So Surreal – So Real
Chapter Seven
I normally wouldn't put a note up here, but I just wanted to say something. I know that the times between chapters five and six are a little confusing. Everything will be cleared up in chapter eight, so no worries. There's a reason for all of this, I promise. Well, on with the show!
They'd been salvaging all day and all they had to show for it were a few dishes, a blackened baseball, the handle of a hairbrush, and some assorted photographs in various conditions. Really, Rin just wanted to go back to Sango's house. But they'd only sifted through half the charred remains of the lot that used to be her home. And it had already been a week.
"This fire sure was thorough," Maurice, her foster dad, commented, coming up beside her and gazing at the scene.
Rin snorted softly. "Stop joking, Maurice. It was a disaster. What're we going to do now?"
"Work hard, pick up the pieces as best we can and pray. That's all we really can do."
"I just… Why'd it have to be us, y'know? What did we do to deserve this?" she gestured around the blackened 'waste land.'
"Nothing. Things just happen and we don't know why. We might like to, but we can't. So we learn to move on and not dwell on them."
Rin looked up at the lanky, bespectacled, middle-aged man. "Where do you come up with all this stuff? At work?"
Maurice just laughed. "No. Goodness knows everyone there can't speak up for themselves," he paused and contemplated her words. "You know, they just come to me. I have no idea where they come from."
"Oh, okay. I see," she nodded, taking a thoughtful stance. "So you don't have a book of good advice that you've memorized or a man telling you what to say in a supped up van a block away?"
Maurice just laughed and walked off to help one of her younger foster siblings pull a corner of something wooden from a pile of rubble. Rin watched him go with a sigh. Sometimes she really loved her 'family.' And other times… well, stuff like this happened and she felt completely out of place.
X
"Ayame, sweetie, come here please."
The red-haired teenager glanced up from her book to meet the eyes of her sophisticated, gracefully aging mother. Furrowing her brow, she set her book aside and crossed the room, following her mother down the hall. 'When'd she get back?'
They stopped inside her mother's large, earthy-toned, intimidating study. Ayame stood awkwardly in the doorway while the older woman settled in her high-backed leather chair that greatly resembled that of a godfather's. She'd always felt strange and insignificant in her mother's study and preferred to avoid it as much as possible. The few times she remembered being here was when she was being punished, chastised, or lectured; sometimes all three at the same time.
"Now, sweetie, while I was off in Prague, your school called," here her mother paused and Ayame rolled her eyes. Lecture. "They informed me that you've been missing some of your classes. This is your senior year, and I understand that there's less pressure and more free time. Really, I do. But… these are fairly easy classes and there's no reason to skip them. You need to graduate and get into a good college."
"Mom, I know. It was only a few times and I'm getting A's in the class anyway. Don't worry about it." Ayame turned to leave, dismissing the conversation.
"But I do worry, Ayame. Your father and I are not always around and when we are, we can't monitor your studies or free time. We would like to be home more but we can't."
"It's fine Mom."
"No, it's not. You need to be more responsible."
Ayame sighed and turned back around. She stared at her mother for a moment – her beautiful, independent, superstar mother. Ever since she was little, that was always how she described her. And ever since she was little, she'd been determined to be the opposite of her mother.
"Mom, I've taken care of myself since I was twelve. I think I can be perfectly responsible for myself," she said calmly.
"Well obviously you can't if you've been skipping classes."
"Sometimes people get sick, Mom."
"Seven times?"
"They've been excused."
"But we're all still concerned."
"Well don't be! You've never been before, and now that I'm on the verge of leaving this hellhole, you've suddenly decided to take interest? I don't believe any of this!" She turned to leave again and managed to wrench the door open before her mother spoke up again.
"We all think you should quit your little band and start seeing a therapist."
"You wouldn't dare."
"Try me."
Ayame just slammed the door shut and took off down the hall. Skidding into her room, she tore open her sock drawer and fumbled around in the top right corner beneath a wad of old socks. Feeling the smooth cellophane covered cardboard box beneath her fingers, she breathed a sigh of relief. Standing up from her kneeling position on the floor, she grabbed her jacket from a chair and walked out to the driveway. She couldn't be in that house another second; it was time to take a drive.
X
Sango stood in front of her mirror, smoothing down her long black skirt with her palms. Staring at her reflection, she frowned and ran a hand through her hair, toying with the ends of the thick strands. She pulled the dark brown mass into a ponytail with a sigh and turned away.
"Sango! Come on, we gotta go!" her brother called from the bottom of the stairs.
She took a deep breath and set her features firmly before walking down the stairs and getting in the car. She settled in her seat and gazed out the window as they pulled out of the driveway. It was time to go visit mommy dearest, and she was dreading every minute of it.
S
It'd been almost three years since her mother had died. It wasn't that much of a shock since she'd been battling cancer for even longer, but that didn't make any of it easier. Especially since she died right before Christmas and the day before Sango's birthday. Sango could still remember that day perfectly, like it was being repeated every single day.
Her mother had been planning her birthday party for weeks, even in the hospital. She'd tried to talk her mother out of it, especially since she was so sick. But her mother was adamant and insisted.
"I want to, Sango. If I didn't, I wouldn't be doing this; you know that."
"But, Mum, I don't want you to! You're going to too much trouble for my fourteenth birthday. It's not a big deal at all," Sango argued, moving to the other side of her mother's hospital bed and grabbing her hands.
Her mother just laughed. Even in such a weakened state, she could laugh so easily. Sango sometimes found herself envious of her mother at times like these. She was just so serious and quiet, determined to do things by herself, especially in hard times. Just like her father. Maybe that was why she and her father loved her mother so much.
"Sango, it's not every day you become a year older! It's something to celebrate! Turning fourteen is too a big deal! That's why I'm doing this!"
"I wish you wouldn't," Sango mumbled, looking down at the white sheets.
Her mother smiled softly and gently lifted her chin up to face her. Her gaze was so soft and full of love; it was all Sango could do to hold back the tears. She might never receive that look from her mother ever again if things continued to go as they had for the past year.
"Why, sweetheart?"
"B-because, I don't have any friends to invite," she said lamely, eyes downcast.
"Oh, that's not true. Aren't Ayame and Rin your friends? Don't worry, you can always tell me, always."
"I don't want a big huge party, Mum. I want to stay here with you."
"Oh. Well, the doctor says that I'm doing better and I might be able to go home in a few weeks – in time for Christmas. We can have you party when I get home. How's that sound?"
Sango shrugged. "That's fine, I guess."
"Great!" her mother beamed, bringing a small smile to Sango's face as well.
"But, what about my birthday?"
"We'll have it here. And I'll stick to your wishes – just you, me, Daddy and Kohaku. But my present comes at Christmas. You're going to love it!"
Sango's smile grew. "Thanks, Mum. I love you."
"I love you too, Dearest. Forever and always."
Sango nodded. "Forever and always."
The party never happened. Sango's birthday never really happened. Christmas happened for the rest of the world, but not for the Taijiya family. That night, after all the progress her mother went through, she'd gotten drastically worse and hadn't made it to the next day. Sango's mother died the evening before her fourteenth birthday.
They buried her a few days later in a cherry wood casket with a pink granite grave marker. The relatives that had been invited to her birthday party had come down for the funeral, but no one felt like laughing or smiling. Almost everyone cried, especially her father and nine-year-old brother. Sango was too numb and shocked to do much of anything.
It was only after the funeral and her birthday and Christmas that Sango cried. She'd had to hold the whole family together and keep everything functioning while everyone else grieved. But a few days after Christmas, a package came in the mail addressed to her. It was large, oddly shaped and wrapped in brightly colored paper depicting bathing suit wearing Santa Clauses holding martini glasses surrounded by palm trees and scantily-clad, busty women. It practically screamed her mother's quirky sense of humor, but Sango shoved it in a closet and tried to forget about it.
Somehow, Rin and Ayame, her long-time best friends, found it and ordered her to unwrap it. The oddly shaped gift turned out to be her mother's old acoustic guitar that had been passed down in their family for generations that was one-of-a-kind and custom made. Only then did Sango cry. And sitting in the front hall, holding Hiraikotsu in her lap and in tears, Sango set in motion the events that would eventually lead to the creation of Common Ground.
Her reverie ended when they pulled up to the curb and stepped onto the grassy lawn of the cemetery grounds. The hike to her mother's gravesite was slow and silent, the noise of their muffled steps on grass, the rustle of fabric and the chirping of birds the only sound. Silent tears streamed down her brother's face and his hands kept balling into white-knuckled fists. Her father's strong jaw kept clenching and straining and his eyes were focused solely on the path in front of him, shimmering with unshed tears. Glancing between the two of them, Sango felt like a very solemn and quiet observer tagging along for the ride.
They arrived at the gravesite and just looked at it for a while. No on spoke; no one moved. Finally, her father knelt and began brushing off the marker and clearing away dead flowers and wreaths. Silently, Sango and Kohaku joined him. After that, Sango ushered her brother away to give their father a few moments alone. It was tradition. This whole day was all about tradition.
They walked in silence, side by side. Eventually, Kohaku looked up at her with his sad brown eyes and broke the quiet.
"Hey, Sis," he asked softly, his pace slowing with each step that he took.
"Hm?" Sango kept walking, her eyes fixed on the old oak further up the grassy hill.
"Tell me about Mom."
Sango stopped and turned around. Fixing him with a quizzical stare she said, "You were old enough to remember now. Why do you want me to tell you?"
Kohaku just shrugged. "You knew her longer. And better. Sometimes I'll think about her and not remember a thing about her except that she was beautiful and my mom, not about who she really was."
"Well, she was beautiful," Sango smiled softly at the thought. "And not just picture beautiful – I mean all around, inside and out. She would laugh at the simplest things, too. If she saw something at the store that made her laugh or smile, she'd buy it, no matter what it was. Like the lime green, rooster shaped pitcher or comforters with gardening tools on them.
"She was always or singing or dancing or both. I remember she dragged me to ballroom dancing class just to learn how to Tango and then practiced with me in the kitchen. When you were a baby, late at night, when you couldn't sleep, she'd sing heavy metal songs acoustically on Hiraikotsu like lullabies, and she always had the radio on over everything, like her very own soundtrack.
"She was always making something, too. Trying out new recipes, macaroni necklaces, costumes. We played dress up every day and we were constantly making up new games and stories and songs. I think it was because she never really grew up and was going to be a preschool teacher before she married Dad. One day, we played poker with bubblegum cigars hanging from our mouths for beads and buttons – she was the card master.
"She always smelled wonderful and gave out hugs like no other. She was really kind and caring person, you know? You never forget someone like that."
"I wish I knew her better," Kohaku said glumly, scuffing his foot on the slick grass.
Sango just grabbed him in a one-armed hug and smiled wistfully.
"You know, people say that I look a lot like her, but you act more like her. So in a way, you can't forget her or lose her because she's in everything you do."
"I'm like Mom?"
"Yep, so don't get too down."
Sango glanced back the way they'd come. No one was standing near the light pink marker so she turned around and started trudging back, Kohaku right behind her. They spent the whole day at the cemetery every year, but she didn't want to miss and minute of it.
"Come on, let's go talk to Mum."
X
Ayame sat in front of The Ground House, alternately sipping coffee and taking a drag from the cigarette poised between her fingers. She didn't normally smoke and she'd always thought it was a very disgusting thing to do. But she often found herself returning to the habit after a stressful encounter, especially with her parents. She did have to admit though, the tingling calm that came after a cigarette or two and a big cup of coffee was one of the best feelings she'd experienced. So there she was, sitting on a bench trying to regain her center.
No one knew that the redhead smoked, not even Rin or Sango. Even with her cool, indifferent exterior, Ayame had always been a typical 'good girl.' And because of that fact, she normally didn't advertise that one of her only indulgences was a pack of Camels and a large cup of slow roasted Brazilian coffee, black. To her, it was like comfort food to a supermodel – rarely called upon and looked down upon, but she loved and thought of it constantly anyway.
Sighing, she blew a stream of smoke from her lips and leaned her head back. She stared up at the large expanse of sky above her as the light slowly faded from it and the clouds were tinged a golden orange, and her thoughts began to wander. Stretched out lazily on a public bench, Ayame Yuki's mind drifted back to when she was thirteen and had discovered smoking for the first time, back before she'd met Rin or Sango when she'd been a vulnerable little kid growing up with parents who were never around and everyone she knew wanted something from her.
A
Ayame sat in front of her dressing stall's lighted mirror, methodically applying blush to her cheeks. The dressing room was filled with excited chatter and jumpy girls getting dolled up for the recital. She could clearly see the other girls through her mirror, flanked by enthusiastic mothers and fellow performers helping with makeup and hair. Ayame glanced down at herself and fingered the hem of her skirt. Maybe she shouldn't go through with this…
"Hey Ayame!"
She twisted around to come face-to-sneering-face with one of the worst prima donnas she'd ever come in contact with. The blond girl in front of her looked even snottier in her pink tutu and tight bun. 'Oh, God. Now I really don't want to go through with this…'
"Ms. Tanya told me to tell you that you go on after my dance. So you better be ready!"
Ayame just nodded and turned back to her station. "Yeah, thanks Kendra."
Kendra just huffed and stalked off, her posse following after her. Ayame just sighed and picked up a brush. She pretended to get ready while the other girls filed out of the dressing room, giggling and chatty and squealing. She had a while before she had to go on. Maybe she could still sneak out the back…
'But, Grandpa said he'd come, even if Mom and Dad aren't… Maybe I should just go through with it. Kendra and her cronies won't beat me up afterwards if I do… hopefully…' She glanced at her reflection in the mirror again. 'Yeah, I'll just do it. It's no big deal, right? I mean, nothing else could go wrong… right?'
With newfound resolve, she laced up her toe shoes and strode out into the throng of girls. Time to make some magic! Even if it did kill her feet…
A
The after party wasn't much and Ayame found herself playing the part of wallflower. The other girls and performers were all over the room, shrieking and exclaiming over the recital. Leaning back against the wall, she sighed and stared up at the ceiling. This was going to be a long night…
Just then, her instructor, Ms. Tanya, came rushing over – her face ashen. Ayame didn't notice her until she was babbling right in her face.
"Ayame! Honey! You grandfather! He's, he's…"
"Um… What about my grandpa? Is he alright?"
Ms. Tanya just shook her head and looked away. Ayame began to get nervous. She pushed off from the wall frantically.
"What's wrong? What happened?"
"The hospital just called," her instructor said softly. "He had a stroke. They don't think he's going to make it."
"Which hospital? I have to go see him!"
Ms. Tanya put a placating hand on her arm. "Don't worry, I'll give you a ride. Your parents have already been notified; they're on their way right now."
Ayame just nodded and rushed from the room, Ms. Tanya closely following. Her grandfather was the only family member she had really ever gotten to know. He'd taught her how to throw a baseball and play the piano. When her parents were gone on business her grandfather was always there to help keep her company. He was always supportive of everything she did and tried to come to all of her games and recitals. She'd known his health had been failing him recently and now it was all her fault he was in the hospital about to die.
When she arrived at the hospital, still in her recital outfit, her parents were pacing in the waiting room, suitcases thrown haphazardly by some chairs. Her steps slowed as she cautiously approached her clearly stressed out parents who had obviously just come off a last minute flight. Her parents immediately honed in on her presence and pounced.
"How could you let your grandfather out of the house!" her mother cried while at the same time her father softly said, "He wants to see you."
"Your father and I had to rush back here and find cramped, overpriced planes back here so fast!"
"He says he wont die until he talks to you."
It was like watching a fast-paced tennis match. And Ayame had the feeling she was getting whiplash. Her father looked sad and tired. Her mother, on the other hand, was livid and practically spitting in her face, she was so mad. Thankfully, a group of nurses came to her rescue and ushered her off to her grandfather's room.
The hospital room was silent as she timidly stepped in. Heart monitors and a respirator whirred and blipped next to the starched and pressed bed where her grandfather lay, sleeping peacefully. But when she came closer, she say that the old man wasn't actually sleeping – there was a slight smile on his face and he gazed back at her through his eyelashes.
"Hey, Gramps," she said softly, sliding onto the bed beside him and taking his hand. "What's the haps?"
Her grandfather chuckled silently and weakly squeezed her hand.
"I'm sorry I couldn't make it to your recital, Ayame. I'm sure you were beautiful."
"Naw, I wasn't all that special. I'm sorry I caused all this trouble. You were supposed to be bedridden."
"Bedridden?" he scoffed. "That's just a term they use for old coots! Besides, it probably would've happened anyway. But I didn't even leave the house!"
"But, Mom said-"
"Your mother says a lot of things. Doesn't mean you should listen to them!" he smiled wryly at that and winked. "Now, I want you to know, no matter what happens to me, you need to be strong and not worry about what others say or think. Your parents are wrong to not be a part of your life, and damn idiots for it, too! You're a beautiful, talented young woman and I'm proud of you. Don't ever forget that! I love you, Ayame."
"I love you too, Gramps."
"I know it's my time to go now, and I don't want you to see it. But I'm refusing to see either of your parents. I want you to know that you get everything – and don't let your parents have any of it! Remember what I said and be a good girl. Good-bye, now, Ayame."
"Good-bye," she choked out.
She stood up to leave and had reached the door before she glanced back at the frail old man in his bed. With a choked sob, she ran back and threw her arms around his neck in a big hug. She held on for a few minutes before he patted her back gently.
"You know, Ayame, I'm planning to die in a few minutes and I can't do that with you here," he said in a soft and tired voice.
Ayame sobbed out a small laugh and extracted herself from him slowly. "Sorry. I'll go now."
"Alright. Bye Ayame."
"Bye."
And with that, she forced herself to leave the room. She walked down the hall, scrubbing at her face to clear away her tears and sniffling back the ones threatening to spill over. Her parents tried to get information out of her, but she just shook her head and walked past them and out of the hospital. She ran the whole way home and spent a few days locked in her room, refusing to eat or speak to anyone.
When she did come out for the funeral, her mother dragged her into her study and gave her a stern talking-to. Ayame just shrugged her off and sat through the whole service silently and by herself in a back pew at the church. Afterwards, she came across a few kids in the alley smoking and just bumming around. She joined them with a few nods of greeting and acknowledge.
Her first cigarette tasted horrible and she choked and coughed to the other kids' amusement. But she was determined and had another and another and another until she was smoking like a pro and completely mellowed out. When her parents called for her after all the guests had left, they handed her a breath mint and a bottle of Fabreeze. She went home and her parents suspected nothing. The next day, they were gone again and Ayame had the house and her father's cigarettes all to herself.
Ayame's cigarette was almost burnt out, so she put it out beneath the heel of her shoe. Gulping the last of her coffee, she tossed the empty cup in a trashcan and stood up. Sighing, she walked down the street and pulled out her keys. Above her the streetlights flickered to life, illuminating the sidewalks in orange circles and shining off her red hair. A few stars twinkled overhead and a crescent moon peeked out of the clouds as she drove back home. She might hate the house and the people inside it, but it was still her home and she needed to get some sleep. After all, she did have school in the morning.
E
Okay. Chapter seven is finished. I think this is the longest one so far. Have a great week and the next chapter should be out soon. Until next time! – Hope Swings