so... it has been a while. i finally situated myself in a way where i could just spit out stories. i thought i would finish this first. i decided there will be definitely be a few more chapters. at least 2. so... look out for that in the near future... ok? hope you like this one. tell me what you think!
To Wait, Perchance to Know.
Father.
To wait for my memories? Perchance, to know for memory's sake? I had to scream. The memories, they fade into an existence that is dead. Deep, inside… I am dead. As time passes by, I realize the sun has shone. It is only expected that the sun will set, and my joy will only become a treasured memory that I will forget. It is only expected that my dreams, my joys, my memories, will fade…
My memories, broken pieces that crack under the pressure of holding on to that sense of nostalgia. The speeding green streaks, the plethora of color that shines from a result of nature's goodness and suburban sprawl. They paint a picture in my mind. The rhythmic repetition of the riveting of the train against the tracks is my soundtrack.
3 years, 9 months, and 23 days. A dog, more like a puppy. White as the freshly fallen snow from winter's first song, and the orchestra continued with such a somber sonata. One in D minor, perhaps. Not Beethoven, since he's too cheerful. Simply struggling to exist, he is crushed by the pain and weight of the world. His last whimper, a faint cry for help.
"Wake up, please… Yuki… Wake up, for me?"
"It's not going to work… He's dead."
"Why did you do it, Father?"
"I had my reasons… If you will ask me one day, I will tell you. If I tell you now, you will not understand."
It's funny how memories work. The good ones happen to be forgotten, while the painful ones haunt your mind and body. My father, and his ways. Every memory has been etched into my mind, like some deviant substandard fashionista taking a rhinestone gun to an innocent cardigan. Lucky for my logic, as well as my sense of wit, they all happen to be bad ones. I was witness to the murder. Quick and intentionally painless, which is what he truly deserved. My father, beholder of the rifle that ceased his life. The crimson of my Yuki's blood, a focal piece of the palette that is my memory.
I guess my cynicism has gotten the best of me.
A month ago, my father called me to spend the weekend at his house, and I, somehow, reluctantly accepted. It was two weeks into my new life, and now I had to duel with my past demons. My father lived in a quaint house, north of the hustle and bustle of Tokyo, so the trip allowed me to think about something for once, rather than wait for nothing.
This thinking time allowed me to ponder the tragic nature of my father and mother. It's like one of those cheesy romantic novels that you find next to the cigarettes, gum and tabloids in the express checkout lane of your local second-rate supermarket. My mother met my father on the streets of San Francisco. You can say it was love at first site. My mother was the foreign exchange student-slash-Asian prostitute desiring to make that dollar to make tuition, and my father was the American John, desiring a cheap thrill that didn't require the protection. Yah, he loved to live on the edge.
Anyways, one lonely Friday night, my father decided to walk amongst the nitty-gritty, and there, in a now-abandoned motel under some infamous freeway off ramp I can't remember, they consummated their inevitable love for each other, as I wishfully thought. By semester's end, my mother found out that she was pregnant with Yamato, and my father, being a man of his honor, decided to support her. He moved to Japan, and they lived together, happily. I imagined that their situation was like one of those romantic comedies, where they merely got by, but at the end of the day, they always had their little slow dance out on the balcony against the sinking sun, looking over the bay.
Yes, hopeless romantic here. But as soon as I was brought into the world, the magic dissipated.
My father took up the bottle, and my mom had to deal with the repercussions. After the many sleepless nights with eyes filling up with sheer terror, my mother had enough. I remembered those nights where my father would stumble to the liquor store, and it was just mom and I. She would ask me to smile, and I did. I didn't know why, but when I did, she began to shed very tranquil tears. I guess it was jealousy. I guess she wanted to smile once again, like I did. Pure jealousy, that's what it was. She probably didn't think anything of me.
They divorced when I was 6, and only a few months later, I was marching down the aisle of a stale, smoke-stained chapel, wearing an unnaturally blue ring-bearer suit, for these people I don't even know or care about: my mother and her new husband-to-be.
My mother smiled once again, and Yamato was there to pick up what was left of her shattered dreams. The three seemed like the family that all families would envy. I was the outsider, naturally. He would always smile at me, make conversation… Stuff like that. You know, fake stuff. I didn't care for it, but I entertained his notion of actually getting close to me. But, it was futile. In the end, it was the end. They divorced, and I moved on with flying colors. He said he left because Yamato's imprisonment was an emotional and financial burden. Lies. I like to see that, as "dad" no longer had his sexually deviant stepson to screw around with. Hmm… Dad.
Yeah, right. I only have one father, and I will forever love him. I'm sorry.
Suddenly, the northward-bound train began to rumble unusually. I've ridden this train enough times to know that this "turbulence" wasn't normal. The train made one huge jump off the track, and caused me to be thrown back against the not-so-cushioned seat.
There was a gap in timing in which I took my hand to the scar that ran along my left shoulder blade. I felt the rough inconsistencies, the dismal effort my body made to erase the pain. My back. That scar. It hurts.
Yes, I lied. There are some scars that never heal.
5 years, 11 months and 16 days. I laid there, almost lifeless. My body, only a vessel, emptying all that is good and pure on to the cold canary tiles of the bathroom floor. Etched amongst the grit, my blood. My precious blood, pouring from the wound, afflicted by an act of love. It is a love that only a father can give to his son.
"Fa-Fa-Fath-Father… I'm sorry… I'm… I…""Don't… Ever… Do… That… Again."
Such stern words from such a loving father. My father. With one hand, he held me close. With the other, a knife.
My reluctance to remember paid off ten fold. I arrived at the station around dusk. To me, this was the most beautiful time of the day. It was the sun's last stance against the approaching moon and its minions, the stars. This clash of nature displayed such an elegant showcase. Inside, I was flying around, freely… joyfully.
I stepped off the train, only to be greeted with the image I know best. He was standing there, leaning against his relic of a car, dressed in a brownish corduroy jacket, and off-green slacks to match. He was in a faded light blue dress shirt, with a beret to hide his short, blonde locks. He was reading his newspaper, then acknowledged my presence by making subtle eye contact accompanied by a head nod and a clearing of the throat. Then, as expected, he returned to his newspaper, ever so nonchalantly. After going into his car, reeking of nostalgia, and driving longer than an awkward silence would permit, he spoke to me.
"How's your mother, Boy?"
"Fine…"
"Un..."
That was it. I didn't want to make unnecessary conversation. If I brought up Yamato, he would have definitely went berserk. After I told him over the phone that he was arrested, and the circumstances that surrounded said arrest, he said nothing. He only muttered under his breath a faint, "I knew it," and hung up.
We finally made it to his apartment. It was only my third time to go there, and yet again, it did not cease to take my breath away. Amongst the rural backdrop, there was this huge, skyscraping apartment building. It was white, but always had a hint of emotion. I happened to be a cross of hue between a shallow orange and a hazy magenta, like the near-night sky.
He lived on the 34th floor. There were 35 merciless stories to climb. He insisted on taking the stairs, instead of the awaiting elevators. I trusted his judgment, since there would be no room for chit-chat amongst all the huffing and puffing.
When I entered the door, my eyes went straight to all the picture frames that were hanging on the wall. There were many. Very happy photographs, capturing only the happiest of memories. The sentiment was overwhelming. I was a little jealous. I was jealous of Sakura, my father's daughter.
She always epitomized this jaded sense of beauty I held. She was a cute little mystery. She had vanilla skin with long, full jet-black hair. They shaded her gentle blue eyes, and her smile always matched her slightly rosy cheeks, and her 10-year old innocence. She seemed so happy and carefree. Of course, I never met her. I probably never will.
"How's Sakura?"
"Fine… She's in Hong Kong with her mother this weekend. Shopping spree, at my expense, of course…"
That seemed reasonable at first, except they happen to always be gone whenever I visit my father. Although the last reasons were more bizarre than that one. I was surprised my father didn't say they went to Africa to get ostrich eggs for next weekend's breakfast omelet.
"Umm… How's life, Boy?"
That was just a little unexpected. I didn't know my father actually wanted to carry out a conversation. Maybe things were different. He did look much happier in those photos on the wall. Like a real father… I still loved him, no matter what.
"Good…"
"Oh."
I froze. I didn't know what to say. I had to think on my feet. I had to think of something that actually appease my father. I didn't even think my life was satisfactory enough to be proud of it. How would I have convinced someone else, especially my father?
"I have a girlfriend… Her name's Hikari…"
I had a sudden chill. That name. Hikari. I should have checked up on her. It didn't call her in weeks. I wonder what was going through her head at that time.
"Really?"
I tensed up. He seemed kind of upset, yet he had a sinister looking grin on his face, just as if he was about to explode in either anger or laughter.
"Good. You're much better off than your fag of a brother."
I didn't want to admit to know what he was talking about, but he insisted continuing with his story. He pulled me in closer. Uncomfortably closer…
"Yah, Yamato's a fuckin' fag. Probably that dumb-fuck of a fag your mom married just encouraged him, or some shit. I caught him with some boy named Taichi, or something like that. I think this was when he was 8… Where'd the fuck he learned that? He was the one giving Taichi…"
I tuned out. I didn't want to hear the rest of my father's homophobic rant. I'm sure he knew about me.
"I almost killed Yamato that day. I should have just finished him off… He wouldn't be in jail… I should have just killed him, like I killed your damn dog. That piece of shit kept barking… Never liked the damn mutt…"
I had to get myself out of that. I had to think happy thoughts. I needed to escape. I needed to be immersed in much more gentler memories. Happy, fuzzy memories, I adored.
5 years, 11 months and 16 days. I happened to bring in a backpack that offended some people. I guess they were envious, because back then, my father tried to get me the best, despite my objections. He always thought that maintaining an image was most important. Anyways. I was being bullied. It was a stream of meaningless punches and kicks. I couldn't fight back. I was as scrawny as ever, and these 3 tough kids, lacking in love and self-esteem, had to take it out on someone. I lacked those things too, but I only took it out on myself. Suddenly, the punches, the kicks, the name-calling stopped. All I saw was the hand of a boy, trying to pull me up from my disgrace.
"Man… You look messed up… Are you okay?"
"Yah… I am…"
All I did was collapse into his arms. His warm arms, was all I remembered. I felt warmed. I felt loved. For the first time, I felt loved.
I found myself in Sakura's room with a full tummy. I usually slept on the couch, but my father probably insisted on me sleeping in her room. It was much more sterile than I thought. The sheets were pure white, very neatly folded. Everything was so clean, so dull. So cold. All that differentiated from the frosty stencil was a teddy bear, sitting properly upright. It seemed to have a sheepish smile, struggling almost. My eyes floated around her room, only to focus on a slim book that was slightly out of its place. It was sitting amongst other books on a single shelf on a wall. I approached it with caution. It was calling to me. Sakura. She was calling me. Then, my cell rang.
"Hello?"
"Hey…"
"Hey, Daisuke."
It was Daisuke. I hadn't felt so much at ease. His voice so full of concern, brought me back to a warm feeling I so desired.
"Man… You sound messed up… Are you ok?"
I restrained an escaping gasp from my chest. My breath was taken away for a second.
"No… I mean, yah. I'm fine…"
I tried to laugh off the tension. Daisuke had a long pause, hopefully not to flatter me in any way. He can be so thoughtful when he wants to be.
"Takeru… Hikari's been acting weird."
"What? What happened?"
I actually showed some genuine concern. The thought of Hikari in any perilous situation made me worry. Don't get me wrong, I love Hikari. At least, I did at that moment. I sat down on a stool in Sakura's room, and began to listen to Daisuke.
"She's been moping around for weeks. She hasn't smiled in a long time. I visited her this afternoon, and she was so down. She wondered why you wouldn't call, and then she would burst into tears. You need to see her. I'm afraid she's going to do something. Her eyes were bloodshot, and she wasn't making sense. So, while she went to the bathroom, I snooped around and I found a few bottles under her bed. Save her, Takeru. I'm worried. I'm worried Takeru…"
Again, he caught my attention. I had to do something.
"Ok. I'll leave tonight. Hopefully, I'll make it home in an hour and a half."
"I'm glad…"
I rose to my feet, only to have the top of my head meet with that shelf. The shelf rumbled off its track, but only the slim book fell onto the floor. The pain made me delirious with what I said.
"Ahh… Oww… I gotta go... Ahh… Love you, Dai…"
"I love you too… Bye…"
And he hung up. I was rubbing the top of my head, at the contact point. What seemed like an eternity later, I realized what I said. I realized what slipped out of my heart and out of my lips. I said that I loved Daisuke. I said that I loved Daisuke, to Daisuke. I only further realized that he said that he loved me back. I was astonished. I was floating. I never flew so high in my life. I finally found that warm feeling I so desired that wasn't a faint memory. I loved Daisuke Motomiya, and Daisuke Motomiya loved me back. After my daze, I fell. I fell hard. I fell hard, onto Sakura's bedroom floor, my face landing inches next to the fallen book. Just my luck, eh? I opened the journal.
The days seem to get longer and longer. With every ounce of soul I have left, I cry to depths of an inexistent guardian. My angel, hear me please. Please, release me. His hands, I cannot take anymore. I flinch at the very thought. At one moment, they can be gentle, warm, kind… loving, even. The next, full of an animosity most cruel. Soul-crushing, most definitely. All because I caught him. In the bathtub. Exposure. Horrifying images entangled in an unknown pleasure. Now, I pay a price. I count my days, for my penance. I count my days, hoping to be taken away. School has become nothing to me, and the blade has failed me many a times. Guardian angel, I pray. Save me. Save mom. At the very least, please let me wake up from this nightmare…
I began to sob. Such a fragile soul, crushed by my beloved father. It was a crime, against my very notions. I couldn't let her go through what I went through. I wanted to call the police. I had to. I couldn't allow him to hurt an innocent soul. I had to.
But I didn't. He would have killed her when he got the chance. I took a pen, and scribbled something down. I couldn't let her give up. My father wasn't worth it. I left. I didn't bother to say goodbye to my father. I had no reason to. I had no other reason to stay.
I took the evening train to Tokyo. The only thing that blanketed me from the starry night, besides the metal walls of the train, was my reminiscing.
5 years, 11 months and 16 days. In his embrace. In Daisuke's embrace. I muffled out a "thank you." Then, I kissed him. I kissed him, and I felt loved. I felt alive. I felt myself. Then, I was pulled away. My father pulled me away, holding onto my wrist. Dragging me, into the car. Shouting impurities. My ears. My eyes. He slammed my face onto the dashboard. Took me inside, threw me against the wall. Kicked me hard in the stomach. Steel-toed boots. I cleared the blood out of my throat. I try to crawl away, but he dragged me into the bathroom, with a knife in one hand. The door muted my screams. My agony, splashed against the bathtub backsplash.
My back. That scar. It hurts.
I'm waiting for justice to be served. Sakura, I know. Please. Let me watch over you. We now share a common fate, a common strength. My sister, my sister. Hang in there.
I'm waiting for some support. Hikari, my Hikari. Please. Let us learn what love is.
Daisuke. I'm waiting for you to come back. I know that I'll be able to say it to you. Please, wait for me.
I really don't think much of the ending. it has been several months. i just tried to spit this chapter out. like it? hate it? let me know... all you guys' reviews are really helpful, good or bad!