Calamity Hoppers ~Reprise~
by Christopher R. Martin
Chapter 13 – Then, Now and Later
Seven o'clock. The moon gazed down upon the whole town with its myriad of stars in tow. I could feel another tepid evening looming in the horizon. And more often than not, these feelings of mine were right on the mark.
The Woo Foo dojo never really saw that much activity at night. My master and I were off doing our own thing unless a specific situation called for us to get together, like dinner time or whenever I was studying my lessons for the day. Other than that, most nights were uneventful.
That night was no exception. While my master was inside the dojo helping himself to whatever meal he whipped up for himself, I stayed out in the darkly lit backyard brushing up on my Woo Foo as always. Every punch I threw, every kick I flung, every spell I cast, I exerted more than one hundred percent of energy into. My mind was set on nothing else except to hone my skill, to push myself beyond my boundaries.
People across town often called me one-track minded because of my devotion, my obsession, to this martial art. I guess they had a point, but who the hell were they to judge? It wasn't like they themselves didn't have something they were overly fixated on. It wasn't like they didn't have something they really loved to the point where they'd give up every other part of their life just to focus on that one endeavor.
It was in times like this where I was able to perform at my absolute best. Without the prying eyes or the secret murmurs of passersby to throw me off. In some instances, I even preferred practicing my Woo Foo during this time of the day.
By the time that my training moved on to balancing, I started counting backwards. Although I was reciting the numbers out loud, I retained my focus on my form, holding still and never wobbling.
"Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One."
You could say that I was breathing out the numbers rather than saying them.
Seeing how well I was doing, I decided to hold my pose for an additional thirty seconds. I raised the bar higher and higher upon meeting the quota over and over again until I would reach a full ten minutes.
At least, that's what I was aiming for. In the midst of my regimen, I sensed another presence besides my own in the backyard. There were no footsteps, no rustling sounds coming from the grass, or any other kind of indication. Not that I needed them, anyway. This was no sixth sense or anything like that. This was just my sharpened senses doing their thing.
Whoever this person was approached me gingerly, knowing, seeing how deep in concentration I was. I didn't mind it at all. It wasn't like this person could break my focus.
"Even now, you're still practicing. Why am I not surprised?"
Channeling my strength to the leg I had been balancing on, I somersaulted out of the pose and faced the person in question. A beautiful fox girl that is a year my junior, dressed in a simple attire consisting of a collared shirt and quite the short skirt. I heard that this sort of fashion was a big thing over in Japan. The things that teenage girls wear, I swear.
This fox girl had her arms folded and stared at me with a grin that I know all too well. I had seen it so many times ever since the day she first entered this dojo. When the two of us were just at the start of the adolescent stage, when my master and I took her under our wings and showed her all we knew, and the bond between us only strengthened from then on. That smile was by far the most recognizable part of her, one that I didn't want to go away.
I echoed her smile and fetched the bottle of water standing idly on the grass by the side. Gulping down some of the water, I then approached her.
"Hey, Kitsune," I greeted, wiping the water clean off of my lips. "What are you doing here? You do realize that our lesson ended three hours ago, right?"
"That doesn't mean I can't drop on by, does it? Unless of course you want me to leave, which in that case just say the word."
"Oh, no no no. I said no such thing. You're more than welcome here."
Kitsune brought a paw up to her lips and giggled. "Glad to hear it."
"As a matter of fact, you being here has just saved me an entire night's worth of boredom."
She quirked an eyebrow, as if she had heard the most astonishing news. "Now there's a laugh, right there. You? Get bored of training?" She proceeded towards the dojo, and I followed her tail closely.
The two of us made our way across the different nooks and crannies of the dojo at a leisurely pace.
"Hey, I'll have you know that I've got a social life of my own," I countered her little tease as she walked past the kitchen and the dining area.
"Is that so?"
"You bet your ass I do."
"If you do, then you'd know about the movie marathon that we've got planned. Oh, come on. Don't tell me you forgot."
Actually, I did forget, but I didn't say anything to her. All I did was shake my head at her. I was too proud to let her know that. Too proud to ever be proven wrong.
I didn't know if she ever bought my response. Kitsune was never one to be fooled so easily, so it was safe to say that she didn't buy it at all.
"By the way, where is he?" I asked, sitting on the backrest of the sofa and folding my arms. By 'he', I meant the third member of our little three-person band.
"He's just outside," said Kitsune, to which I followed promptly by parting the front doors to either side.
And there he was. Upon opening the doors, I saw a tall, slender-framed crow resting against the leftmost wooden handrail on the stairs. His attire was, like Kitsune's, simple, comprised of denim pants and a long-sleeved shirt. His talons were the only part of him that didn't have any clothing, not that they needed any in the first place. Everything about him was supposed to give off a vibe that went along the lines of 'awesome' or 'cool' or 'badass', but I personally thought he was trying a little too hard.
Between us three, I guess you could call Noah an x-factor of sorts. There was so much about him that was a mystery to me and Kitsune, and the very few bits and pieces of his life that he did disclose still left the two of us confused. The earliest memory I had of him was him happening upon our dojo one day and my master welcoming him with open arms and training him into yet another Woo Foo Knight. And it wasn't like it mattered to Noah at all; his eyes were always set forward. That was the only direction he knew where to go.
From a few seconds of sizing this bird up, I could see why he remained outside the entire time. A cigarette was clamped in his beak, ejecting puff after puff of smoke into the air. He knew about the ground rules that were set for the dojo, one of them being no cigarette smoking whatsoever. According to my master, this place didn't deserve to be defiled by such a vile object.
"How long are the two of you gonna keep me waiting? Seriously," said the crow, putting the cigarette in and out of his beak.
"That depends on how long you plan on holding on to that," I replied, pointing at his cigarette. "You know the rules, Noah. Get rid of it."
Noah rolled his eyes. He crumpled his cigarette in his two wings and flung it as far from the dojo grounds as possible. He cast an annoyed gaze at me, but I countered with my own scrutinizing stare.
"All of it," I instructed him, articulating each word.
Again he rolled his eyes, but this time he groaned as well. He fished his pockets for an entire pack of cigarettes and flung them outside the dojo walls too. "You can't be serious. I just bought these."
"Tough luck." I shrugged my shoulders at him. But something occurred to me then. I stopped him before he could dispose of his carton. "Fine, you can bring 'em in."
"Hey, I knew you'd come around." He flashed a grin and folded his wings as though they were a pair of arms.
"But you better make sure the old man doesn't see them, do you understand? If he does—"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, you're turning me into your personal chew toy or some shit like that. I get the picture." Noah flapped the tip of one of his wings in imitation of a moving mouth. I didn't think I'd ever see such audacity from anyone. "Honestly, though, lighten the hell up."
I bit my lower lip hard, but not hard enough to make it bleed. Even with the leniency that I was showing him, he couldn't keep a leash around that tongue of his. It was as if to him, I was some kind of priest and this building was a monastery instead of a dojo. But I could only bend the rules as far as they could be bent. Blur the lines enough that they remained visible.
I said not a word and simply leaned against the edges of the doors, guiding Kitsune and Noah inside the dojo. The two of them settled in the living room, and I closed the doors behind me and joined them. After looking over the movies that my two friends had brought over, our movie marathon was ready to commence.
And just like that, the small spat between me and Noah faded into the distance. It was a testament to the bond that the three of us shared. Nothing in this world, whether big or small, could ever come between us. For all the disagreements we would inevitably come to down the road, we remained close at the end of the day.
In each other, we found solace. In each other, we found a friendly rivalry. In each other, we saw the best of us being brought out by one another's mere presence alone.
The memory comes to an end, and I find myself back in the deeper parts of this cave. I am in my room, passing the time by playing on an electric guitar that I've recently bought for myself. All the days spent working at Wild Ones' is starting to pay off, so to speak. The money I earn goes into furnishing this cave into a more hospitable abode and buying all kinds of necessities for me and Yang to go by. Furniture, appliances, clothes, whatever you can name, I can more or less afford.
The place is in tip top shape so far, but it's far from finished. Between training my aspiring student, honing my own Woo Foo skills and making renovations, I have a lot of work to do. It all takes a greater toll on me than I anticipated.
I'm in my room at the moment, lying on my bed. Taking a rest after an entire afternoon of nothing but rearranging this cave. One of the necessities that I've bought for myself is an alarm clock with a built-in radio on my nightstand to my right. I still don't quite understand how those newfangled, futuristic-looking ones work. You know what they look like: the ones that have—what do they say they are? Touchpads?—as opposed to knobs and buttons, and a bunch of holes and whatnot to plug some kind of device in. It's a little embarrassing of me to say it, but I'm going to need Yang's help figuring this new technology out. Thankfully, he's agreed.
Anyway, I bob my head in a steady rhythm as Back In Black by AC/DC starts playing through the speaker. Once I feel that I'm rested enough, I get up off of my bed and make my way to my wardrobe to fetch yet another 'necessity' that's lying around there – an electric guitar with an amplifier to match it. I listen closely to the music and pluck the strings along with the opening riff, shutting my eyes to immerse myself into the melody.
Music is another thing that's seen a tremendous change. Well, maybe it isn't that tremendous, but it is noticeable. Heavy metal doesn't seem to be getting the appreciation it deserves anymore. Lately, the talk of the town is one of, or a combination of a number of things: pop, dubstep, hip-hop and rap. I guess people have forgotten the amount of skill it takes to play a piano or guitar or any other acoustic instrument out there. It's all about tinkering their computers, keyboards—or keypads, whatever they're supposed to be—and mice—which is weird, since I thought they're supposed to be rodents—in order to produce sound. Then again, there's a lot I don't know about this new generation.
Once the song finishes, I turn the knob around to find another station I can listen to. Most of the music I hear, I am completely unfamiliar with. They're mostly about one of the following subject matters: love, partying and having a good time, and sex. Thank goodness the static gets in the way of me actually listening to them, I'm already beginning to dread what's to come.
After surfing the airwaves for a good ten to twenty seconds, I stop at a radio station that's crystal clear. The DJ babbles on about a contest to win tickets to a music festival or concert and then finally introduces the next song, if it can even be called that. He calls it 'an oldie, but a goodie', but my reservations keep me from believing him.
When the lyrics start, I feel a sudden urge that tells me to bang my head repeatedly against a wall.
You know you love me – uh, no I don't, pal.
I know you care – yeah, keep telling yourself that.
Just shout whenever
And I'll be there – if you are, I'm going to tell you to get some singing lessons.
You want my love
You want my heart
And we'll never ever, ever be apart
Are we an item?
Girl, quit playin'
We're just friends – we're not friends, and we never will be.
What are you sayin'?
Said there's another as you look right in my eyes
My first love broke my heart for the first time – I hope she broke your face, too.
And I was like
And I'm not kidding; the entirety of the chorus is comprised of nothing but the word 'baby', and maybe an 'oh' and a 'no' here and there.
That's it, enough's enough.
Swiftly I bring my arm across the nightstand, sending the clock flying to the other side of the room and slamming into the wall. It falls to the ground, pieces inside of it rattling. Heh… Looks like that's a hundred and fifty dollars down the drain.
And people have the nerve to call rock music and heavy metal noise. Seriously, what the hell was that? Their so-called Justin Bieber's, their Lady Gaga's, their Arianna Grande's and whatnots… People call them musicians? That's the sickest joke I think I've ever heard.
Anyway, I walk over to where the alarm clock landed and pick up what little of it is left. It doesn't seem to be completely broken, so I put it back in its original spot. I then head to the kitchen, and just as I grab the thing and close the fridge door behind me, I hear footsteps ringing in a crescendo from the entrance to this cave. I shift my face to the direction of the noise.
Yang stands just at the edge of the living room, breathing heavily, clutching his wrist tightly His face strained, knees bent and body hunched forward. Pained groans and grunts escape his mouth. I proceed to the living room, sit down on the couch and plant my feet on the coffee table, curving my mouth into a sly, serpentine smile.
"Welcome home," I greet my student, crossing one leg over the other. "Judging by the look on your face, I can tell that you had a lot of fun tonight. Ready to pass out, little guy?"
Unamused by my jesting, he comes closer to me, each step he takes a trial. "Hilarious," he says dryly.
I clamp my paws together and rest my head on top of them. A chuckle slips off the tip of my tongue, which only serves to grate on his nerves. But it's exactly what I'm hoping to accomplish. "Now, now. Don't let me rain on your parade. This is obviously your show. Think of me as a spectator and nothing more."
After letting out a particularly harsh grunt, Yang releases his wrist from his hand and narrows his stare at me. "Cut the condescending bullshit already," he demands, fed up. "I'm not in the mood. Now explain yourself."
"Whatever do you mean?"
"I think you know very well. Don't you think that there's something you're not telling me? Something that, I don't know, I need to be informed about?"
The answer to both of his questions is a solid, unspoken 'yes'. The reason I don't say it to him is to get under his skin. To make it crawl, to make his blood boil.
Instead of telling him what he wants to hear, I merely answer with, "Sorry, but I'm still a little lost," and accompany the statement with a shrug.
He doesn't see it—and I plan on keeping it that way—but what he considers an attempt to piss him off on my part is my own way of evaluating him. It is simply me seeing how far his conviction, his commitment, stretches. This is me gauging his capacity as a Woo Foo Knight.
From what I've seen of this blue rabbit boy so far, I know for a fact that greatness is just beyond the horizon for him. These are the words I told Yin during your first meeting not long ago, and I mean every word of it. Somewhere inside of him is a power that has yet to be awakened. It can be brought out with the right guidance. Guidance that I can give him, guidance that he can never get if he remained with that hollow, miserable old fart.
But every once in a while, it can get a little hard to bring out that promise in my student. As determined as Yang is, he is still a child. And children aren't as…tempered, for lack of a better word. They're a handful.
Yang, the last of his patience worn out, raises his right arm and points me to it.
"Oh, for crying out loud. I'm talking about this," he shouts. "Ever since you gave me this, I feel like something's ready to pop out of me, as if it's been there the entire time. When I suck up every ounce of Fog around me, I can feel myself dying little by little. And every waking minute that passes, it only gets worse and worse."
"That? That's just your body adapting to the Grimoire. It's ensuring that you're attuned to what's coming soon."
"Bullshit. Why the hell did you give me this? You clearly know how dangerous this thing is, yet you just handed it over to me. What is going on in your mind? I honestly want to know, because I am beyond curious."
I cross my legs and plant an elbow on the nearest armrest. My eyes burrow into their way into his head, resonating with his soul. Right now, I don't see a fearsome, headstrong warrior. I see my student for the child he is. The delicate, young thing that he is. Any semblance of a carefree attitude is wiped clean from my face.
"You're the one who wanted this, remember?" I say to him without a hint of warmth in my voice. "I warned you already that this is—"
"I know, I know, an excruciating experience. You don't have to tell me twice."
Then, as he says that, I feel an aching in my chest. It's growing at an alarming rate, and eventually, I flounder to the floor. I clutch where my heart is to contain this persistent throbbing, teeth gritting and face contorting. It just had to happen now… Goddamn it.
Yang scrambles over to me and searches for some way to help me. There is none.
"Lupin!" he cries out in his desperation, dropping his sword to the floor. Putting his paws on my person like it's going to help. In a way, it does. Somewhat.
This pain in my chest is nothing new. I've had these attacks one too many times. You could call it a price for recklessness.
Yang doesn't know this, of course, and each time he sees me floored like this, struggling just to breathe, tensing my whole body until the pain inevitably subsides, he always goes into a panic. As soon as it ends, I always tell him that I'm going to be fine. That he has nothing to worry about. I wish I could believe it myself. And although he believes it, it won't be long before my words turn empty.
My insides continue to burn until the hurting finally dies out and I manage to bring myself to my knees. Hurriedly I take in as much air as my lungs will allow. It's over. For now…
"Are you alright?" he asks, starting off with a stammer before getting himself composed.
One heavy breath after another, and I urge myself to answer him. "Yeah. Yeah, I am."
Sighing in relief, Yang allows his head to flop. "What is your deal?" His labored breaths turn into small chuckles.
"What?"
"Scaring me half to death like this? With these so-called 'heartburns'? If this is some kind of practical joke, then you need to find a new one, fast."
I return his chuckles with a few of my own, making out some humor in his questions. "Maybe it is, maybe it isn't," I say, going along with his banter. Leaving the real matter at hand for another day, when he's ready to hear it.
Instead, I sit up, bring one of my knees close to me and gather a different set of words in my mind.
"Yang," I whisper to him solemnly, beckoning him to come closer to me.
"Hm?"
"I gave you the Grimoire for a few reasons. The first is that I was trying to tell you something you should know."
"What is it?"
My chest is heavy, as is my head, but this time, there's no danger of my interior catching fire again.
"As strong as that artifact may be, it can never be a complete substitute for the power that lies inside of you. I don't want you to think any less of that power. I don't want you to devalue your worth. When the time is right, that power of yours will be unveiled before your eyes, and you'll know exactly what I'm talking about."
Given how intently Yang is listening to my little diatribe, though, I can tell that word for word, he understands me perfectly. He nods his head slowly at me, digesting every word, every syllable.
The gaze in his eyes is a resolute one. Woo Foo Knights the world over, from generation to generation, have worn this mask to attest their strength, their valor. If only I can see this gaze, that glint, more often in him.
I stand up, but wobble a bit. Though I don't really need it, Yang helps me on my feet and leads me to the countertop at the kitchen, where the two of us sit on the chairs laid out for us.
"What's the other thing you were trying to tell me?" he asks, clasping his paws and resting them on the granite surface.
"It's a reminder of the difference between power fueled by conviction and power on its own," I say, retaining the solemnity I spoke with not a minute just now. "You've seen a glimpse of it, right?"
"I have, yeah."
"Then you understand what it means to lose sight of what you're fighting for, don't you?"
"Yes."
I lower my head and exhale easily. I can only hope that there's weight behind his word. That he won't be like many other Woo Foo who have found themselves trapped in this all-too-common pitfall.
That leads me to the final thing I have to say to my student.
"One more thing," I say to Yang, looking at him from over my shoulder.
"Yup?"
For some reason, I hesitate before saying a word to him. "I gave you that Grimoire because I have faith in you."
Yang's eyes—no, his whole face—is aglow after I utter that statement. As if he's asking me, "Really?"
Assuming this, I nod at him and smile softly.
It's not that I ever doubt him. I mean, sure I've had my misgivings the first time I laid eyes on him. Yeah, he can be a handful, and I've had moments where I've gone off my rocker when it comes to training him, but the confidence I've put in him has not gone to waste. This much, I believe.
Not only that, but he needs this. From what I've seen and heard of this boy so far, he doesn't get enough faith and trust from his master – yet another one of his shortcomings that is in need of correcting, I'm sure. It's these small nuggets of detail that convince me that he and I are kindred spirits. That he and I are so much more than master and pupil.
The hour grows late. It's ten o'clock at night. Allowing one last chuckle to slip off my tongue, I pat Yang on the back, and we head down the corridor leading to our respective rooms. As I guide him to his room, he comes across the clutter of albums scattered across my bedroom floor. He moves out of my grasp to pick one of the CD's up and stares at it with what I assume to be disapproval or revulsion.
"What have we here?" says Yang, opening the case and checking the disc like some kind of private investigator.
I snicker. The album that my student has chosen is none other than Ride the Lightning by Metallica. Music that I doubt kids of his age would know of, let alone appreciate.
"Heavy metal. You can't go wrong with it," I comment, resting against my doorframe.
"Right." Yang rolls his eyes at me and scrounges through the pile. "Metallica? Megadeth? Anthrax? Slayer?"
"The Big Four of Metal."
"Nah. Not for me." Haphazardly he discards the album in his paw down on the bed. And here I thought that today's generation would know real music if it were blasted into their ears.
"Don't knock it till you've tried it, kid," I say amusedly, walking into my room to reorganize my belongings.
"Yeah, I like music, not noise."
I rattle my head. He didn't just… Oh, he did.
"Excuse me? Noise?" I raise an eyebrow and glare at him for a good five to ten seconds. Then I grab one of my albums to show to Yang – News of the World by Queen. "Look at this, Yang. Look at it long and hard. I just heard some of the crap that you people listen to nowadays. This is music, do you get me?"
Maybe I'm taking this a little too seriously. For what should be trivial and opinionated, I sure am making a big deal out of this. Not that either of us know or care.
Yang probably does, because he's laughing as I'm making a mountain out of this molehill. "If you say so," he remarks, once again rolling his eyes.
"Never mind. It's getting late." I shake my head and put the album down. "We'll address your…questionable music preferences some other time. In the meantime, go get some shut-eye. We've got plenty to cover tomorrow, and I need you to be at your absolute best."
So he gets up from my bed and leaves my room, but not without sparing one last glance at my music collection.
"G'night, Lupin," he says, finally departing.
"Nighty night, kiddo," I say as warmly as I can, putting my album collection away in the bottom drawer of my wardrobe.
With my student finally out of my sight, I go back to where I left off and pick my guitar up from the floor. The alarm clock looks broken beyond repair, but thankfully, it's still functional, if not barely. The sound is badly distorted, but at least I have something.
I turn the knob and return to the rock and heavy metal station I was listening to before I sent the thing careening to an untimely fate. The next song that plays is one I never thought I would hear on the airwaves. And it just so happens that I know this song very well myself.
The intro plays, comprised of a slow violin motif and a guitar melody to lead into the song proper. Once the lyrics kick in, I sing along as well.
I couldn't look back
You'd gone away from me
I felt my heart ache
I was afraid of following you
When I had looked at
The shadows on the wall
I started running into the light
To find that truth in me
After the prelude is a drum roll on the cymbal which then transitions into the main part of the song: an electrifying guitar riff and rough vocals punctuated by a drum beat clocking in at three hundred beats per minute.
Kurenai by another renowned metal group, X Japan. To my surprise, this is actually a cover, not the original.
A storm starts to brew and blow across the streets
As I take you in my arms
A harsh wind shall blow and veil my eyes
The only thing you ever do is run
You run like you're being chased
Not realizing that I'm all alone
You're a fleeting memory, passing night and day
Here I am on this stage
I'm performing all alone
Like I always have
I don't know how long I can last
All of you in my memory
Is still shining in my heart
Imparting your sacred tears
Now here I am bathed in deep red
Bathed in this pain
Never again shall I give out
These memories of you
I shout on the top of my lungs
Even still, all you do is run
Run like you're in a chase
Never once knowing I'm alone
Here I am again, bathed in deep red
Numbing away the pain
Never again will I relinquish
These memories of you
Even so, I will continue to shout
I'll shout to my very last breath
This pain shall be mine, and I'll continue to endure
And be bathed in deep red
Oh, cry in deep red
As the song plays, I follow the riff on my guitar as closely as I can. There is a piece of me in each pluck of the strings. Most of the notes and chords, I play to near perfection—key word: near. I don't consider myself some sort of guitar god, but I definitely know how to play the instrument.
Not a bad performance, if I say so myself. Some of the translation doesn't work, but most of it does.
My emotions stir throughout the course of the song. Every little bit of me pops open like a bunch of corks flying out of glass bottles. I see the two faces I saw not long ago. The crow and the fox. The former with his fiery determination, and the latter with her radiance that shames the sun and the moon.
This is one part of me that won't go away. That I will fiercely hold on to, even in these strange, new times. All of a sudden, I'm beginning to think that this song playing right now, at this instant, is by no means a coincidence.
The second the song ends, I tuck myself into bed and shut my eyes. Far be it for me to set a terrible example to my student by being an insomniac. My head plants itself on the pillow, and lulling me to sleep are these two visages.
I wonder. With how much time has flown, could they have forgotten me? Would they still remember? I'm guessing they do. The pain of losing your closest, dearest friend is one that sticks. A transcendent pain. They won't forget.
The upper half of my body remains uncovered. I lean on the headrest, arms folded. Contemplating. Miring myself in these thoughts.
Kitsune…
Noah…
One more time. That's all I ask. One more time to stand face to face with them. To feel their touch, to lose myself in their embrace. It's a stretch. It might not happen. Not in this lifetime, or any other.
Still, I'm holding out for it.
Yes. You too, you old fart.