The jagged wind pushed on the car to no avail. The car was going forward and nothing but a blessed tragedy could change that. The tires of the convertible made their monotonous hiss over the sun-bleached highway and the air that made its way through the filters were bittersweet. All around the highway, through the tinted windows was open fields. Inside that tin box destined for the horizon the world outside continued like some choreographed dance, but without the soul it should have. Was there a reason under the sun that no one could stop and walk barefoot in the grass and feel the cool air of autumn? Was there no one that could hold up a brave hand and say stop? There was none because neither party wanted to stop the venturous ride.

Takahashi-sensei fiddled with the radio to fill their ears with the latest popular tunes, from the new pop idols. Taro wished that Japanese DJs would catch up with the westerners and put on some soothing sounds of Jimi Hendrix, The Alan Parsons Project, Queen, or Kansas. But instead, he had to suffice for the latest pop idols that would fade away like tamagotchis and mood rings. They were a dime-a-dozen to him. Young teenage heartthrobs, discovered at the mall or at a venue, signed a contract to perform a few songs, and then virtually disappear for another teenage sensation. The latter were the things of the past, but music that Taro could blend his emotions in, that was forever.

He sat in the plush seat of his teacher's convertible as she shifted gears through the highway. He watched how she did it without incident. She was careful to maintain composure as the speedometer went the speed that was higher than his class grades. He noticed how she was concentrating. He watched her fingertips glided on the steering wheel. He peered over the tinted windows as they ventured away from his domicile. He knew that they had already passed the Italian restaurant, but he never asked where they were going. For some reason, he did not want to. He had never felt that way in quite some time. He knew there was a destination. It was the journey that made the difference. As she drove with her intentions to that destination, he could see that she was on a mission and its name was desire.

The sun disappeared onto the horizon and the moon, accompanied by the stars, reclaimed its sky, for its short time. Nighttime stretched onto the sky from the daytime they left behind. Except with his parents or on school trips, this was the first time Taro travelled alone in the night. Of course, he wasn't alone, but the feeling was quite foreign. He questioned what made accept the offer of riding in a car with a complete stranger that was his teacher. Quite whimsical, he thought, but something in his subconsciousness yearned for that adventure. Something in his spirit told him to go with Takahashi-sensei. Regardless of his choice, he sat back and went alone with the ride.

This was the first time that Taro has ever left town since his father's accident. Regardless that his parents were natural homebodies, they promised their children one vacation each year. With their savings they collected throughout the year, the family travelled to onsens, amusement parks, and the beach. His favorite beach was in Miyazaki. There was nothing particular or extraordinary about the beach, he just loved its simplicity. There, he sat and watched Honoka build sand castles with their mother; and their father lying on a towel to catch up with his mystery novels. It was simple, but it was something that Taro could cherish. Since the accident, all of their savings were spent on his father. He made a silent promise that he was going to save his money to give him and his family another vacation. Once he could afford it, he would return to the Miyazaki beach.

Know'st thou not at the fall of the leaf

How the heart feels a languid grief

Laid on it for a covering,

And how sleep seems a goodly thing

In Autumn at the fall of the leaf?

The sultry voice interrupted Taro's train of thought. He listened as Takahashi-sensei recited a poem. From what he remembered, it was about autumn, his favorite time of year. It was because of autumn that met his favorite poet at that time. It was autumn that caused him to be where he was in this current predicament. He relaxed as he continued listening to his private poetry session for two.

And how the swift beat of the brain

Falters because it is in vain,

In Autumn at the fall of the leaf

Knowest thou not? and how the chief

Of joys seems not to suffer pain?

He clinged to every word she released from the sultry poem. If poetry was pollen, then he was the bee. Because, he wanted to hear more of what Takahashi-sensei was saying. As she was driving, she turned her head at Takahashi-sensei. Both of their eyes met and never left their sight.

Know'st thou not at the fall of the leaf

How the soul feels like a dried sheaf

Bound up at length for harvesting,

And how death seems a comely thing

In Autumn at the fall of the leaf?

"Autumn Song." Taro was quite familiar with the poetry when hearing the last few bars. He was in the hotel room when one of his classmates read it aloud in front of them. Unlike Taro, the classmate spewed on those words. It was an insult to all poetry lovers everywhere. Although a pacifist, for a moment, he wanted to slap the boy for insulting something that was beautiful of a poem. He compared poetry to women. He knew that he was unable to speak woman, but poetry served as an alternative to women. Once in his diary, he wrote a narrative on his comparison of women with poetry.

She appeared in the room with the winter snow hovering around her skirt. Most will not pay attention to her beauty, but rather her color. Crimson rose never looked so beautiful on a woman. Red as the summer sky that transcends into the leaves that we call autumn. She is nature. She is the mother of our Earth. With her black hair, long as wool, she walks in confidence with her head held up high. In an effortless saunter, she waltzes among us. The footsteps she makes adds rhythm to soft classical music that played onward without pause. Her eyes scanned the room in determination for someone of interest. When her eyes met mine, she smiled. Beautiful as the stars themselves, she continued what she was within my distance. Her soft cushion of her lips told more than what words can say. Her limitless effort to receive her love was loving. In return, I closed my eyes so I can accept hers for I want her to accept mine.

"Autumn Song is one of my favorite works," answered Takahashi-sensei. "My professor recited it to us in our poetry class back in college." Takahashi-sensei reached into her purse and pulled out a cigarette. She then looked at Taro as he averted his eyes. "It is okay if I smoke in here?"

"No, not at all. I mean, it's your car," answered Taro. He didn't turn. Something about a woman smoking cigarettes was very alluring. It gave a woman a dominant sense; a feeling that she was in charge of her body. It was her decision on how she displayed her femininity. It was appealing to the naive, novice Taro.

Out came the pink lighter as she lit the flame onto the cigarette. She inhaled deeply as the smoke consumed her lungs. Taro imagined that Takahashi-sensei disregarded the warnings on the dangers of smoking, but couldn't care. I can imagine that she is holding it there trapped, thinking how her lungs must hate her now having so little regard for them they must be screaming at her at the top of their lungs-she refused to smile- those poor dying little cells that only wanted her well; how could she do this to them? She craved oxygen now but not until her entire body got the message that she was crazy and not to be trifled with. Taro laughed to himself over what his teacher could be thinking.

She took another puff of the smoke from her lips and blew it in the air carefully. Taro watched the lipstick-stained cigarette flick on the ashtray on the dashboard. The smoke lingered in the air as a reminder of her actions, she pulled down the window with a small crack to let the air escape.

"Sorry about that," said Takahashi-sensei. Taro, despite his coughing, didn't mind it. The brush of cool air went into the car as her hair waved into the wind. It was like a river of silk. In the dark, Takahashi-sensei looked very ominous and mysterious with her glasses. She reminded him of the characters that were featured in the manga books he read. They were the type of characters that either played innocent or had an ace up their sleeve. Which side of the coin would Taro see?

"Tell me something about yourself, Mr. Yamada," asked Takahashi-sensei. "What goes on in the mind of this little spring chicken."

Taro explained his age, his family background, his interest in books and poetry, and the like. Taro learned from experience to only give out information that he did not mind being repeated. His mother had always warned him on wandering eyes. Just because they looked friendly and they smiled, doesn't mean it is necessary to tell them everything about you. Remember, Judas smiled at Jesus on the very day of his crucifixion. Mitsuko Takahashi might be friendly, but has not made the prerequisites of their acquaintanceship between teacher and student.

Upon his conclusion on his background, Takahashi-sensei looked satisfied. "It is good to have a teenage who is very close to his family. Many of my students, in the past, couldn't give a single thought about their parents. Unless there was something in particular they wanted for their own game."

"My family and I are very close knit. It has been since we have moved here from Fukuoka," said Taro.

"Oh, you are a Kyushu native," asked Takahashi-sensei in a Kyushu dialect.

"Very spot on, Takahashi-sensei," said Taro in his native dialect.

"I am originally from there, myself," said Takahashi-sensei. "I was born in Yame, but my parents raised us in Kitakyushu."

"Kitakyushu is not that far from Fukuoka," said Taro.

"Yes, sir. We are virtually neighbors," she said. "Amazing how fate can bring people together."

What did she mean 'fate?' That was what they came to his mind.

Come play with me, Taro. Follow me this way, Taro. It is okay. I won't hurt you. We will play a game. Do you like games, Taro?

He closed his eyes. His head was throbbing profusely. His hands were sweating and began trembling. He knew that he was on the verge of having the "attack." To gain back control, he slowly breathed. He took slow breaths to calm the tension.

When he opened his eyes, he saw that he was no longer in the car. He was no longer on the hallway. He looked at the vegetation and realized that he was back in the forest of his native Fukuoka.

"Takahashi-sensei," questioned Taro.

There was no answer. He took a few steps back. Only the sounds of the crackling leaves were the source of sound. He flinched as he fell backwards onto the stairs. He got back up and saw the entrance of the forbidden abandoned shrine.

"Takahashi-sensei," questioned Taro. He was careful not to be too loud, trying not to alert any visitors. Why would he returned to the forest from his past? Especially from a past he had a hard time remembering.

He proceed forward to enter the stairs. Each with a nerve wrecking creaking sound, as if alerting the stranger to go back, he went up the stairs. He stood in the main area of the shrine, the shrine that the locals called, mayohiga. From his thought, he pictured sitting on his grandfather's lap as he told the story of the abandoned shrine in the forest.

'That forest was one of those places which had no palpable reason to exist. It was a creaking shack created by nature to serve as a reminder that things could always be much, much worse. The unnatural, choking mist that swirled and sprawled on the forest floor was the first thing that spoke of a strange sort of wrongness,' his grandfather had said.

'Why is it forbidden to go to such a place? Can you all just burn it down?'

'You can't, my dear grandson. There are spirits that claim that forest home. If their home was destroyed, then we will all be in danger. Spirits need host and we don't want the others to become a host to these spirits. For as long we keep separate, then all is well with the world.'

Taro entered the mayohiga, or stray house. He was in the main corridor. On the wall, The sickly white substance seemed to possess liquid properties which only reminded him of the maggot-like texture of the eyes of a dead man who had been forgotten in his apartment for a few months, ready to burst at the slightest touch. Slowly, he titled himself away from the foreign object and continue down the hallway from the main corridor.

The sound of mushy and dead leaves whispered from under the soles of his feet as he kept forward. He remembered in the past that he went down that way in search for an artifact to prove to his classmates that he was there. Why did he subjected to such peer pressure, he thought to himself on his past.

The further he walked, the thicker the air became, which caused him to choke. He fell to knees as he tried his hardest to breathe. And then, everything went blank.

Come play with me, Taro. Follow me this way, Taro. It is okay. I won't hurt you. We will play a game. Do you like games, Taro? Taro? Taro?

"Taro, Taro," said the familiar voice of Takahashi-sensei. "Taro, snap out of it!"

Hiro fixated his eyes and jolted quickly. He was gasping for air as if he was suffocating or drowning.

"Calm down, Mr. Yamada, calm down," said Takahashi-sensei as she placed her arm around him.

Taro was breathing hard and after a minute, he started calming down. How long was he out? He gritted his teeth in embarrassment that he had suffered another "attack," and in front of Takahashi-sensei. When he checked his surroundings, they were no longer in the car. He was lying on the grass along the highway. His head was resting on Takahashi-sensei's lap. He had a wet towel on his forehead. He blushed by his lap pillow and that she had witness his "attacks."

"I thought I may have lost you," said Takahashi-sensei. "Are you alright."

"I am fine, thanks," said Taro.

"Oh no, look at your nose," she said. She pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and lightly dab his nose bleed.

"I am fine, trust me," affirmed Taro. "This thing is kind of normal." He lied on her lap and saw on how really beautiful she was. He blushed as he tried his hardest to gain his composure, but he knew it was failing. "What happened?"

"We were talking about being from Kyushu and then you passed out. I didn't know what to do so I pulled over. I wouldn't called 119, but we were too far out. I did what I could to get you back to health. That was very scary." Her worried look made Taro feel bad.

"I am sorry, sensei," replied Taro. "I should have told you about this, but I didn't think it was a big deal."

"Not a big deal," she said, "You had me worried. I don't want nothing bad to happen to you." She added, "How long have you had this."

"Since I was a child," he said. "Doctors can't explain it. I call it a 'standstill.'"

"A standstill," she asked with curiosity.

"I nicknamed it around the time I was in the sixth grade," confirmed Taro. "Whenever I face some serious tension, I lose control of my body, I sweat, and my nose begins to bleed. When all of it occurs, then I go into a coma-like state." He tried to sit up from Takahashi-sensei, but she urged him to stay on her lap.

"I tend to be out for a few minutes at a time. When I come to, I get kind of sick, but that is just the norm," said Taro.

"You make it sound like it is routine," she said.

"I can't explain it though," said Taro. "I wish I can know why I have these attacks, or standstills. Then, I can get some help. But, I don't know. I don't know."

"Don't scare me like that again, Mr. Yamada," said Takahashi-sensei. "I don't want you to hurt yourself."

"I am sorry," said Taro as he tilted his head in a form of a bow.

"Listen, it is getting kind of late. Why not get together another time," said Takahashi-sensei. "Let's get you home, okay?"

Without a second thought, Takahashi-sensei led Taro into the car and closed the door. She turned the convertible around and return to the city.

Know'st thou not at the fall of the leaf

How the soul feels like a dried sheaf

Bound up at length for harvesting,

And how death seems a comely thing

In Autumn at the fall of the leaf?