effort to bite back another choking sob.
I'm so tired…god help me, I just want to go to sleep and never wake up. Screw these games, I don't need another fucking nightmare while I'm awake. The one is enough…
Silence runs over us like the wind, swift and invisible, until he finally gives me the nod to leave…my eyes squint shut as he pats the little bandage, but I'm free to go in just a second. Free to wander around until old mother and daughter call me up to the front…
I head up quietly, quickly to avoid Kale pulling me back into a chair or something to rest...and then I'm walking up the clothes' aisle with a towel under my foot, scotching it along to clean up the tiny spots of blood.
The Daughter stares at me when I near her. "I knew Kale did Karate, but you, too? Don't you think it's stupid to fight a black belt?"
Karin pipes up, "and right in front of the camera, too."
I ignore them, deciding tnot to mention that both of us were outta camera range.
The only ones concerned about me are the two older ladies, Charlotte and Loran. They're both two wonderful ladies of compassionate hearts and sweet dispositions...I get a hug from both. It helps, I guess, that they're both mothers of boys.
…so tired.
My smile droops, my head swims, and I have to wonder, as I walk along, how many people listen to me, how many don't.
I'm sick of it.
Time drags by in a flurry of putting things where they go, and I hear various sniping comments from people who don't know what they're talking about…so it goes, and everyone goes home except for me, Kale and that new girl…she annoys the hell outta me…always talking, talking, talking about this anime or that one, bragging about things I don't get and asking if my ex-boyfriend could teach her Japanese, if we still have sex on the side—
—god, I've never been asked so many embarrassing questions in my life.
The quiet girls are nice…the ones who leave me alone…
So there I am, while that girl's on break—I kinda forgot her name…maybe it'll come back to me—alone at the register when this middle-aged lady comes up…she's fat, with rumpled hair, and strangely pristine clothes…huh.
"Hello," I smile good naturedly, start to collect her things, and ask quietly, "how're you doing today?"
"Fine," she garumps, shoving as many items on the counter as possible.
I offer the best smile I know how to give. "So, we've got two ninety-eight," systematically pull hangers and deposit 'em where they go, then fingers fly across a number pad that I've known for such a long time… "and one ninety-eight," I purse my lips…something's odd. My hands land on a pair of men's pants…they've got a new plastic stem—it's green—but a mismatched blue paper tag…
…guess that explains it.
"I'm sorry, ma'am," I say, folding up the thing, "but I'm afraid the price has been tampered with. I can't sell anything with a price change—"
Se bustles, "I need clothes for my son," she says defensively. "He's gotten bigger, and he needs things that fit. It's so hard to find his size, you know…"
Frowning, I drop the bundle of cloth to the ground. "Sorry, ma'am," I repeat…it's all old to me. I've heard every excuse twice over by now…my hands touch the next item, and the next six afterwards…all changed. New clothes with old sale tags. Frustrated, I heave a sigh, bring a hand to the back of my head—bandage is still there, good—and push everything to the floor. "I'm afraid I can't sell any of these, either."
Her outrage is unbelievable. "Why not? They just got jostled in the dressing-rooms!"
I quickly decide not to enlighten her about the store's safeguard against such thievery, lest she seem more clever next time. I offer another smile, this one edged, and sing, "I'm sorry, ma'am." A quick glance at the rest of her merchandise leads to a similar predicament…"and I'm afraid I can't sell this toy, either."
She narrows her eyes. "Why—"
"It's that we don't have any ninety-eight cent prices, alright?" Frustration leads me to break a few rules; "it was probably a dollar ninety-eight. Do you still want it?"
She scoffs, "of course—"
"Alrighty." I go back to the remaining pile, "so—"
"What about the clothes, huh? I want those, there's nothing wrong with them—"
shit. big mistake to be nice… "sorry, ma'am," how many times do I have to say it? "Those will be re-priced tomorrow, so if you—"
"I didn't do anything, they just got pulled down by the dressing room," She gives a funny little laugh that betrays her nerves.
More like pulled off in the dressing room, I think to myself.
"So sell me these shits, do you.understand.me?" her voice is so tight and fast it almost makes me wince to hear it. Almost.
I drum my fingers in exasperation, waiting for her to get on with it. I just barely manage to resist rolling my eyes…
"Your manager knows me by name," she continues with an ugly smile and another phony laugh, "whenever I come here, he marks anything that's lost a price, and you won't do it?"
My head's throbbing, my eyes hurt, "no." she's so lying… our big guy avoids the registers like the plague, and he never marks anything down…not if he can avoid it. "Ma'am, no is no."
"I'm calling your manager."
I can't help but roll my eyes now. "I can give you the number if you want—"
"I already have it!" she snaps. "And I'll have you in a load of trouble, young man—"
Exasperation cuts my patience thin, and my eyes narrow just a hair. With a grin better suited for a mountain lion, I purr, "ma'am," bitch, "I don't believe you."
"I'm going to show you that all the tags are like this—"
"There's a different way of telling, ma'am," I grumble, clearing the machine and reaching for an over-ring slip to jot down the 'mechanical error' of annoying customers.
Just as I'm done unpacking all her crap and putting up her things, the old bitch comes back. "Look, is this okay?" she snarls.
Glancing at the overall condition, the plastic price-tag stem and the paper price-tag, I note the corresponding colors, I nod. "Yeah. That'll be three ninety-eight."
She snorts. "Your prices are too high."
I'm glowering at her through slitted eyes. "This is a non-profit organization, ma'am. That's why there's no tax. It all goes—"
"—they've always charged me tax before—"
Liar.
"Ma'am, as long as I've been here, there's been no tax."
She huffs.
"If you'll look at the wall over there, you'll see it on your way in—"
Another snort. She pays and leaves—forgetting her earlier merchandise—purposefully avoiding even a slight glimpse towards the wall, where the truth hangs in blue letters.
Someone help me, people today are so damn frustrating…
So the day goes on…and I blink weary eyes into focus as quickly as possible when the girl comes back—only for a second, this all-knowing cashier-in-training…she's not done eating, and will be back in a few…
…so the rest of the customers decide to gather together, uniting in an insane rush just when I wanna go lie down…
I pause to get something from the showcase—turning around slowly to catch the waiting lady's words while I moved…
"oh! Mister, you're bleeding…"
"Was it this one?" I ask, facing her slowly still. My hands are full with the dish she wanted to see.
"Yes, but your head—"
I put the centerpiece-or-whatever on the counter. "It's not bad," I assure her, touched by her concern, "I just ran into the wall earlier…" I run my fingers through my hair lightly, and it's just a little sticky. "…guess I need a new bandage…"
"Please, don't hurt yourself," the lady continues.
I grab the telephone, hit the intercom to the backroom. Mercifully, Kale's there. "Hey, when you've got the time, y'wanna bring me a new band-aid? Mine's coming off…"
The customers exchange glances, but I ignore all offers to wait…
Kale comes up with the girl, Samantha, maybe? And pulls me to the floor right there, an alcohol-wipe in hand. Without a word, he removes the falling bandage and parts my hair, pressing the cotton thing firmly, though gently, to my raw skin.
"Ow!" I gripe, much to the elderly ladies' amusement, "hey, hey, that hur—ow!" I make a face, "…I said band-aid, not a cleaning attack…"
"You need to keep this free of crap, or I take you to da hospital myself." His voice holds a certain amount of humor, but at the same while there's a degree of sincerity flavors his words… "now hold still."
Samantha looks with unabashed curiosity at the back of my head—I can so feel her eyes on me—so that she might see some gore.
From the line of customers, an elderly lady snaps, "Excuse me, miss, some of us have been waiting for a very long time. If you could get on with it?"
"Sorry about that," the girl mutters, interest stifled with embarrassment, but not yet bridled. Something about her demeanor told me that she wasn't exactly through with me. As time passed, I was certain she'd figured out a way to bug me…if anything, that girl is clever.
I tried to stay still as my head was forced back together. "Hey, Samantha, don't forget about the—ow!—shoe button thing…they're not miscellaneous…are you done yet?"
Smiling innocently at me from above, Kale's Hawaiian eyes crinkle in a friendly expression of mirth. "Yeah. But hold on to it, okay?" he moves my hand to put pressure around the bloody little spot, "for at least fifteen minutes…better thirty." He nods at Samantha. "we got up here; you can go take a break."
Scowling at my friend and boss, I roll my eyes in salute. Heading for the break room to clock out for a quick minute or so, I then waltz right past the two, still holding the bandage tightly to my head. "You wanna drink or something? I'm getting tea."
Kale raises an eyebrow at me. "I told you to go on break." He says with a half tilted smile, and amused, sparkling eyes.
Grinning, I nod. "Yeeeeah…so what! I'm hungry, and I don't have any food."
"Nah, I'm fine," Kale mumbles, and turns away.
Samantha grins at me. "I'll take a coke!"
Scowling away from her, I call back, "yeah, but you'll owe me one when I don't have a dollar." I assure her. "'s how things go…and you want a diet one?"
She laughs—a strange cross between a conceited and self-conscious comment—just a bit. "Hey, thanks for telling me I'm fat."
Girls! I don't get 'em at all. "You're the one that's been telling me how hard it is to be on a diet—" I protest.
Her replying chuckle seems half-choked. Poor thing. "So you're telling me I need to diet, then—?"
"Noooooo, aw, man, I give up…'s no use in arguing with you…so it's a regular, then?"
She nods, so I meander out the door and across the parking lot…eager as ever to run across traffic to the convenience store I patron. And believe me, crossing a busy road while clutching your head is not easy. Ignoring honking horns and impatient drivers—god, I dunno how many accidents've happened 'cause people don' like ta wait—I jog across the intersection into the building. Fortunately, the constant pressure's not left me with any sort of wetness under my fingers…guess fortune favors the dumb.
"Hey," I greet the cashier.
She's a perpetually cheerful-seeming young lady with short, brown hair and an engaging smile. Today, however, the girl seems to be more than a little upset. Her eyes are wider than usual, and her mouth is slightly open in disbelief… "sir," she's saying, "I can't break a hundred—"
Glancing at the folded green bill in the man's hand, and wincing in sympathy, I nevertheless continue past them. I grab a basket with my free hand, and make my way to the froze section. I awkwardly take a free coke from the display, some brambleberry tea—love that stuff—and a ready-made box of stir-fry. It isn't exactly my favorite meal, but hey…beggars can't be choosers, hmm?
Handling my goodies with one arm, I slowly make my way back to where the sweet girl—Meaghan?—is. She's still arguing with the middle-aged, balding man with a bad attitude. I can barely catch her words from where I am…
As I come closer, things make sense of themselves. "—told you, sir," the harsh stress on that word makes me think…she probably wants him to be more deserving of that title… "I don't have it!"
"You told me—'out of forty.' Where's my money?"
Oh, hell take such men. I roll my eyes in irritation, lean against the wall of candy to watch the scene unfold…
…as I suspected, the man was conning the poor girl outta some money…she must've pulled some twenties from somewhere to keep her register even, but not counted it back to the dude…so the guy takes advantage of this and says she shorts him some cash. No way to prove it—how're you to say he didn't have that twenty-dollar-bill in the first place?—except to count the drawer, and even that doesn't really work…
…his word against yours.
He walks out with more money than he came in with, with a snide smile to me. "You better be careful," he advises, a huffy laugh puffing from his lips that all people seem to do when lying 'bout money…
I raise an eyebrow, looking dubiously at the balding man. He exits with his bags, and I muse, "that guy's a crook," loud enough for him to catch it.
A distraught Meaghan rushes past me to another cashier, and their store manager—an elderly guy with a big heart—converses quietly with her in the corner. The other cashier makes a hasty retreat. He puts one hand on the girl's shoulder, and pulls out his billfold…firmly pressing some of his own money into her quavering hand...trying to set things right, keep her from getting in trouble...so her drawer won't be short.
Leaning as I am against the wall, I avert my eyes to the Valentine's decorations before me, examining the plethora of cards, chocolates and candy-colored plushies…there's little love in all that crap…but looking at a simple, heartfelt gesture of compassion—that by itself can make the recipient glow…
Meaghan is hugging her manager—inappropriate? Hardly—and retreating to the relative peace and quiet of the backroom…
I'm sure she'll remember this a hell of a lot longer than some box of chocolates or a…
…single rose…
…hm.
Maybe.
With the girl outta the picture, I turn my sight on the older man, calling, "yo." I raise my basket, "you wanna check me out, oh-kind-soul?" I wink.
He smiles, comes forward, and clucks disapprovingly at my head. "Hurt yourself?" His smile is forced, judgmental.
Laughing, I smile earnestly. "Nah. It's nothin'…"
…or something like that, anyways…
Next stop, I guess, is heading for work, then home…
I sleep on my stomach for the next few days.
Consequently, my neck hurts.
There was a boy
whose heart grew as
still
and unmoving as
a
thing of old myths
and ancient legends.
He was often called a
child
behind his back—
of
the times he wandered alone
so the ill-thought-of
course
of life came to be his.
They say his mind is
always of two sorts;
kind and extraordinarily
giving
but cold and selfish.
all
men could see that he's
broken up inside
of
himself, never truly
here or there. And
to those of
us
who know him well,
he seems to be
nothing
more than dreamy…
Who are we talking about?
The entire tale is a lie…my dear, it could be exactly what I say, but it couldn't. Not likely. See, story-tellers are liars…twisting everything so that you feel what they want.
I come by these thoughts on an almost empty bus, riding along to my lazy mechanic-friend's house…getting my car for the first time in ages. I've got my license outta my chest of junk, pulled on only a light jacket instead of a heavy coat. I'm ready to spend less time in the wind and more at stoplights, waiting for something to happen.
A series of thoughts about clothes, fashion and clerical duties barge through my mind as I lean against the window…my head's occasionally thudding quietly against the glass, but I'll be okay. Hard head, y'know?
Finally, I get to where I'm going…and quietly exit. Now all I've gotta do is walk a few streets down and hope to hell he hasn't fallen asleep…again.
This friend of mine, see, he's a computer guy, and his girlfriend's a pretty well-to-do artist…used to work for Hallmark for a good two years or so, but her sculptures—something to do with flowers—and paintings were doing so well…so she quit Hallmark and supports the two of 'em easy. So his computer-gig is mainly for fun, giving them extra cash to waste on stuff I've never even thought of, pro'lly.
Anyways, I only mention it 'cause this part o' town's so…well, le'me put it this way. These couple blocks or so are pretty renown for the artist community. Being so close to prime art-galleries, great shops and killer companies, you see? The studio's down here are a hell of a lot more pricy 'n anywhere else.
Yeah. My friend. Like I said, his job's got something to do with fixing up computers…but the dude's real handy at whatever he does. Guess you could say he's something of a genius. So back in high school, he used to watch his ol' man fix up junk cars…so he's picked up that trade, too. Makes him nice to have around.
…yeah, old friends are pretty cool to have…I get the feeling he's only chargin' me for the parts, see? Not his time.
My feet take me down a block or two just thinkin' about all these things, and suddenly I realize I'm there…the big white trees breaking through the busy line of streetlights, and just a minute's drive away from one of the prominent bars in the city…it's damn noisy here. But you'd think—by all the photographs—that it was the perfect haven for 'inspired' artists' ventures…
I swing a right there, and find myself confronted by a sweet, well designed ol' building where m'friend 'n his girl live…So, entering this place is always like coming into a new world…like I'm walking into an 'expressive painting.' Everything's exaggerated, the light's so weird and the carpet such a strange color…it's a whole 'nother place from my apartment building.
Climbing a few stairs, I'm about to knock when the door swings open.
"Naruto!" a bright, bubble-gum pink head of hair exclaims. Liquid blue eyes grin out at me. "You're here for your car, right?"
Laughing as I take a step back, I squeak, "Ino?" her hair is outrageous…I can feel my face pinching into a tight grin that closes my eyes and makes my face seem pointed. A fox smile.
She returns the expression as best she can. "Yaaah?"
"…why're you spiking your hair?"
With a great laugh that bespeaks her amusement, the formerly-blonde girl shakes her head. And her eccentric earrings jingle a little tune of mirth, themselves.
"Weeeeell, I wanted a change…and certain big-forehead girls thought I as trying to imitate them. So to let said girl know it was nothing of the sort, I cut it all off! Hah!" she grins as she leans against the door. "Hey, you got a minute?" her eyes sparkle with mischief, and I notice just there that she's fixed a gold rhinestone to her eyebrow…it catches the light in an interesting way.
From behind her, a lightly olive-toned man comes forth. "…Ino…don't try and drag Naruto into one of your crazy projects…" his lazy, slightly bemused smile woulda been outta place for anyone else, but not for him.
"Hey, whas'up, Shikamaru m'man!" I grin, wet my dry lips a little and let the smirk show some teeth. "And your lovely girlfriend can borrow me for an hour only, dude, I've got an appointment—"
Shikamaru rolls his eyes. "…with Sasuke, am I right?"
I blink, and my smile drops for an instant. "…no—yeeeeah, so what?" I demand, flashing another of my old grins…a smile that catches sunlight and throws it back…
…that's what Sasuke said, anyways…
I don't know if it still can.
Ino drags me inside with a girly laugh. "So how is my big-forehead-ed friend?"
Smiling still, I reply, "uhhhh, y'know her…she's set herself to becomin' the best doctor in the whole damn world." Wagging my eyebrows suggestively, I ease a turn of lips from Shikamaru. "I think she'll be fine," pause, "how's Chouji, anyways? You heard from him?"
Ino's trying not to grin as she rolls her eyes. The affection there is hard to miss. "He's supposed t'come later this week to play go with Shikamaru…or maybe it was that Chinese-Japanese-whatever chess thing…"
"Sounds good," I say mechanically, but my stomach turns in a flip. All of my old friends are making good on their dreams—and where am I?
"Last I checked, though, he was still cooking at a Japanese steak-house, earning his weight in tips! Isn't that funny? Who woulda thought that guy'd be any good with food outside of eating it?"
That certain unexpected fondness took me by surprise…there was a bit of warmth in her words, a faint tinge of pink on her cheeks, and an uplift of lips.
Huh.
"…so wha'cha want me to do?" I ask with a small grin, and a lazy stretch of arms… "and I get to keep m'clothes on, yeah?"
I must have startled the forthcoming laugh from Ino, she turned pink so quick. "Oh, god no." widening her pale blue eyes a bit, she pulls her hand against her mouth. "Uh, not to say that you're not, um, good looking or anything, but you're," she falters, struggling for words, "you're Naruto."
Shikamaru chuckles quietly. "Mm, she's got a point…"
I sigh a little to myself and toe off my shoes. "So where're we going…?"
Ino takes me by the arm, pulls me through the studio, humming to herself a tune Chouji sings, sometimes, when he's happy. I used to think he only sang it by himself, or with Shikamaru. The thought barely passes me when we reach a room made of windows. It's all green furniture, various throw rugs, and a lot of trinkets.
I think my eyes betrayed my surprise, my admiration…it was rather like stepping into another painting altogether. Somewhere from the old days, where women wore bustling dresses and men had long, flowing hair. In that early morning light, with the golds so soft they were white, it was definitely something special.
Ino beams at my obvious enjoyment of her décor. "Okay!" she squeaks, giddy with pleasure, "why don't you…make yourself comfy?"
Shikamaru had wordlessly followed us into the room, and his quiet surveying eye looked me and the room over. He presses his mouth into a firm line. "Why don't you take the chair by the door?" he suggests quietly, gesturing for the one chair facing away from the sun…
…hmm.
Smiling a little, I pad barefoot across the warm honey-colored wood. The two of them must have some kind of heater in the ground…any other place's floor'd be frigid. It makes for a great little haven, this unexpected sunroom in the back of an apartment complex…must've cost 'em a shit-load of money.
On the table next to me, I spy a few things draped over a table…softly, smoothly, I pick up a piece of cloth…it reminds me of kimono, with the light pink flowers, lovely yellow ribbons and green flashes of silk. Upon examining it—albeit briefly—I co0me across a startling revelation.
The Uchiha crest has its origin in this lovely, ancient pattern of design. It's not the red-and-white (blood irises and white eyes) uchihwa, a Japanese fan, but the strange tear-shaped tomoe. Three here are spinning inwards—
the heavens, the earth and human kind. One for each, one for all. Isn't that what you told me, Sasuke?
Ino's watery blue eyes focus on me strangely, and I sink back into the chair without realizing I've fallen into it. She pushes a bauble into my hands, but I'm not really looking at it…
The two of my friends chatter briefly in half-phrased words and questions. I don't make any sense of it. The next thing I realize, Shikamaru's looking me over with worried eyes, but a soft voice. "I'm going to tilt you a little." he lightly touches my hands, and then pushes me and the furniture to an angle of slight degree…
Sunshine spills over me like a wash of water. It warms half of my face, yet refuses to touch a great deal of me. I am thrown in shadows…doused in light.
…but the bauble glimmers like a star.
In the back of my mind, I realize that Ino's dragged an easel over, a handful of pencils and charcoal. Her hands move quickly, I can see it from the corner of my eye, and I can see her measuring all parts of me. Then she puts her hands to the paper…one hand steadying, but where I have I gone?
Far away
in my head
Naruto, Sasuke smiles at me, wearing his odd-seeming 'summer-kimono' called yukata. He continues, I want you to wear this, his voice is loud to my ears, just around the house, okay…?
A nine-years-younger me screws his face up in a 'charming' way…nuh-uh! I won't be caught dead in uh'ugly ol' dress!
Sasuke's annoyance shows clearly on his doll-like face. Of course you'll wear it! It's yukata, not a dress, stupid!
My face flashes crimson. It looks like a—
—it isn't. His aristocratic voice allows for no argument. Besides, he cajoles, don't you want to wear the Uchiha crest? His hands gesture like small white birds to the eloquently falling fabric…he straightens a fold, Naru—
"—to?" Ino's voice is far off. Her pink-spiked hair's a little less crisp, and a smudge of gold highlights her cheekbone.
I wonder how it got there.
She continues hesitantly, loathe to speak after an eternity of silence, "it's been an hour…do you want something to eat?"
I shake my head even as my stomach gurgles loudly. Blushing as my cold hands fumble the orb away… "er, maybe…"
Ino grins and winks, shoving shoeing Shikamaru from the hallway and into the sunroom. She's gone in a flurry of color and laughter...something like I used to do, when we were all kids.
Funny, isn't it? How we've switched roles.
He shoves his hands into his pockets, seeming too awkward to be my childhood friend. At last, he opens his mouth, a few minutes after Ino's left. "…you've changed, Naruto," he notes. Maybe musing over the same as me.
Strange, for him to say something like that, instead'a just thinkin' it… "Odd for you to say that, Shikamaru…when you've gone and given up your daydreams…"
He stares at me weirdly, raises an eyebrow. "I'm doing exactly what I wanted," he replies stiffly.
My eyes shift closed… "what about Chouji—?" my voice falters.
"I'm still—"
"Do you like him?" I lean forward, just a touch, and make an expression some 'friends' have labeled my fox-face…I can tell that's what Shikamaru's thinking of…just by the tilt of his head.
Shikamaru blinks just once. "Naruto," he says tightly, "that's none of your business," delivered in such a way that leaves no doubt in my mind.
Curious, isn't it? How many people's friendships grow into a certain sort of love…if nurtured, could every such affection blossom into the same sort of thing I feel for Sa—
—for the loves of my life?
My features have relaxed into a more peaceful expression. A smile finds its way to my lips, and the so-called purity of it can be clearly seen in the reflection of an old friend's eyes…
…he eases into a small smile of his own. "So," he chuckles a little, "why don't we take a look at Ino's sketches?" Strangely, in the way Japanese young men seem to enjoy, Shikamaru leads me over to the easel without touching so much as my arm…
…so different from his girlfriend.
I look on to large pieces of paper.
See
my face, several times over, with lines running from pupil to mouth or ear to shoulder, all these strange relationships I never'd notice…and the smudges of paint—the smell seems so odd, so musty or full of god knows what…those paint smears match my eyes, my hair, and maybe the skin on my cheeks…? But it isn't me. I'm not like that…not so
emotional
…it couldn't be me. That raw sort of feeling is left to better men, can't be in my eyes. Can't be in a smile so forced it's plain as day to be broken…hell, my hand wasn't that tightly wrapped around the bauble…no, the picture staring back at me it
can't.have.been.me.
shouldn't have been.
I look at Shikamaru oddly, then, and wordlessly withdraw.
"…can you come back?" Shikamaru's asking, just as the sunroom door opens.
Ino, smiling, is carrying a tray with three slices of coffee cake, a pot of joe, and another pot of tea…Japanese style cups are resting elegantly against one-another… "I don't suppose you'll have lunch, too?" She asks brightly.
My head is swimming. "Maybe some other time…" I mutter, smiling only a little.
Ino's swept aside a few things with her foot, half-way across the room, before setting the cumbersome tray on the table…it's low-set, with Japanese-style cushions on the floor. All this is to the side of the utterly western furniture—chairs, couches, carpets and the like—like a little world of its own.
The now fluorescently-topped girl promptly squats over one of the cushions. "Please, I made these this morning!" she declares self-importantly. "Won't you try it?" already deftly arranging cups and plates…deciding for me that I will eat.
…and yet, how strange, that she's adopted so many of Shikamaru's customs…and somehow remained so utterly herself.
I nod anyways, despite the oddity, and sit down stiffly. I take a cup. "…I can't stay long," I admit slowly.
"Aa," Shikamaru shrugs languidly, his eyes half-closed and looking at me. "We understand."
Ino leans forward. "Tea?" she asks.
"Coffee…" I reply.
Tea…it reminds me of Sasuke. He always hated coffee, hated my breath after I drank some, didn't want to kiss or—
"—you'll have to come back when you have more time." She breathes. "So I can paint you…" she takes a sip of green-tea. When she sets it down, I can see the dollop of honey in the bottom of the cup.
I smile.
Shikamaru's tea is straight.
"Are you busy this time next week?"
I won't be, but I shrug. "We'll see."
Pressing the subject, Ino leans forward farther. "we can arrange for Sasuke to—"
My eyes light up.
Ino's grin is sultry, smiling just to please me, "…we can go to the bookstore, they've got all kinds of things…" winning a bit of worry and a lot of grins, she is. "Like coffee and—"
"He likes tea." I say, uselessly. Half dazed and not listening.
Shikamaru's head rests on steepled hands…it's Sasuke's old habit.
Ino's smile is…a little forced. "They have tea, silly!" she falters in her teasing. There's just a little oddity in her voice.
Why? Does she fear my bright eyes, my red lips? Or is it my sharp, fox-like teeth…?
but it is not so, and it was not so…
Shikamaru frowns to himself, as if in apology. I wonder what Chouji would think.
My head is heavy, my neck breaks. Down I swing, while a quiet litany (of words) flows through my mind and out my mouth, "and God forbid it should be so."
They stare at me, eyes wide. I scream silently aloud, but I pay it no mind—for a conversation passes—wordless—between them.
I can't stand it. So I drink my coffee…
…but I shalln't have any cake.
Always lying, always leaving.
wont' you come
with me,
Lady Mary?
Down this dark, clouded
white road of
crimson tastes?
Be bold, be bold.
Sapphire eyes shut.
The clawed paw of a fox
is cast down.
So I die, so I die,
Mister Fox breathes, but not
for ever,
doll. Not for all
ways.
The mystery awaits me yet.
tbc...soon, I hope. I'm not done with Valentine's.
Challenge. If you read it...all the way through...pick out one word or more (from your head or the story, I don't care) to tell me what you thought. Remember, feedback is the most important tool an author can have...and unfortunately, we can't get it from ourselves.
